#how is it so easy for others yet i’m stuck feeling unwanted and forgotten

[shrekshugebadussy]

i wish that I was a girl. I wish I wasn’t so unhappy with myself. I wish I could be happy and fine and make myself look beautiful in my gender assigned to me at birth. I wish people didn’t view me as undesirable. I wish I didn’t have to transition to pass in order to actually be seen as somewhat attractive. I wish that even then people still would find me desirable. I wish I was skinny. I wish that I didn’t feel like my youth was wasted away. I wish I didn’t feel like I am falling behind in life. I wish I didn’t feel like the people around me were leaving me behind

[just-a-quirkless-loser]

Maybe We’re Not Meant To Be

Alpha Izuku x Omega Reader

Warning: Sexual Content Below

Word Count: 3.9K

Two years of dating Izuku was no easy task. As sweet as the man is, he often blundered when it came to the love life (or the lack thereof) the two of you shared. No one questions his devotion to you. You’re cold? Midoriya will give you the shirt off his back. You’re hungry? Midoriya runs to the nearest store to grab you something (he doesn't care if it’s miles away). Two years of dating the most considerate person in the world yet, you selfishly yearned for more.

A mating mark; a silent reminder to onlookers that you were taken by one of the most eligible alphas in Japan. You wanted your skin to be marred by his long fangs and you wanted to leave your own mark on him. But after two years of waiting, it felt as though maybe he didn’t want to mark you. 

‘Maybe we’re not meant to be.’

At first, you didn’t mind that Midoriya wasn't quick to ask to bound you; it showed that he cared about you rather than force himself on you for the rest of your life. It was nice to have him court you but, you’re getting older. You never wanted to admit that biology was correct but, you felt yourself slowly facing the realities.

It’s easy to push the want away, hiding it deep in your mind to only ponder over every once in a while. But, every once in a while becomes every day. It makes you wonder if there’s something wrong with you. 

You watch as all of your friends start to show off their marks, they start to get married, one by one having pups. And, you’re there for all of it. Silently cheering everyone else on from the sideline but, awaiting your turn to race.  

You’re quietly bitter. All you can think about is having mini versions of Midoriya and yourself running around. What would they look like? What would they smell like? Would they want to be heroes? Your desire to have a physical manifestation of your love to care for and nurture grew. It seems like the closest you’ll ever get to that dream is when you're around other people’s pups. 

“Wow, Y/N! How did you get her to be that quiet?” Uraraka asks you with an amazed expression. She watched you cuddle her close to your chest, rocking her off to sleep after her latest tantrum. “You're such a natural.”

“Thank you. I've always loved kids,” you're mesmerised by the rise and fall of the pups chest as she breathes. It’s nice having something so small depend on you.

“You’d make a great mom,” she doesn’t miss how you tense and, for the fleetest of moments, a scent of resentment seeps from your pores. Why should you have to sit and take care of someone else’s baby when you want one? “I’m sorry if I said something wrong.”

“No, no, you’re fine. I was just thinking,” you put the sleeping pup down to its duvet. “I want one. I want what you have so bad it hurts.”

“Why don’t you talk to Deku? I’m sure he’d love to have a baby with you,” she smiles to push your hurt away but, it only makes you grimace eternally. 

“For us to talk, he’d have to be home for more than thirty minutes before he crashes out in bed,” that ends the conversation. You knew that dating a pro hero with ambitions like Izuku’s would be no walk in the park however, you didn't think it would be this hard.

You know he didn’t mean to but, Midoriya has inadvertently neglected you. First, it was forgetting date night due to the need to pursue a link to a villian. Then, it was forgetting your birthday to finish some paperwork. It seemed like something always popped up that Midoriya had to follow but, you couldn’t hold a grudge; he’s always been the type to help.

‘You knew what you were getting into when you chose to date him,’ you blamed yourself. You can't just expect him to change (and you grew bitter for that as well). 

“Izuku,” you started across from him on the floor. He looked up at you with those dark green hues, giving you his full attention. “Izuku, why haven’t you marked me yet?”

“Y-Y/N, ahh you caught me off guard. I mean, do you want me to mark you?” he always does this; reverse the question when he doesn’t know the right answer. 

“Izuku, I asked you a question,” you put your chopsticks down.

“Well, I don’t think I should bind myself to you,” cue the dramatic scent drop. “N-No it’s not you, it’s me. Okay, that sounds cliché but I just, I don't want to keep you from finding someone better.”

‘THERE ISN’T ANYONE BETTER THAN YOU,’ the words were stuck in your mouth. The conversation should have ended there but you were hurt. 

“Y/N, please, say something. Are you mad?”

‘Yes.’ “No.”

“Are you sure? You haven’t take-”

“I’m fantastic. Just not as hungry as I thought I was. But, I’m glad you told me. Now, how was your day?” It hurts but your grin through it. The conversation shouldn’t end there but, you have no desire to see what other bullshit can leave the alpha’s mouth. 

You know he doesn’t mean it in this way but, doesn’t that mean that Midoriya doesn’t see you as a life partner? Wouldn’t it be safe to say that he’d leave you if he found someone better? Weren’t you just wasting your time? 

“Are you sure you’re okay? We can talk about it if you want,” he pauses to yawn. “Maybe, tomorrow though. It was such a long day. All Might was-“ ahh yes, All Might. You’re sure you know more about him than you do about Midoriya’s mother. 

You feel unwanted, used, and taken advantage of. You do everything for him: cook, clean, support, help him with leads that stump him, drag him to bed, bandage him up. Yet, your efforts have only gotten you in a position where you’re positive Midoriya only keeps you around for entertainment. It’s a bad feeling.

But, you can’t bring yourself to pack your belongings and leave. Your inner Omega is intertwined with his,  even without the mating mark. She wants to be with him till the very end; till either one of you dies and the other soon follows into the afterlife. 

But, the feelings just keep growing. They’re in the back of your mind as you kiss Izuku, they’re in the corner of your bedroom as you cuddle with him, they’re blaring in the car as you falsely laugh. So, you suppose it’s half your fault that things have gotten to the point that they currently are. 

Today, you woke up in a particularly good mood. Midoriya had made your favorite breakfast and kissed you roughly before he left the house. 

“I have a feeling something’s going to happen today; make sure to call me when you get to work and when you get home,” his lips pressed down on you almost urgently, making your insides quiver. “And, make sure you check your surroundings.” 

“I will Izuku. I’ll see you later,” and he went out to save the world. You got dressed in some leggings and a blouse and headed off to your café. While it wasn’t the flashiest job for a person with a powerful quirk like yours, you loved watching the little pups pick out what they wanted. Occasionally, you could even pick them up. 

“Hai, Y/N. I have some fresh scones waiting to be put out,” one of your workers greeted you. You h/c colored hair was pulled into a messy game, a few tendril framing your face. There was a low gust of air from the door behind you. Another mother with her pup. 

You got to work helping wherever you could, throwing powder sugar at your workers whenever they were being too impatient; you have a knack for doing things slowly till you get them perfect. 

“As to be expected of such an analytical quirk,” one of your best employees, Kagey, tells you. 

“You’re just mad because I won’t allow you to rush my beautiful cakes,” you stick your tongue out at him. 

“No, I’m mad because you’ve made me wait for ten minutes just so you could place those fucking cakes. And they’re placed crooked. I could’ve been over there serving that hottie. Look at himmmm,” Kagey shakes your shoulders while fawning over some unsuspecting soul. 

“Ummm, you forget I have Izuku,” you raise one of your eyebrows. 

“There’s no crime in looking. It’s not like you’ve got a mark,” you crack your neck. “Sorry, I forget that’s a sore subject for you. “

“It’s fine. And, who’s the poor victim you’re staring at this time,” he points to a man you’re well acquainted with: Monoma Neito.

His blonde hair is still light but he’s grown it to be a little above his shoulders. Those beady eyes that used to be rimming with anger and discontent are finally happy and playful. He’s filled out, body-wise, and you can tell he’s bulging with muscle. 

‘Izuku’s better.’

“Damn, that glow hit him like a truck,” Kagey pushes your shoulders forward. “Okay, bitch, stop being pushy.” 

“Ofcourse, you know a beefcake like that. Introduce me to him! I’d love to get my tongue on him,” you shudder with disgust at that mental image. “Don’t look like that. My men always leave me satisfied.”

“I didn’t know that was how people describe STI’s nowadays. I really am a Boomer now,” he smack you upside the head. “Okay, okay, I’m going. Just stop hitting me.”

You wander over to Monoma, trying to decide what’s the best way to approach him. You decide on being direct. 

“Monoma,” he turns and his face lights up with recognition. “Hai, it’s been so long. Welcome to my shop”

“Y/N!? You own this place? I would’ve thought you’d want to be a hero. It’s good to see you,” he grabs your hand in his. His hands are warm, no doubt he’s probably feeling the strength of your quirk. He’s always been the handsy type. “You’re single? What happened to Izuku?”

“We’re still together. We’re just taking things slow,” you shrugged off his gaze. “Plenty of people do it.”

“So, no mark and no ring. You’re basically single,” you ruffle up and his tone. You had forgotten he can be as blunt as yourself, one of the main reasons you had been good friends. 

“You could say that if that’s what you believe. But, this isn’t about me. My friend over there, Kagey,” you point your thumb over at the fool. “He wanted to know if you’d like to go on a date.”

“You and I both know I’m straight. But, I appreciate the offer,” Monoma raises his voice so Kagey can hear. You can hear muffled cursing about straight men behind you following his statement. “But, I’d love to take you out sometime this week.”

“I have Izuku.”

“Do you really? You know alphas are preconditioned to mark what they feel belongs to them. What does that say about you?” He knows exactly how to manipulate your mind. 

“...when are you free?”

                                                         ***

You were shaking as you applied your makeup. Today was the day that you were going to go on a small date with Monoma. Nothing too serious; just an outing with a friend that just so happens to be an alpha. 

Why were you shaking? Well, you hadn’t told Izuku about your plans. He normally gets home later in the night and you had planned on getting back from your date earlier than him. But, what if he found out? Well, it shouldn't matter, right? 

He did tell you that you could find someone else (although, now as the moment was nearing, you started to doubt how serious he was when he told you). So, it shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s not like you were planning on running away with this alpha. But, would Izuku understand that? 

‘He’s not even going to find out. No point in worrying about it,’ you hissed as you accidentally poked your eye with your makeup brush. 

The soft material of the skirt stretched across your thighs as you paced through the halls. Were you really going to do this? 

“Y/N, I’m home baby. I picked up some pizza for us,” you froze. Out of all the times for Izuku to come home early, he chose the day when you were going to converse with another alpha. You thought about trying to run back to the bedroom but he was already halfway to the kitchen and he would most likely hear you. 

“Ohhhh that’s great. Really great,” you inched towards the couch to try to cover yourself in the pillows. 

“Yeah, why are you covered in the pillows? Are you building a new nest here? Want me to go get my shirts?” You immediately felt guilty all over again. Here you were about to betray him and he’s being selfless. 

“NOOO, no, just, stay right there,” you sink in further as you hoped he’d leave you alone. Unfortunately for you, Izuku doesn’t leave anything alone if he thinks something is wrong. 

“What’s wrong, omega?” He gets closer and sniffs the air. “Are you wearing perfume?”

“Yeahhhh, wanted to try something new,” you avoid eye contact. 

“Why aren’t you looking at me?”

“...”

“Omega, look at me please.”

“Izuku, I’m just not feeling well.”

“Look at me.”

You look at him with small tears in the corners of your eyes. 

“Awww, omega. Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He starts to emit a soothing smell for you. 

“Izuku, I have a-“ the doorbell interrupts you. You know it’s Monoma. You know you can’t get up to get the door. You know that you are fucked. 

“I’ll get it. But, when they leave, we are talking about what’s wrong,” you gulp. You hear Midoriya open the door. 

“Midoriya, it’s nice to see you. Is Y/N ready?” There’s the nail in the coffin. 

“What do you mean?

“We have a date tonight.”

“No you fucking don’t.”

“Um, we do. I asked her out the other day at her café,” you hear silence till you hear the unmistakable sound of Izuku’s growl. The air becomes stiffling as his pheromones threaten to choke you to death. You cower in the pillows, listening to Izuku grab Monoma and pull him into the room. No matter how much he told you he’d be fine with you finding another alpha,  you should’ve known your actions would drive him feral. 

“Why the fuck is he here?” Izuku snarled in your face. You were silently sobbing, ashamed of what your actions had caused. “FUCKING ANSWER ME, OMEGA.”

“Y-you’re the one that said you weren’t mating me in case I found someone better,” you pushed the pillow into his face as you stood to defend yourself. “Why are you so fucking mad? You drove me to this.”

“Don’t try to fucking blame me. You should have told me. So, you really want him?” You nodded your head to spite him. “No, you don’t. You just want to piss me off. Well, if that’s the objection, you accomplished your goal. Now, strip.”

“What?” The false confidence was wearing off. 

“You wanted to make me mad and you did. You want a mating mark? I’ll give you one. Now, strip for your punishment,” you shakily point to Monoma that was wide-eyed in Izuku’s grip. “Yes, in front of him. He needs to see you belong to me since he’s clearly a visual learner.”

You slowly reach behind and unzip your skirt. You push the fabric down your legs to bunch at you ankles, step out of them, and shakily pull at the hem of your shirt. You lock eyes with Monoma as you pull it above your head. The air feels cold against your soft skin. You stand there in your bra and panties, awaiting Izuku’s next command. 

“I said strip. Keep going,” you gulp. 

“I should leave,” Izuku slams Monoma into a chair. He grips his shoulder so hard you can hear a small crack. 

“Nahhhh, stay. I’m sure you knew she belonged to me but, this is a good reminder,” Izuku turns back to watch your breasts spill from your bra. Your nipples pebble from the attention you’re getting. You slip your panties down your legs, reaching for a pillow to cover yourself. 

“No, show him what belongs to me. Turn around and bend over,” you slowly turn, placing your hands on the sofa behind you. You clench your legs together. You bend at the waist, hearing two sharp intakes of breath. 

You stand there like an exhibit, slick pooling in between your legs. You’re sure they can see your nether lips glistening with arousal as well as the wall, your breasts hanging from the position. 

“Look at how wet she is for me, Monoma. I bet you wish she was like that for you,” Izuku’s breath fans across your ass. His hands gently cups your waist, tugging you backwards so he can muzzle your ass crack. “Such a beautiful body. All mine.”

“IZUKU,” you scream out as he suddenly slaps your ass. It makes more slick fall between your legs but, it still stings as a punishment. “I’ll be good omega.”

“I know baby. You’re always such a good girl. You just need to be corrected. I’ve been giving you a little too much free reign. Wanted to be sensitive alpha. Wanted to give you time. No more of that,” you shivered at the promise. “Gonna give you exactly what you need.”

A tirade of smacks rain down on your behind, lighting up your backside. You yelp and try to pull away but are restrained by Izuku’s strong arms. He’s the one supporting your weight as you crash down against the couch, the front half of your body slumped down. 

“Awww, is Omega tired? But, we’re just getting started,” from behind you, you can hear Monoma’a breathing get heavier. “Let’s give fuckface a good show baby.”

You’re about to question what he means when Izuku stands up, walks over, and rips the tie from Monoma’s neck. He walks back over to you, tying your arms together. 

“I’m in control,” he says. You quiver when you hear Izuku’s knees hit the floor behind you. Only moments later his face is buried in your heat, lapping like a dog. It sounds so lewd to hear him slurp at your juices.

He starts off slowly kissing the backs of your thighs, gripping you by your ass cheeks as he pulls your globes apart. You feel exposed when he takes an exaggerated sniff. “I’ve missed this. Need to start being more attentive to my baby.”

He licks up and down your slit, lightly nibbling on your clit as he circles it, pulling it between his lips to give it a harsh suck. Your hole clenches around nothing as you moan and try to cant your hips into his face. Your efforts are rewarded with a warning smack. 

“Just enjoy my tongue,” he positions you to be on your knees as he continues to eat you out. He first slips in one finger to the knuckle, reveling in the debauched groan that leaves your beautiful lips. Your lips are parted as drool rubs down the left side of your face. Your eyes go crossed eyed from Izuku slipping in another finger and curling them upwards, those two fingers touching that spongy texture inside of you. The perfect Ahegao face. A vision of wrecked. 

“That’s it, cum all over my fingers,” he continues to finger fuck you through your orgasm, latching back onto your clit. You shiver from the overstimulation, wanting to run with nowhere to go. You’ve forgotten Monoma as you whimper. 

“Zuku’ too much. Please,” you’re shaking as you bite into the sofa to mute your screams. 

“Aht aht aht, I wanna hear you fucking moan for me. Let him know who’s making you feel this good,” he allows his lone hand to stroke your stomach, knowing that was one of your sweet spots.  You whine loudly as you cum once again, mascara running.  

“Nooo more. Izuku. Please. Alpha,” you’re stuck there. Forced to take all the pleasure he gives you. 

“I think you can give me more baby,” he removes himself from you as he unbuttoned his jeans. “Monoma, you wanna know something funny.”

“What?”

“I bet you thought you’d be the one to fuck her pretty pussy tonight,” Izuku laughs with no amusement behind the sound. “Never thought you’d be forced to watch.”

Izuku pushes his hard cock between your legs, smearing your juices across his shaft. He grabs his cock as he toys with your entrance, pushing the tip of his cock between your lips and groaning at the sight. Your pussy grips the tips in a vice, trying to suck him in further. 

“Alpha, stop teasing me. Please. More. Give it to me.”

“I thought you couldn’t take anymore,” he teases. 

“Pleaseeeee ohiuuhhh yess,” you throw your head back when you feel him push all the way in in one motion. Your toes curl as his cock strains against your walls, forcing you to take it all. He expertly pulls back and gives an experimental thrust. 

“Look at that pussy, Monoma. Isn’t it nice? Too bad you’ll never get to feel my pussy,” he sets a bruising pace, never giving you a chance to recover. You hear your own whines mixed in with his pelvis slapping against your ass, your body rocking forward from the force of his body. 

He wraps his hand around your neck, lifting your body so he can make you meet his thrusts. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum around his cock but, you’re okay with being used like a cocksleeve.

“I’m gonna fuck my babies into your tight pussy. Gonna breed you,” you mewl. “Is that what you wanted? Pups?” 

You nod as you cry, partly from the overstimulation but also from the emotional state you’ve been reduced to. 

“I’ll give you as many pups as you want. Looks like I’ll have to fuck you out of your mind more to get you to talk to me,” he growls beside your side and he leans over you, crushing you beneath him as he pushes your body to scrunch beneath him, pounding you like he hated you. 

“Are you gonna cum again,” you nod due to your raw throat. You’re clenching and the pleasure starts to build but, this time, it feels different. Your vision goes out as you spasm, stars coming across your eyes as you squirt all over his cock, making a mess on the cock bellow you. Your tightness pushes Izuku into his orgasm. 

“Cum for me, Omega. Cum for your alpha,” you whine as you spasm but nothing comes out. He’s pushed you into a dry orgasm. You feel his hot spurts of cum enter your pussy, coating everywhere inside of you. His teeth sink into your neck, making you his forever. 

“Izuku,” you whine. 

“Feels good, omega?” You nod. He slowly pulls out from behind you, tapping your ass like a horse. 

“Get the fuck out,” Monoma doesn’t have to be told twice as he runs out. Izuku grabs a few baby wipes from the kitchen and comes back to wipe your pussy. 

“You’re mine. Never forget that.”

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

I hope you all enjoyed this. I was asked to write this a longgggg time ago and I’m so sorry for it taking so much time to complete. I rewrote this a total of three times and I’m finally happy with the end result. 

Tag List: @sakurashortstack @sinclairsamess

[jooneggs]

MIDNIGHT MENAGERIE 1/3) - KNJ

❀ Word count: 8.7k

❀ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

❀ SUMMARY: Like water, cradling your fragile soul, Namjoon has held the lily of your heart all your life and you wish you could let him know just how much that means to you. Coincidentally, it just so happens you can: in a week's time when you're stuck in the holiday of your life at Namjoon's father's Botanical gardens. Will you finally get to repay him in a bed of roses or will he be the one to make the bouquet for you?

❀ Genre/AU: f2l, fluff, angst, smut

❀ Rating: 18+

❀ Warnings: Sexual tension (if you use a magnifying glass), Brief anxiety attack, Brief mention of past trauma/sexual assault (I’ve starred this bit between two ❀’s if you need to skip).

❀ A/N: I got back from my writing slump and i’m here with part one that took lots more time and effort than i expected haha! Writers block had me in its clutches but i’m here, and i really hope you enjoy the new chapter of this Joon Series! And a shout out to @jamaisjoons​ for letting me be a part of this project *blows kisses*

❀

They say that on the longest nights of spring you can see it. When the dark frames the stars in tenebrous black and the halo of the moon umbers the shallow of the sky. When the flowers bloom in a thicket down old country lanes and the ground softens for idle footsteps. Just beyond its fleecy hedges and dew-damp grass, framed by the large body of an antique greenhouse it can all be seen: two lovers in an embrace as beautiful and age-old as the wrinkled love-lines on their palms.

❀

It’s 7am.

And it’s a Sunday.

You find that during the times you need it most, comfort is in a suitcase and has taken the next flight south. 

Feet strewn out from the duvet and palms placed flat to the bed, you find yourself with the sudden urge to breathe. Dormant around you, your room is dark and the distant sounds of birds can be heard outside. Thoughts are wild in your head, uncaged and hitting at your skull to escape. You find them moving to your windpipe and toying with your ability to take in the right amount of air you physically need to breathe right now. Whenever this happens, it’s like the cold of the outside has come indoors and made its bed in your chest. It’s like all the muscles in your body are working against you. This feeling has lasted for over three years now, or what feels like your whole life. It happens suddenly and unexpectedly, at times when you’re low or even when you're at your happiest. A gust of wind will fill the air and instantly, you're trapped again.

Reaching for the blinds, you pull yourself up against the headrest and attempt to let some sunlight and air into the room. You wrap your fingers around the beads of the pull and gently tug as light streams across the floor of your room and slowly climbs the walls. You ball your eyes shut as the exposure blinds you and almost hiss at the sudden change of atmosphere in the room. Although now incredibly bright, you still feel your hands shaking and lungs wheeze as you curl yourself further against the wall, commanding yourself to stay calm. 

You feel your body reach this state whenever you consciously or unconsciously muster up thoughts of the past. Thoughts regarding negative experiences: failed friendships, attempted friendships, unrequited loves, unwanted advances from desperate, hungry, grease-slicked hands..

You don't want to have to go through this so often. To face the threat of feeling an inch of your being escape you each day. You want to be held, caressed and healed. You want to be bundled up into a blanket of another body only to disappear into them and their world and to never return again.

Sucking in another breath of air, you fish for the bottle of water on your side cabinet. With such restless, anxious hands, you find the task incredibly hard and end up having to get out of bed to reach for the bottle now face forward on the floor, dribbling onto the carpet. 

Hands and feet now damp and jittery, you attempt to salvage the remaining drops of water in the bottle before draping the duvet back over you, right up to your shoulders, and nestling against the wall like a caterpillar to its cocoon. 

You think about taking deep breaths, and rubbing your hands to conduct heat. You also think about all the terrible, horrible things that lay wake in your past. You don't want to think about these things, you want to find your way out of this panic. Negative thoughts as pungent as these don't tend to want to go away as quickly as the others do. 

You've learnt to let the thoughts linger, accept their presence, acknowledge them and deal with them one by one. It isn’t an easy task and it’s not a quick one either. It’s like rationalizing your derationalized thoughts into specific moments of your life that really hurt to think about. It’s worth it when someone like your therapist is helping you out, but when it’s just you on your own, it feels impossible knowing where to start. One of the best things you’ve found recently, is morphing your fear into tiredness and letting your anxiousness send you to sleep. It sounds like the opposite of something that anxiety should do, but by the time you’ve exhausted your mental and physical capacity, you feel ready to sleep for a thousand years or more. 

So with minimal effort, and the sudden feeling of aching bones and a sore throat, you tip yourself back into bed. And when you close your eyes, it takes all the effort in the world to push back all those thoughts telling you to stay up and worry and bleed yourself raw. But against the odds, you do it. You do it like clockwork because this is like a routine to you, one that means you can never fully relax in the wake of losing a part of yourself all over again. 

❀

Sunlight is like the lighthouse that finds you stranded on the shore and wakes you from your sleep. It pulls you from the deep water and onto the warm speckles of sand. You’ve woken up. 

In many ways, you feel like you’ve never been asleep. Your throat still stings and you haven’t forgotten the feeling of being unable to breathe. It’s like sleep is the short term solution to an everlasting problem that can take a backseat for your slumber but pop back up ten-fold as soon as you wake. And even then, it won’t be long before the problem starts to probe into your dreams. You feel like that’s already started to happen. A thin husk of memory tells you that your last dream definitely was a nightmare and that you’ve been haunted by monsters and dream figures chasing you for a while. 

Things seem much better when you aren’t in the shell of your room or the realm of your sleep. Since your later teenage years, you found much more comfort staying in or near the outdoors, sometimes surrounded by your parents, sometimes calmed by your cats. It was a shame because your room to you was your haven, a slice of heaven covered in all the things that you loved. And you still love it, you just feel a slight weight in its presence, one that the outdoors helps brush away. 

You stretch your feet and rub your chest, relieved to find yourself breathing normally again. Twisting in your bed, you wrestle a teddy off the side and move to head toward the door. Wetting your feet on the rug still damp from your spilled water, you trudge toward the end of the room and swing open the door from its hinges before walking across to the kitchen. 

On a quiet 9am Sunday morning, you want nothing more than to bury your troubles in tea and a book. Your school week has once again ended, culminating in the beginning of a spring break. It has also meant your parents leaving on the next train they could out of your hometown and into the city. 

Since the dawning of time - or rather the first waking moment you could remember - you had lived in the countryside. The air was a fresh lavender breeze, the sky at night blew out stars like blaring bulbs and the ground beneath always felt like it was rooting itself back to you. They say ‘the grass is always greener’, and many times you had almost fooled for it: believing that life in the city would bring you the freedom you really wanted from your parents, the joy from true love you lacked. You thought it would change the cycle of your life, like all those terrible moments that had happened to you could have been avoided if it weren’t for the sanctuary of suburbia. Like the knowledge you would have known there, would have protected you from all the devils of this world. 

You sometimes felt you didn’t know enough, That Tolkien and Carroll weren’t enough to shape your knowledge into experiences otherwise faced by children of the city. That you were strange, the odd one out because you hadn’t had the life you felt a lot had been living. At 12 there were no first relationships, at 16 no proms, at 18 no parties, at 20 certainly no lovemaking. Had you been living falsely? Was your clone-self fulfilling your wishes out in the world without your knowledge? 

These feelings were occurrences that hit you when you were down; crept up on you when you least expected it. But most times, you knew better. You knew your life was good and that the only feeling you were missing out on was feeling complete in regards to that. You could see it in the way your parents walked when they’d return from weekends in the city: shoulders slightly slumped, breath laboured, legs an entanglement of walking on thick tar or marble stairs. You could see it in the way the blare your box TV made you feel whenever you seldom switched it on or the way street cars or school kids made you feel whenever you stumbled to the edge of the green belt on the cusp of the  town. 

It was a feeling that reminded you that you loved the countryside. That whatever you had missed out on, you only had to gain by the joy you felt living in this little world of your own. That whatever you faced, were facing, or yet to face, would be outweighed by the positives that surrounded you each and every day. 

With a lighter note to your step, you made your way to the kettle and took it to the tap. Filling it with water, you latch it back on to its base and switch it on. Today was a green tea day, the fresh scent of leaves and the warm yet bitter taste of vegetal flora. You pop a bag of it into a bottomless white mug and wait for the kettle to chime. 

Every spring break since your early teenage years was one you had looked forward to. That, and the addition of any single break you got away from working and learning. You loved the time away to pursue what you really loved most and to feel as if you had all the time in the world. 

Most of all, you loved being with your friends.

You couldn’t forget that what had made your experience in the country so beautiful and thriving was the people you had around you. Without them, you’d have no experiences at all, let alone the knowledge to make things like the cup of tea you were brewing right now. All of them had taught you different things and given you different opportunities and adventures. All seven of them being boys, you missed their brotherly presence and the feeling of really belonging when you were beside them. In fact, you hoped today, with feeling more solemn and tired, they’d magically sense your sadness and start the spring break with you.

Fishing the bag from your mug, you stir the tea and bring it out to the front garden. Closing the door gently behind you, you move onto the patio and sit against the wall of your house, brushing against a rose bush climbing its walls to the drain pipe of the roof. Setting your mug on the cold of the ground. You turn to your left and push at the floor of the patio, skimming your nails against the brick edge of one of the tiles. With quick effort, the brick slides to the side and you lean forward to peer into the shallow of ground dug out below. Under this small tile of your garden was a small collection of books you were currently reading. You prized your books, but never bought them new without their own wear-and-tear. Keeping them underground would only further the process of their weathering, so any books you bought were second hand from the local market or given as a gift from one of your friends who was a book-worm. 

Reaching down, you close your eyes and pick a random book of the day. Sliding back the tile, you flick through the browning pages to the dog-eared bookmark of where you last were and start to read. It’s no fun just reading one book at once. You love to pursue multiple lives and experiences at one time as well as critique books on what one lacks and the other makes up for. If given the opportunity to do so, why not take the bull by the horns and charge into multiple universes with adventurous intentions?

With an open mind, you continue to read, your intention to fall into this book for at least a few hours before resurfacing back to reality. You find time slipping further with each crease of a new page. Your tea growing colder as you take small, yet thoughtful sips, popping the mug back onto the tile and rubbing your leg in reflection. What brings a story to an end? What is it that causes the binding to fold shut? Is it that a character can finally be content with the way things are; is it that their pain has finally ended and now the stage of their acceptance begins? You’ve always hoped that books would carve out your path for you, would give you the knowledge you needed to move on, or bring a charming fantasy character to you without you lifting a finger. You wanted to know what it was that you were searching for, that comfort that could just be right in front of you..

You turn a page. 

“Y/N!”

“Namjoon?!” 

You look up, and see him. Dropping your book back into your lap, you wrestle with your hands and move the hair from your eyes. 

He’s staring back at you, intent on grabbing all of your attention. His umber eyes shine against the afternoon light and his flushed lips grin a lopsided smile. Sun-kissed, tawny skin and a button-nose - he is a vision - and you forget how hard it is to maintain eye contact with him for too long until your staring right back and squinting at his beauty. 

His eyes drop down to your book and move back up, glowing with his usual sense of admiration and approval. 

“Reading another one this time?”

“Yeah..” You mumbled “Well I've started this one already but i took a break from it and picked it out today in a random draw. But it’s pretty good so far so i’m not really fussed. I think I might even pursue this one fully to the end. No breaks..cool, right?”

“What one is it?” He responds, pulling the cover up into his eye line and taking it into his hands. 

“You should know by the cover. Go on. Guess.”

“I’m not that good..”

“Hey! You were the one who lent me the book!”

“Probably because I've never gotten the chance to read it..”

“You recommended it to me!”

He squints and observes both sides of the book, careful to not peer at the binding with the title on. You watch with a strange enthusiasm as you yet again share a bonding moment with him over something you feel not many cherish anymore. It’s good to have common interests with others, yet the more you divulge in them, the deeper you fall into that person. 

“It’s Doctor Zhivago by...Boris..Pasternak?” He smiles “But translated right? I can’t remember the man’s name..”

“You mean ‘name’s’. Hayward and Harari. Bit of a tongue twister. It’s so good.”

“That book was the most complicated thing.” 

“But romantic.” You whisper.

“What was that?” He tilts his head.

“I said it..it’s romantic.”

“Oh..” He blushed “Yeah it’s very well written. Right..”

❀

Sometimes you guessed that ‘that’ was the thing you were missing. When you lay awake in bed at night, or felt yourself losing breath in the bundle of a blanket; in the morning, spilling a frozen mug of tea, or at night, clutching onto one of the books he had given you. Your friends had given you everything you needed, helped you in different ways, and sometimes you didn’t know how to repay them. You were reminded that you were enough, that what you did by just being you was enough to keep all of them smiling. Your friends had given you everything, but more than ever, right now, recently, one person had been taking over all of your thoughts, all of your friendships. 

Here he was standing in front of you. And yet again you maintain normal conversation. You avert your eyes to intense stares, you keep from slipping on your tongue. Your hands stay in your lap, and your fingers ache to touch his. It was something you thought of often, yet something that remained at the back of your mind. Like a dirty secret, you didn’t want this longing to ruin the broken bridges you’d connected from your past that had taken you so long to build. 

But moments like these, when he smiled too bright, or let his cheeks tinge pink in the presence of you without even trying to hide it..you knew you were so damn screwed. 

❀

“y/n?”

You snapped from your thinking “Yeah, huh?!”

“Thinking again?”

“Yeah. Sorry..”

He smiled, exposing those beautiful dimples “It’s okay. I was wondering if you wanted to pop into mine and grab some more new books to read once you’ve finished that one?”

“That actually sounds great. I think the spring break will give me more time to read some of your favourites.” 

“Awesome. C’mon then.” He reached out his hand to pull you up onto your feet and take you next door to his house. Like a burning crush, you touch his hand and feel a small fire come to life in your stomach. It was a common occurrence and one you still hadn’t managed to learn how to extinguish. Rather it had become a feeling you blamed on too much herbal tea or lack of sleep. 

Deep down, the small fire was telling you that its existence was most likely due to ‘him’.

You follow Namjoon next door, across the small valley of your front garden and into his. He was tall, masking the view ahead of you, and his broad shoulders stretched the expanse of the garden gate as he idly swung it open. In a metaphor, he was a large, wise-old tree. You had envied him ever since your young teenage years and were unlikely to ever feel superior, let alone on the same level as him.

❀

As your neighbour, Namjoon moved in when you were 11. Living your whole life in the same house out in the country, bothered only by the rising sound of birds, you’d yet to have a neighbour that wasn’t five times the age of you. It was a new experience, and happened to come at the most confusing and inconvenient age of your life where you were like a magnet to anyone of the same age and opposite gender. Alongside your other six male school friends you had happened to befriend, moving up to secondary school, you found he was soon to become your 7th. Like your other friends, he was kind, charming and open from the moment you made your first greeting. You all found interest in the hobbies of adventure and play and reveled in the fact that your fantasy world was now one to share with many others. 

Growing up as a human was weird enough at 11: weird bodily changes, voice-deepening, and a sudden strong romantic attraction to others. Your friends and you thought it was funny, speaking at lengths only to crack off tune or bopping Adam's apples like a game of tennis while you sat there and touched at the flat plain of your female neck. At times you’d play twister and fall apart at the sudden growth of each other's legs and how it would up the difficulty of the game without you even trying. Other times you’d stare at the faces across from you and wonder what the soft blades of their cheeks would feel like to touch. 

You thought that was bad enough, but at 19 it had hit you like a brick and was only getting worse. 

❀

“You had a bad night?” 

You look up as he turns around by the door of his house and nod, “Yeah..something like that i guess..”

“You can tell me about it.” He pauses and brushes his fingers against the tips of yours - and there goes that fire in the pit of my stomach again..

“It’s okay. It was just a bit of an anxiety attack. It came on unprovoked, no reason, no big deal.”

“As long as you're sure.” 

He stares into the pits of your soul with that intent and interest in his eyes again, and you simply nod and smile.

“Alright, let’s go find a new book to cheer us up. I’ve got this amazing one i found at last weeks market, you won’t believe the coloured edgism on it!”

❀

A few hours had passed and you and Namjoon had gone through dozens of his books, discussing why each and every one was a merit to read. You found his bookshelf harbored all sorts of genres, but favoured writers such as Murakami and Hesse. It truly was a sight to behold: a 16-shelf, 7-foot mahogany cupboard of prismatic-colour in the form of disjointed stack upon stack of novels. It was like a second home to you; one for the books, and two for the person who lived there. 

“So you’ve chosen?..” Namjoon tilts his head, looking up from his spot kneeling on the floor. 

“Ah..i’m really not sure.”

“Go on.” He sniggers, “I'll do a drum roll.”

“Okay. So. I’m choosing ‘A Wild Sheep Chase’..aaand, ‘The White Book’!”

“Those are amazing! Hold on, show me the covers again.”

You move from your position leaning against the bookshelf, and kneel next to him, arm brushing against the cotton of his. He seems to respond to this, and shuffles closer, knee knocking yours as he moves to see the covers of the books more clearly. 

Although he’s silent, you feel his acknowledgement and study of the novels before him as he remembers their plots and summarizes his critiques against them. Knowing him for so long, you can almost feel the cogs in his brain working and you struggle to hold back a smile as you imagine him feeling the same way about you. 

*ding, dong*

In a sudden halt, the door rings, and the two of you separate as quickly as you came together to head towards the entrance. A silent awareness slips between the two of you regarding the past few hours you’d spent scrolling through books together. This was something friends did, right?

“Hey, lovebirds!” You hear a deep voice chime and peer from the side of Namjoon to see the other six of your friends standing out on the patio in a huddle. Taehyung stands centre of the pack, beaming with his box-grin as if he’d just opened the gift of his life. You peel back behind Namjoon nervously and wave back to them, making yourself known, watching a smile deepen on all of their faces as they glance back and forth between the two of you. 

You know what it must look like, but you’d hoped they’d be used to it by now. The older you got, the more time you divided towards Namjoon compared to the rest of the boys and you never gave an explanation for it, leaving an air of question between you and the others. At this point, you weren’t surprised by their assumptions. You simply went along with it, hoping one day their words would manifest themselves into tangible things.

“Hi guys. How’s the beginning of Spring Break treating you?” Namjoon smiles, fiddling with the books now in his hands. 

“It’s going well. We were enjoying the sun and nearly forgot about you guys.” Jimin replies, a sly wink directed your way.  

“C’mon now, what do you want?” You smile. 

“Come to the hideout with us.” Jungkook chimes, scrunching his nose, “Let’s make some plans and get stuff done!” 

❀

It was a mossy road, filled with scattered piles of leaves, hulking rocks and long, giant-like cutlasses of grass. Trees decorate the rim of the trail, large oaks and fuzzy maples. The flowers surrounding you crowd in, tickling your feet, shining a blistering yellow onto your chin. The sun above flares and your neck swelters as you trail behind the seven boys. 

The path to your secret hideout was never an easy one to make. Beautiful but not easy. In the past eight years of being friends, the nature surrounding your home and further out had reared its wild and boisterous head, making its mark with swollen muddy ditches and overgrown thickets of grass. You frequented it often, making the trek in under half an hour with flimsy boots, often exhausted from the school day. Sometimes you’d visit in the mornings by yourself, shuffling around chairs and cleaning up crumb-riddled plates from the last visit there; other times you’d head over in the evening and nap on the ground with your head in one of the boys laps as you mumbled incoherently about some classmate or teacher. 

Your hideout was a camper van, plastered white, now chalky flakes. Its interior was large and had been hollowed out into two large rooms of a dusty kitchen and bedroom/living area via the drivers door. As you approached it, a sense of nostalgia filled you, memories rushing in chromatic frames of adventures played out within the confines of those few feet. Although overgrown, the ground beneath you still felt as pliant and kind as the first day you set foot. 

You come to a halt as Taehyung steps forward and swings the loose driver door open, bowing in a way too childlike not to smile

“Ladies and gentleman, your accommodation for the day. Step right up, step right up.”

Following the boys, you find Taehyung waiting with the door open and you nod in return, climbing up, sliding across the driver's seat and landing in the main space of the van. Grabbing the nearest seat, you press yourself up against the backrest and kick off your shoes, feeling a sting evolve then dissipate around the clutches of your ankles. It’s not long before Namjoon joins you to your right, and Yoongi sits idly to your left. Jungkook, Taehyung and Jimin form a small triangle in the centre of the room and Jin and Hoseok move over to the kitchen to presumably look for snacks. You wiggle your toes and smile at the boys around you. The past few hours had made the morning feel like a distant memory and you, yet again, made a note in your brain that reminded you how important these guys were to your mental stability. 

“Jellied eels and gummy worms!” Hoseok cheers, bouncing into the room alongside Jin with two large packets in tow.

“Eels?..” Namjoon mouths next to you.

“Worms?” Yoongi resounds.

“They’re gummy sweets guys! Did you even have a childhood or did your life only just begin when you met me?” Jin smirks, throwing himself on an armchair opposite you and leaning over to grab a can of soda from the seat underneath him. 

“My life began when I started eating these sweets.” Hoseok hums, a gummy worm dangling from the creases of his lips. 

“Let’s have one!” Whines Jungkook, and pulls Hoseok down to share the sweets out with everyone in the room, nodding at Jin to join along and share his cans of soda too.

❀

You met the boys halfway through your Primary Education, age 11. Being a socially distant and independent child, you had struggled to befriend anyone the past few years and were blissfully ready to roll through yet another year alone. You hadn't known any different, and expected you were better off not having friends. There were certain days however, when an unfamiliar sense of loneliness would strike you and you’d struggle all the next week in school. 

Moving up to the next grade required an induction into the class. It was inevitable that part of the induction would include ‘ice-breakers’. Playing hide-and-seek and musical-chairs didn’t seem productive or fairly educational, but it helped you spot your tribe from the rest. You had found that, moving into a different set in a different year had meant everyone in class was new to you. It was exciting, but it made you feel yet again like a tiny fish in a giant pond. 

It wasn’t long before six boys, during a particularly boisterous game of dodge ball, had come to your side to make a wall around you and pellet balls back at the opposing team. You were lost for words, but stayed planted as you watched them continue to protect you and even smile back occasionally with ease. After the game, following onto lunch, they invited you to sit with them at their table. They individually introduced themselves, stretching out hands to shake with yours before moving back to demolishing their lunches. Although unfamiliar for you, you felt comfortable around these boys, and it wasn’t long before you felt secure to approach their table on rough days and simply slump straight down into your chair. 

Jin, Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, Yoongi and Hoseok had met the first day of the grade you were starting. You’d almost known them as long as they had known each other; the boys meeting by coincidence at the local convenience store to buy evening snacks a few days before they had met you during the dodge ball game. A band of misfits, as disinterested in cliques and gossip as you were, it made sense that you stuck together for the rest of your primary and secondary education.

Jin was the first for you to have a full interaction with. On a late autumn finish from school, just after the ‘razzle-dazzle fair’, Jin had ran up to as you were exiting the school gates and offered to walk you home. You had been friends for a month now and Jin admitted that he lived quite close to you and would be more than happy to take you to your house. You had agreed, and in the short 20 minute walk home, you had been able to laugh and socialize more than you had ever done before. Jin was the eldest of the group and a social spark. Alongside Taehyung, he often led the group's conversations and was unapologetically unabashed regarding his strong looks and vibrant personality. It was refreshing to see and often annoyed the group at times where they all wanted silence, yet could still hear Jin nattering away behind them. After a few years knowing and maturing with Jin, you could see the layer underneath his visage that was insecure and ashamed. It was something you saw in yourself, yet you made no qualms regarding the way you held yourself in very low regards. As an only child, Jin was like an older brother to you; always the one to continue to walk you home when the others couldn’t. Even up to the age you were now. 

You next spent time individually with Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung. With Jin, Hoseok and Yoongi out on a school trip one day, the other three were desperate to get out and made a pact with you to go out nature foraging at the end of the school day. You all kept your promise, and on a foggy October, you made your way out into the stretch of hills where you lived only to discover the abandoned camper van you now sat in. Aside from an empty fridge, and musky air, the van’s interior was the same and you spent the whole evening dusting it out and running around, planning different ways in which you could now brand this vehicle as the groups own. The three of them were the most youthful and bonded to each other like glue. On future nights in the camper van, you’d sit outside to catch a breath, only to spot them swinging their legs off the roof, clanging the sides with their feet and giggling to each other. Other times you’d wake up in your sleeping bag and wriggle over to hear three soft snores as they practically piled atop one another like little caterpillars. Jungkook was the youngest of the group, and truly the sweetest. He enjoyed physical contact, and playing with your hair including the way you’d hug him back after he’d had a long day. Although close, the boys weren’t always around to protect each other, and you’d found yourself in many situations, standing up for him as he was bullied by older kids or others who simply envied his ability to be good at practically everything. Jimin, at times, had also found himself being picked on, but unlike Jungkook, could stand up for himself and sassily retort back. Jimin was a cuddle bug and enjoyed poking fun at your lack of ability to stay still during a shoulder massage without becoming ticklish. He loved showing you new routines he’d learnt taking ballet class in the city, and often shared his experience of the bright lights, making you fear them even more. Taehyung was the same in regards to his songwriting and desperate need to learn guitar or piano but never being able to pick between the two. Taehyung was soft-spoken and euphonious in tone, and was the first to help you study for your music test, age 16, in hopes your voice would be up to parr for the grades you wanted. 

Soon after the other four boys- nearing Christmas - you had met up with Hoseok. He’d taken up a job as a newspaper boy and had started doing rounds on your street. When cycling past your door, he’d seen you reading on your patio out front and asked if you wanted to join him on his rounds by hopping on the back of his bike and holding on very tightly. Like a Ghibli character, you joined him, and felt the wind and his contagious laugh whip at your hair as you raced from street to street, paper in hand. Hoseok was the blistering, smiling sun of the group. He was the one to supply the snacks during group meetups and the hand to drag you towards your next adventure. As you got older, and your past had started to further distill itself into you, he had been there to listen and to give you that serotonin when you needed it. 

Yoongi was the last to fully introduce himself. You’d bumped into him at the annual Christmas Market and shaken off the snow that was starting to pale on your cheeks and nose. He’d felt bad that you had attended the market alone, but you had assured him that your parents were just around the corner and had let you run loose. He’d taken your woolly mitten hand and pulled you around the stalls of warm chestnuts and wood-carved geese, gums and teeth gelled into a smile the whole time. Yoongi was never one to flaunt his emotions, or smile when he didn’t need to. You felt special because he reserved all his excitement and joy for the group, hiding that side of himself from his schoolmates as if he were a stoic block of pure ice. He didn’t like to admit it, but he was protective over you: watching you mature and watching boys ogle you, hitting back out at them, saying you were nobody's object but your own. He was one of the few who taught you how to own your pride and to stand up for yourself when you needed to.

It was the 5th of January the next year when Namjoon entered the class; four months into your friendship with the boys. Namjoon was a transfer student from the city nearby and had moved schools to better accommodate his parents, now fully divulged in the industry of agriculture. At 5 feet, he stood awkwardly, his lanky form swamped in a cardigan, tie and trousers, a small badge of a book crested to his right. He bowed as he introduced himself and shuffled toward the back window seat of the class, eyes to the floor the entire lesson and entire day until dismissed for the day with the rest of his raucous classmates. A week later, he had found himself paired in a science group project with the six of you and had struggled not to look up as Jin poured his packet of mentos into a bottle of coke and watched it stream over a miserable Yoongi. It wasn’t hard then to feel a part of the mischief as he banded to the rest of you in the principal's office and subsequently joined you on a walk over to your secret hideout, officially knighted a group member after witnessing and accepting Jin’s disorderly act in front of the entire class. 

Namjoon became the group's glue: a peace-maker and divulger in clumsy behaviour, the middle man in acts of rebellion and acts of peace. He would settle any argument entailing stolen food and encourage any efforts to liven the mood. Around the rest of you, he made no secret of feeling like an outsider all his life and, as you grew older, you only found more and more stories of his you could relate yourself to. Namjoon made sense to you. He didn’t always tolerate the group's behaviour, or understand his peers, but he understood and accepted you and you often found that that was enough. 

But you stumbled on your soda as you felt his presence beside you in the camper van. Something had been missing. A lingering need for his legs to reside an inch closer, or his forehead to skim the crest of yours. A want for his voice to your ear like an ungodly prayer or his lips to plant a halo on your own. 

The way you had matured had only made it worse, not better. You had hoped you simply harbored a strong interest in his psyche, but the older you grew, the less you could ignore the fire that never left your stomach. Looking over at all the boys now, it was obvious that you’d never forget. In seven long years, they had all grown and the blaze in your gut was a whore to be sated. 

Thick limbs in tight shorts and muscles rippling under skin, their physiques had swelled from boys into men and your eyes were traitors. No longer the deviants of school-youth, their gluttony was peaking, something that grew at lengths in their trousers and peaks on their chests. The testosterone was tangible and its thick air was making it impossible to ignore your attraction toward Namjoon. 

But whether you could handle the possible rejection or sudden acceptance of love was another ordeal. Could your past ever be healed by the vines of attraction, or were you too scared to ever let another person in again?

❀

A few hours later and you were in the small kitchen, playing with dust bunnies and watching the sun sink down the hills. The boys were still in the main room, talking about their plans for the spring break. You could hear them discussing family vacations and trips to visit friends in the city. They were buzzing about expanding the camper van and joking about making it into a bachelor pad for their new-found love lifes. You listen in, but hear no noise from Namjoon in the conversation. It had felt like, as the years had passed, the boys were moving forward, finding new hobbies and friends and succeeding at becoming adults. You saw the joy in their eyes at their success and you were proud of them, but you knew Namjoon and you were lagging behind. 

All these years, Namjoon hadn’t found any new friends, he hadn’t moved out to the city to discover something new, he’d just grown in height. Of course he’d matured, mind and body and become even more undeniably magnetic, but - like you - he also wondered where his life would go. It was a silent thing you seldom mentioned but knew you shared. It was during those nights when he’d tell you his fears and the little life he dreamed of, running a bookshop and flower garden with the one he loved that you knew you wanted to be that part of his story. 

Turning from the window, you walk back into the other room to join the boys. Namjoon looks up and sidles over to make space for you to sit between him and Hoseok. You kneel against the soft burgundy rug of the floor and feel Namjoon move closer to you as he closes the circle, his hand nudging yours to check if you are okay. You look up, meet his soft eyes and smile, reassuring him that your thoughts and feelings are at least somewhat intact and he drops your gaze, turning back to the boys to listen in to their conversation. 

“So..the bachelor pad would have a super king bed?” Yoongi questions. 

“I think a super king is a bit too optimistic for this space, maybe just a double.” Taehyung chimes.

“Not if we add a conservatory extension to the end of the van.” Jimin mumbles.

“Listen, i think this conversation is getting a little bit too authentic. This is just an idea guys, don’t lose your heads.” Yoongi responds.

“Well..when i reap the benefits of my entrepreneurial enterprise, i’ll give you some cash for this little startup of ours.” Jin laughs, slapping the knees of Jimin and Taehyung who clearly seem to be the fuel to this idea.

You chuckle and gather your knees underneath you to cross your legs, “I love your ingenuity, but I want no part of this idea. I’m afraid, i’m out”

“Our startup’s doomed then.” Jimin wails “Every group needs a lady to orchestrate the rest of us, otherwise we’ll just run a riot.”

“He’s right you know.” Namjoon whispers, “I think you’d make a great CEO..”

His tone is easily distracting and you falter for a second before laughing off his words, “Thanks guys. In that case, give me 50% of the company and we have a deal!”

“Just shake her hand Jimin.” Yoongi whines and gets to his feet, “Alright guys, I’m beat. I’ll grab the sleeping bags; who put them away last?”

“The far left cupboard in the kitchen!” Jungkook says, and you turn to watch as Yoongi begins to draw out the long sleeping sacks from the cupboard and drag them through the room to where you’re seated. You tilt your head in question to Namjoon as Yoongi returns with the second lot of bags, unaware you were staying overnight with all of them.

He perks up and, making the connection to your thoughts, starts with a comment to the boys, “Hey, who let y/n know? Or did you all forget to tell her?”

“You know we’ve left all that kind of stuff to you nowadays.” Taehyung smirks, yet again sending a knowing wink your way.

Namjoon sighs, “So, while you were playing with dust-bunnies out there, we were planning to stay the night. I’m sorry i didn’t let you know, the conversation just drifted on and i got a bit distracted..”

“That’s okay..”

“Is it? Are you up for sleeping over with us?” Jungkook smiles.

You feel a sudden knot in your throat. ”Y-yeah, I..um..” 

“It’s alright if you have plans, there’s no pressure to stay with us!”

The wedge in your throat tightens and you struggle to hide the tide of panic that you feel is approaching you. The boys seem to notice your sudden change in demeanour and they all stop, Yoongi dropping his bag and kneeling down with you to make sure you’re okay. 

“Hey, hey. It’s alright, what’s going through your head?” He asks, Namjoon suddenly a rock beside you.

“I - “ Visions come swarming through your mind, too sudden and harsh to ignore.

*❀

You hadn’t slept over with the guys for a few years, not since your exams had ramped up their intensity and started to steal all of your time. Back then, you had less thoughts of your past, and lived life with more ease, thinking of the future and not dwelling on previous experiences that were desperate to hold you back. Yes, you were still nervous at times, falling asleep amongst a group of men and trusting them to guard you, but you were a lot less anxiety-riddled then you were now. 

In the past two years, your childhood had come flooding back to you in thicker and more residual pieces than before. Moments you thought you’d forget, or that your friends would help heal were now naked shadows, following you around day and night. You were scared it was only going to get worse, the images of non-consensual acts filling your mind and your body, exposed to all of them.

It was hard because - sitting here now - you loved your friends, and you wanted to trust them, but the wall of trauma that had built itself around you seemed too impossible to break in just one go. Even though you knew they weren’t going to harm you, your mind couldn’t stop from seeing a man and a dark room and going, ‘No. I need to escape’.

You’d opened up to them in the past, and briefly told them a more closeted overview of what had happened to you. They had listened, and of course sheltered you in their concern and love. They wanted you to feel like you didn’t have to be afraid around them. And it took a while to even just let them hug you or squish beside you on a group movie night in. They’d give you all the time you needed, and you’d be patient as they understood and exercised the boundaries around you that they firmly respected. 

*❀

“I’m sorry, I..I just had a moment.” You exhale, the fog now waning in your mind. The boys watch you steadily and you feel Yoongi and Namjoon have since moved back in distance to give you the physical space you need. 

“We’d all really love you to join us! We’ve missed out on so much time since our exams have started and we really miss our sleepovers.” Jin smiles, and you nod back, breathing another shaky exhale and beginning to play with your hands.

Noticing your discomfort, Namjoon turns round and silently hushes the boys out of the room momentarily. They seem to pick up on his gestural hints and, one-by-one, move out of the room into the now pink half-light of the outdoors. 

He shuffles to sit facing you and adjusts his eye-line to meet yours as you slowly look up from the floor. His tawny eyes shed all the colours of sunset and he frowns as he notices the panic knitted in your features.

“I know what this is about, and i want to let you know that you don’t have to be afraid. I don’t know what it’s like to be in your shoes or the fear you must be feeling right now, but the least i can do is let you know that here, with us, in my presence, we will cloak and protect you.” 

He adjusts his position on the floor and leans over to clasp at your hand. Heart in your throat, you open up the love lines on your palm to him and lace your fingers with his. You suddenly feel a fire burn and a dread douse all at the same time in your stomach. He is the one that makes you truly feel safe, and now your head is swarming with the essence that is him.

You were never one to pick favourites, take one friend for granted, or to even have friends, but Namjoon had always been the exception to those rules. He would always stay a little longer, listen a little closer, and it just made you want him a little more.

He was the one who gave you your first romance novel, helped you grow your first ever rose, taught you how to Waltz on your tip-toes atop the highest hill of your village. Even when the past would rare its lethal mane and roar, you knew that Namjoon would be a pillar to fall back on.

“Okay, Joon.” You whisper, the seldom used nickname slipping from your lips and casting dimples all over his cheeks. 

❀

An hour later and the boys had been summoned back. They were scattered in a circle around the main room floor, half of them balled into their sleeping bags like squirrels in hibernation. The air was cooler and the sky now a tenebrous brown, small stars floating in the sky like lost astronauts. You took a sharp breath and felt the cool of the twilight wind sweep through your body. Your eyelids felt heavy and you felt almost certain that now was the right time to fall asleep. The day, since the morning, had recovered itself, and everything seemed too tranquil and good to be true. Without wanting to ruin it, you were ready to say goodnight to the moon and reflect on what a good time you’d had before a new day. 

“Mmh, goodnight moon. Sleep tight.” You mumble and lean back, pulling your body into the cocoon of your insulated bag. You adjust your sleep shorts, and turn onto your side, tucking strands of loose hair behind your ears before closing your eyes.

“Are you going now?” You hear a voice ask.

You slip one eye open to see Namjoon, now turned toward you, doe eyed and pouty. A lazy smile tugs at your lips, “Not if you don’t want me to..”

“It-it’s not that.” He blushes, “I just wanted to make sure you were feeling comfortable..”

“I am. Thank you for talking with me earlier.”

“You should be thanking yourself. You’re the one who’s so fearless all the time.”

“Am i really that good at hiding it?”

“You’re stronger than you know.”

“I’ll keep a note of that under the list of ‘compliments Namjoon has given me’.”

He smirks, “Want a few more to add to that list?” and you feel your cheeks stain pink.

“Maybe another day Joon.” You quickly switch the subject and twist around, “Goodnight.”

“Y/n, wait.”

You turn back to him, “What is it?”

“I. I didn’t have many plans for Spring Break but i'm visiting my father and i was wondering if..maybe you’d want to come with me?..”

“To visit your father?” You question, wondering how on earth you’d be able to contribute to conversation with Namjoon’s father, let alone not look like ‘the girlfriend’ to him. 

“It’s not what you think. My dad has an amazing botanical garden outside his house that stretches acres across. I thought, if you didn’t have any plans, you’d want to study the flowers with me and spend some more time in nature.”

You're amazed with his thoughtfulness, a reminder that Namjoon’s split parents now owned a menagerie and a farm, the first belonging to his father. Aside from catching up with the group and reviving certain sparks that had faltered, you were more than open to spending all of your time in Namjoon’s presence. You imagined picking Azelia’s with him and brushing cobwebs from daffodils. You pictured long, warm evenings amongst a patch of lavender and early mornings, tilting buttercups under your chin until they shone a luminous yellow. It sounded too much fun to even fathom, and you had to bite your tongue from sounding to sudden or enthusiastic about the whole ordeal. You just resound -

“That sounds nice. I’d be happy to go.” 

And with that, you feel another chapter of your life unravel underneath your feet. 

❀

[jaskierrrrrr]

After reading the last prompt i was so stuck on Jaskier's warm hand squeezing Geralt's before he sleeps. I just want it again, Jaskier grabbing Geralt's wrist or hand warmly, going to move away, but then Geralt grabbing it back and asking him to stay. Cuddling or Jaskier playing with his hair or idk just something soft between them??? Your writing is beautiful thank you for sharing it with us.

*Dear Anon, I am so sorry this took so long! This was such a good prompt and I wanted to get it right! Had a pretty bad case of writer’s block for the past few weeks, so if you’ve sent me a prompt, I am working on it, I promise! ( @immrssebastianstanwp yours will be up soon I swear!!!) Enjoy <3*

***

Yennefer’s long gone, Borch has silently slipped away, and apart from the cruel words he’d yelled at Jaskier ringing in his ears, Geralt sits in silence, alone at the top of the mountain. He’s completely lost track of time- he could have been sitting there for hours. The anger that had been fuelling him has drained away, leaving only the bitter taste of regret and guilt. Guilt because he hadn’t told Yennefer the truth about his wish before he was forced to, regret about the words he hurled at Jaskier, who’d looked liked he’d been punched in the stomach.

And he would know, Geralt thinks miserably, tossing a pebble over the ragged cliff. He tries to tell himself that this is for the best; he should never have gotten involved in the first place, not with a dangerous sorceress or a fragile human who seemed incapable of not getting into danger.

He doesn’t believe it, mainly because he just wants a hug, and the only person who’s ever given him one is probably long gone by now.

He hadn’t realised how used he’d gotten to Jaskier’s touch until it wasn’t there anymore. There was a time, before Jaskier, when he’d almost forgotten what it was like to be touched in a non-threatening manner when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Even those who didn’t show him outright hatred, those who were kind enough to offer him a bed or hot food still shrank back as he approached; those who paid him for slaying a monster prefered to toss his earnings at his feet rather than risk coming into contact with him.

But then, his path collided with Jaskier, who’s unlike anyone he’s ever met in so many ways. Not only was he happy to converse with Geralt like they were old friends, seemingly unafraid of Geralt’s swords and menacing expression, he’s also the only person Geralt can remember not being afraid to touch him. He hadn’t expected it; although he learnt that Jaskier was a very tactile person, always clasping at shoulders or shaking hands, he never imagined Jaskier would do the same for him.

It had been raining in Posada for what felt like days. After a few hours of travel with little progress made, they finally gave in and found room for the night in a small, crowded tavern not dissimilar to the one they first met in. Despite the large number of patrons, all seeking shelter from the downpour, they managed to find seats close to the fire. Just when Geralt’s clothes were dry enough to stop clinging to his skin, a young bard with all of Jaskier’s enthusiasm but a fraction of his talent began warbling at a pitch that set Geralt’s teeth on edge. Seeing the scowl on his face, Jaskier laughed merrily.

‘See, I told you not to take my singing for granted!’ As he spoke, he extended an arm and clapped his hand on Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt flinched, caught off guard, but found himself almost immediately leaning into the touch. Feeling almost uncertain, his eyes flicked to Jaskier’s, but the bard didn’t mention it, just moved steadily on to a new topic, perhaps letting his warm fingers rest on Geralt’s shirt a fraction longer than necessary.

Geralt didn’t say anything about it, and Jaskier, to his eternal credit, didn’t ask. Over the coming weeks, however, he seemed to test his boundaries. He started off hesitant at first, as if he was afraid it was unwanted. Geralt remembers how lucky he felt as to have someone like Jaskier, someone so open with his affection but also mindful of other people’s boundaries. And now he’d thrown it away, perhaps forever.

It took a while for Jaskier to gain confidence and Geralt to relax, but gradually they moved on from casual and fleeting touches to something more significant.

Geralt remembers how at first he tried to tell himself that he only let it happen because it was practical, like when Jaskier grabbed his wrist if he saw a potential danger- it was useful to have some way of distinguishing when Jaskier actually tells him something important. But it got harder to deny the truth, especially after Jaskier started offering to wash his hair when it was matted and tangled with blood and guts and Lord knows what else, his fingers gently digging into his scalp as he softly sang to himself, or when Geralt woke in the middle of the night to find Jaskier pressed against his side, sleeping soundly on the forest floor.

It’s only because it’s cold, he told himself, ignoring the strange feeling in his stomach. As Jaskier clumsily threw an arm over his chest, still sound asleep, Roach snorted softly.

Eventually, he started to reciprocate the touch. It was partly selfish, because the last thing he wanted was for Jaskier to stop reaching out, but more because he knew Jaskier too is comforted by touch. He’d seen it in the pleased expression when a pretty girl touched his knee, all the tension draining from his shoulders, or in the way he smiled when patrons of a tavern clapped him on the shoulder after a particularly lively performance.

But that smile had been nothing compared to the wide grin that appeared on Jaskier’s face if Geralt hauled him to his feet and dusted him down after he tripped over yet again, or the soft smile that slowly appeared when Geralt cleaned and dressed a wound on his arm by firelight.

He feels sick to his stomach when he thinks he might never see that smile again. It’s the thought of that that finally shakes him from his reverie. He knows Jaskier doesn’t hold grudges- well, not usually- and as he isn’t Valdo fucking Marx, he knows an apology is all Jaskier really needs. Aware that time is against him, he rises to his feet and starts packing his gear.

A twig cracks behind him, and he’s so preoccupied with the thought of Jaskier that he drops his sword and spins round, only to be met with what appears to be a standing corpse, caked in dried blood and dust, like it’s been dragged across the ground. Geralt has just enough time to recognise the eyes full of anger, just enough time to think how the fuck are you still alive before the Reaver plunges a dagger into his side. Grunting in pain and shock, he kicks out at the Reaver, who collapses in the dust. Geralt grabs his sword, and this time he makes sure the fucker’s definitely dead. Panting, he straightens up. The adrenaline deserts him; his sword, now heavy in his hand, falls to the ground. He puts a hand around the dagger and is alarmed at how hot the skin feels. Poison. Fast acting too, judging by how dizzy he feels.

‘Fuck,’ he says, and the ground rushes up to meet him.

***

When he opens his eyes, he nearly yells out in shock at the sight of lurid green scales and a forked tail, before he recognises the milky eyes of the dead dragon. He doesn’t remember making it as far as the cave, but as he looks down, he realises he didn’t, and that the weight on his arm is from a familiar head of brown curls. As if he’s sensed Geralt’s looking at him, Jaskier shifts, blinking heavily up at him. When his eyes focus, he sits up abruptly, pulling away. For once he’s speechless, the expression on his face unreadable.

‘This is cozy,’ Geralt rumbles.

The corner of Jaskier’s mouth quirks up. ‘Yeah, well it’s not exactly easy lugging around a massive Witcher who’s helpfully fallen unconscious,’ Jaskier retorts.

Geralt sits up, grimacing at the bitter taste in his mouth. Wordlessly, Jaskier passes him a flask of water. ‘How come you found me?’

Jaskier hesitates, biting at his lip. ‘I figured someone should wait with Roach, but when a few hours passed, I thought I should check on you. And it’s just as well I did,’ he says, rising to stoke the fire, ‘And that I thought to bring your potions, or you’d be a lot less talkative right now.’

‘Thank you,’ says Geralt, sincere. 

‘Hmm,’ says Jaskier. ‘I killed that Reaver too, don’t worry.’ He bites his lip again, but this time it’s because he’s struggling to keep a straight face.

‘I’m pretty sure he was already dead, Jaskier.’

Jaskier turns to look at him. ‘Well, better to be on the safe side.’

There’s a pregnant, uncomfortable pause. 

Geralt swallows another mouthful of water. ‘Jaskier-’ he starts.

‘It’s fine.’

‘I’m sorry.’

It’s insufficient, and he knows it. He’s fully expecting Jaskier to tell him to fuck off, but instead the bard walks back towards him and pulls him into an embrace. Geralt’s arms come up around Jaskier’s back, and he exhales a shaky breath of relief as Jaskier mumbles into his shoulder.

‘I know. I forgive you,’ Jaskier says, and as his arms tighten around his shoulders, Geralt smiles. He’s never letting go again.

[onepartbrave]

an FYI ~

Without a doubt, I’ve been distracted from RP but I digress… I’ve also been dipping into fanficland, a Strifehart feels run being my first instalment yet to come.

A snippet below, I guess? I’m quite dubious when sharing as I sometimes feel I don’t get Squall just right, let alone other characters… ergo, this leap of faith? Eh. Enjoy what will come, I guess?

Brief synopsis; Cloud is a werewolf that lives in the world of FF8. Other characters will appear, but for now, Strifehart mains~

In the beginning, not all was well. Those born from extraordinary circumstances – “Mythics” – were scorned, exiled from belonging in any place of man due to their collective (misplaced) fear; of not knowing what they might do, despite not knowing what they might not do. 

Long, tedious battles took place, sometimes figuratively, mostly physically, until one fateful day, a breakthrough finally happened. One man, known among mankind as a hero of their time, used his influence over the world to fight for them, and he fought fiercely for their rights as living beings to survive and thrive with everyday people. 

Vampires, once feared through centuries of misrepresentation and slander, strolled about in broad daylight, dressed head-to-toe in protective gear, specialised to deflect the life-threatening UV rays. Werewolves, once thought of as nothing but mindless monstrosities carrying an uncontrollable, infectious disease, walked among the public without fears of being ruthlessly hunted. Fairies, demons, pixies, sirens – so many Mythics roaming freely for, potentially, the first time in their lives. 

** 

Squall Leonhart was, for lack of a better term, fed up. 

Why, one might inquire? Simply put, in the outskirts of Winhill, he’d purchased a luxuriously large plot of land and set up a homely ranch-slash-house for himself. The final decision to settle down in the middle of nowhere was partially due to the beautiful scenery, mostly from the unrivalled privacy and his overwhelming need to stay out of the limelight to enjoy his reluctant retirement. On the land roamed a few dozen chickens, some cows, a random goat or two, and a grumpy old chocobo that wandered in one day and stayed, allegedly liking what she saw (and whom he’d fondly named Chocorita – he wasn’t great at naming things, sue him). 

In the solitude of Winhill and the mountains, he’d expected peace. For the first time in his life, he wanted to take it slow, to relax and maybe take up a boring hobby that kept him off his feet (just as the doctor prescribed, ugh). Instead, anywhere he went, he got chaos. Destruction, mayhem, calamity, regardless of how minor or extreme. Natural, man-made and in-between, there was no way to escape his horrendous luck. 

Such was what had him out of bed at an ungodly hour one morning, standing in nothing but fraying-at-the-edges pyjama pants and worn out boots in long need of replacing, staring in utter disdain and absolute exasperation at his hen house… that was currently being ravaged by a gigantic, rugged as heck, wolf. Flashlight pointing directly at the offending creature, which halted on the spot like a deer caught in headlights the moment the beam landed on its furry hide, unblinking eyes on Squall as he glared back his unrelenting disgust. 

Why. Just why. 

“…I use these for eggs!” he howled, agitation and exhaustion (with everything) winning over any common sense warning him to back away from the potentially dangerous beast, waving his only viable weapon of a flickering flashlight at the frozen mongrel. Who, to his complete surprise, dropped the feathery carcass like the soft exterior burned and fucking scampered away in (what he could only describe as) unbridled terror, wispy tail tucked firmly between long legs. Silence crept in around Squall, apart from the occasional chirping cricket, as he stared in the direction the wolf fled, trying to process what just happened. 

After a moment of further consideration, he shook his head roughly, forever in his way hair falling over his face as he clapped a palm to it, running it down while groaning in defeated frustration. Miles and miles of forest teeming with wildlife just as easy to catch, plus neighbouring placements just a few clicks out, and… it was still him that was ransacked. Hand lowering, noticing the flashlight beam gradually dimming, he deemed it time to call it a night. One wearily curious glance after the thieving mutt was all he spared before turning on his heel and wobbling his way back inside to the persistent light and welcoming aircon. 

He’d deal with the chickens come sunrise. 

** 

Come morning, a more reasonable morning, someone had the nerve to knock loudly on Squall’s front door. With his establishment being all ground floor, noises travelled quickly and efficiently. Thus, obnoxious banging woke him from a restless sleep despite his bedroom being in the furthest corner away from the main hall. Blissful silence occurred briefly, his pounding head welcoming the peace, before it was rudely interrupted with, yet again, more incessant knocking. It seemed his unwanted visitor wasn’t giving in. 

Groaning lowly to himself, Squall’s right arm raised and flew to cover his eyes, knowing full well if he were to open them immediately, he’d be temporarily blinded by radiant sunshine. Despite having blinds that supposedly repelled sunlight, he still woke most mornings by an impish beam to the face. One of the wonderful things about living in Winhill was the endless sunshine, but it was also one of the worst. Contemplating his next move while gingerly stretching out tender limbs, he barely refrained from growling aloud in annoyance when more knocking came. 

He was going to deck whoever it was VIP status (Laguna) or not (Seifer). 

Grudgingly, he removed his arm and squinted his eyes as they slowly peeled open, pre-emptively braced. Lightly shaking off the familiar numbness filtering in from his left leg, Squall sluggishly pushed himself up and to the edge of his bed to sit. Running a hand through his hair while the other provided a sturdy support as he leant back, he didn’t care to stifle the bothersome yawn momentarily clouding his mind. Scratching an itch to the rear of his skull, he blinked his eyes a few more times before he was ready to combat nature’s wakeup call. 

Or fates, if the knock, knock, knocking was any implication. 

“Yeah, yeah… on my way,” he mumbled to none as he forced himself up. Wavering slightly to start, he used the headboard to help stabilise his equilibrium. Taking a moment to ensure his balance was up to par, he surged on with murderous intent. Well… more like waddled on like an angry duckling – he doubted anyone would take him seriously with an unfortunate case of bedhead (fluffy, sticking up everywhere, untameable; he’d tried, trust him) and wearing only pyjama pants with a hole in the left knee. Muttering darkly to himself as he marched onward, soft carpet beneath his feet turned into solid wood, one click sounding for every two steps he took. Obviously, he’d forgotten socks in his eagerness to return to bed last night. 

Finally, he reached the front door, solid wood slash metal with a singular, one-way peephole embedded and grabbed the slick metal handle, twisted the key to unlock and all but yanked the thing open like it caused him great offence. Not the door at least, but the one standing on the opposite side had. “What’s your goddamn problem…?!” Squall fired out instantly, although some of the ferocity died down by his fourth word at seeing who was there. 

A man, possibly around his age, with hair worse than his own sticking up all over the place (platinum blond, didn’t look dyed – cute), skin pale enough to suggest he’d never seen sunlight, let alone been outside in it and the brightest blue eyes Squall had ever seen staring at him widely, looking oddly innocent despite being stuck to a grown adult… and oddly familiar. If only to add to Squall’s ludicrous attraction to the man, a rosy tint overtook definitely illegal cheekbones and the man, who’d been staring relentlessly, dropped his adorable gaze bashfully and rambled under his breath. 

Squall struggled to hear, features automatically down turning into something reminiscent of a scowl. His unfortunate visitor caught the look and perceived it to be for him, rather than Squall’s lacklustre hearing. “I—I’m sorry for the early morning call but I couldn’t wait any longer. My name’s—uh, Cloud Strife, and I, I’m your new neighbour,” he, allegedly Cloud, said, rather rapidly and in a tone that suggested questionable embarrassment and… guilt? “I happened to be passing by when I figured it—it’d be neighbourly to give you a welcoming present—” Wait, wasn’t that supposed to be the other way around? Squall was becoming more puzzled by the second, yet he continued to watch the blond ramble. “—so, I, I have something. For you. If you want them?” 

When Cloud concluded his introduction, Squall simply stared. Blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes with the palm of a hand to ensure that yes, he was awake, and yes, there was potentially the cutest blond idiot babbling on his doorstep just after sunrise. Said blond peek at him coyly through his bangs and Squall’s heart skipped a beat. 

Well, at least he knew his eyesight was still functioning well. 

“I… sure?” he replied, more of a question than a response, but it seemed to suit Cloud’s expectations perfectly. 

His neighbour hopped to attention and beckoned Squall over with enthusiastic waves of his whole arm, looking him up and down when he suddenly stopped. In an instant, Squall’s guard rose as he watched where that sky-blue gaze fell, hackles instinctively prepared. A heartbeat past and… Cloud simply shook his head and said, “Sorry, shoes—I’ll let you put on some shoes.” 

And that expelled any suspicion Squall held over that inquisitive gaze. If he hadn’t caught himself, he would’ve expressed a small smile at the blond’s antics. He blamed his messed-up sense of defence and common sense on his lack of sleep. Making to abide by Cloud’s reasonable suggestion, he slid his sockless feet into his trusty boots, left one stiffer than the right, and grabbed a jacket from the hooks by the door. Pulling on the coat to make himself at least semi-decent, he stepped outside into the already harsh warmth of the summer sun and joined Cloud’s side. Who had waited for him in the exact position he’d stopped in and not another glance was thrown downwards to Squall’s feet. 

He didn’t know whether to be impressed by someone’s apparent self-control or see if he couldn’t torment the man for looking in the first place. The sassier, snappier side of him wanted anyone that stared to suffer first-hand mortification, but somehow, Cloud slipped by and made his way to the ‘simply impressed’ side. 

Following his energetic neighbour to wherever he deemed necessary, Squall took the opportunity from lingering somewhat behind to check him out. A faded-check shirt was atop a sleeveless black tank-top, black combat pants with thick-soled biker boots, and twin (again, you guessed it) black fingerless gloves shielding strong-looking hands. Screw his hands, when they stopped by a monstrous, fucking fantastic motorcycle parked just off the driveway, Cloud’s shirt sleeves pulled up when the blond lifted something that had been secured to the rear of the bike and Squall saw jaw-dropping muscle definition on his arms alone. 

Silently, the gremlin part of his brain prayed for gale-force winds to suddenly whip up and rip the clothes from his neighbour’s body so Squall could check out the rest of him. Decisively, he ignored it. 

What was impossible to ignore was the crate Cloud was carrying, filled with… chickens? Improbable as it seemed considering the already perplexing introduction, Squall found himself feeling off-balance on how to respond or what to respond with. Why on earth was Cloud presenting hens to him? It seemed absurdly coincidental that he lost such birds the night before to the foul mutt… Stormy eyes squinted at still-radiating-innocence blue and popped his right hand on his corresponding hip. “…Do you have a dog?” 

Weirdly, Cloud fumbled with the crate at Squall’s legitimate question, the wooden box and livestock inside nearly falling directly onto booted feet. Immaculate reflexes avoided disaster, though the same couldn’t be said for the man himself. “Dog?” was Cloud’s inquiring reply as he straightened up, voice going oddly high-pitched as though he felt targeted by Squall’s suspicion… which he was, he supposed, and the given reaction wasn’t helping Cloud’s case. “No—no, I have no animals. Why?” 

He studied Cloud in brief silence, offering a meek shrug soon after, hand falling from its perch back to his side. “No reason.” And now back to the topic at hand: “Why have you brought me chickens?” And why would you think I need any, his mind finished for him. Patiently, he waited. 

Cloud toyed with his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes flicking everywhere but Squall. Almost like he struggled to think of a valid reason. Shady… In the moment of muteness, Squall’s focus shifted to the sleek machine stationed just behind them. The coat was midnight-black and shimmered in the sunlight majestically. Thicker than most two-wheelers he’d seen in his lifetime, potentially heavier from the additional compartments his keen eyesight made out, and two front wheels instead of the usual one… Simply put, it was a work of art and Squall was yet to find any piece of machinery he couldn’t wholly admire. Wonder what it’s like to ride… 

“I—I noticed you have a ranch and figured you could never have too many chickens.” If that wasn’t the lamest excuse Squall had heard in a long while… and he was friends with both Rinoa and Selphie. “So—take them?” 

Earnest blue eyes practically begged him, and the box was shoved his way suggestively, Squall’s answer was simple. He hadn’t the heart to tell the allegedly generous man ‘no’. “…Fine,” he sighed, growing instantly pensive when Cloud beamed – like he was doing the blond a favour by taking the hens. Were they infected or something? “Bring them this way,” he continued quietly, jerking his head in the direction of the main coop. Since he was already holding it, why not make use of Cloud a little longer? “I didn’t see you move in,” he commented as they began to walk, the blond keeping pace with his slightly stunted one. 

If Squall was to describe the stream of expressions that flitted over Cloud’s face in the next moment, he’d be there all day. The blond chose to settle on sheepishness with a matching smile. “It was a quick overnight thing… didn’t have much to unpack,” Cloud murmured, keeping his eyes facing forward to avoid further contact with Squall’s. 

Everything about him set off warning bells inside Squall’s mind but he couldn’t make heads or tails of what or why. Was it due to his own reclusive nature and the fact he’d evaded human interactions as much as realistically possible over the last few months, that simple conversation with new people was putting him on-guard? Too mindful over what everyone thought about him now? Shiva, he needed to get a hobby other than overthinking. Fat lot of help it was in the past. 

Thankfully, Cloud neither glanced his way to assume Squall’s souring mood was his fault or commented on the silence dragging between them as they strode on. It was only when the wooden hutch was in sight that Squall recalled last night’s problem – deceased chickens all over the place. Great, now Cloud would assume he was a disturbed maniac that feasted upon the flesh of the poor birds that had been ripped apart – 

Stopping suddenly in his tracks, Squall stared openly at the area surrounding his hen house. Cloud also paused, eyes sweeping up in an inquisitive manner, but voiced nothing. Again, he was grateful for the blond’s apparent love of silence because he wouldn’t know what to say as the entire ground was clean. No residue blood, no scattered feathers, no messy carcasses – hell, it looked like someone had swept the floor, too. Picking apart his brain for plausible solutions to the glaring problem encountered, he came up empty and his only reward was undiluted bewilderment. 

Eventually though, Cloud broke the silent treaty and asked, quite reasonably, “Is, uh, everything okay?” 

Surprisingly speechless, Squall turned his head to bring the virtuous blond into view, who was genuinely asking from misguided concern about his wellbeing. But… what could he honestly say? ‘Oh, yesterday there was numerous bodies littering the floor and now they’ve miraculously gone!’ Pfft, not likely. Flicking out his tongue to swipe along his bottom lip (noting idly how blue eyes seemed to follow the motion), he finally nodded and resolved to not telling the truth. “Phantom pains,” he said shortly, hoping the tone of voice dissuaded further questions. Luckily, Cloud complied but dropped his gaze out of apparent embarrassment again and Squall felt his chest squeeze. He hated feeling guilty. “Happens all the time, don’t worry about it.” 

Hopeful eyes raised to greet his and Squall determined that shade of blue to be illegal now. Everything about Cloud was illegal. “I—I understand,” Cloud said, nodding in sincere comprehension, hefting the crate a little higher. “Should I just set this down and free them, or…?” 

Right, the chickens. Squall nodded once. “Yeah, free roaming and all that.” 

“’N all that,” Cloud echoed with a faint smile, placing the box gently on the (clean!) floor. Nimble fingers worked over the latches holding the front plate on and a second later, three golden birds scooted out, interested in their newfound freedom and unfamiliar surroundings. He watched Cloud watch them closely, like he was wishing for the hens to accept their new home without complications. Seemingly, it was granted as all three clucked and shot off towards the coop, fluttered up the ramp and out of sight through the swinging door. He smiled, looking up at Squall from where he crouched. “They seem to like it here.” 

Squall’s brain was apparently malfunctioning and his brain-to-mouth filter broke, as the next moment after nodding in agreement to Cloud’s statement, he spewed out, “I think you would too if you wanna join me for coffee?” 

An awkward pause ensued. While Squall wished for the ground to open up and swallow him whole (like it apparently did to his poor chickens), Cloud, rightfully so, stared as him like another head just popped out of his shoulder. Dazed blue eyes blinked a few times while the blond visibly contemplated his next move, or words. He, being the gentleman he was, figured it was only fair to give Cloud a way out and opened his mouth to withdraw the offer with as much nonchalance as he could mister, but Cloud beat him to it. 

A slight raise of a shoulder and an uncertain but curious smile sketched onto his face, murmuring, “We could go to the town—I do need a guide and I’m sure there’s a café somewhere.” 

Squall paused. Cloud was not only accepting his pre-morning-coffee suggestion but was entertaining further interaction with his lunatic of a neighbour. It was impossible that he’d made a good impression so early, so the simplest deduction was Cloud being masochistic and liking the pain that came alongside social interactions with hermits like himself. Raising a hand to ruffle the hair waving in his face, he ignored the background clucks of his regular hens coming over to inspect the ground for food (since he was out and provider of said nutrients), eyed Cloud with a weariness that came naturally to him and, beyond all reason, nodded his agreement. “Alright. I’ll be ready in five.” 

Promptly, he made his way back to the front of the house. Once there, he glanced back slightly over his shoulder and queried, “My truck or your bike?” 

Cloud, who tailed him closely like a lost puppy, lit up the yard with the smirk he sent Squall. “Bike—unless you can’t handle it.” 

Squall’s eyes narrowed in playful challenge. Not that anyone outside his inner circle knew what it looked like. “Five minutes, Strife.” 

“A second past that and I’m assuming you’ve backed out—uh,” Cloud paused midway into his retaliation and Squall realised he was yet to introduce himself. With a slither of awkwardness, the blond found an interesting patch on the floor to stare at, apparently incapable of asking a simple question. 

Squall decided to put Cloud out of his misery. Almost. “Leon.” 

It was daft how adorable it was when Cloud perked up at the revelation. He nodded, quirking him a half-smile. “Leon—tick tock.” 

Squall huffed in earnest astonishment from his neighbour’s audacity (and the depth of shock he was feeling at how well they hit it off) and hobbled his way back inside at a quicker pace than his norm. Efficiency was a skill he possessed, as was haste without magic being involved. Kicking off his yard boots and shrugging off the outdoor jacket on the way to his room, he wondered on whether Cloud carried a spare helmet with him for such happenstance that strange neighbours agreed to tagging along with his wild journeys. Entering his bedroom, he yanked open the closest door and pulled out the thickest pair of jeans he owned and SeeD-issued combat boots. Nudging the door shut with a hip, he dumped them on his bed before beelining for his drawers. Retrieving underwear from the top drawer, he dug out a plain old shirt from the middle one – those were dumped on the bed too. 

Briefly, he wondered about the state of his hair but shrugged it off – it’d be underneath a helmet, who cared? Wriggling off the pyjama pants (whoops at going commando to greet his neighbour for the first time), he dressed himself while keeping a flickering gaze on the bedside clock to watch the time. Three minutes and twenty-two seconds later, he was adequately dressed and ready to go. Theoretically. For a moment, he questioned where his mind had gone and what replaced it to make him so whimsical. Uncaring in the end, he shrugged off such thoughts at hearing the starting rumble of the alluring thing awaiting him (the bike was pretty neat too). 

Finally, Squall moseyed on to the front door again, picking up his trusty leather jacket along the way. Too often he’d been teased (or ridiculed) about the fur adorning the lining, but fuck those guys, he liked being warm, thank you very much. Pulling said jacket on as he exited his condo, grabbing keys, wallet and his cell phone along the way, bitter warmth greeted him already but he paid it no heed at the sight he was blessed with – Cloud straddling the beast, a pair of goggles sitting atop of blond spikes, arms crossed and peering at him with… clear admiration and perhaps a hint of amusement. 

Locking the front door with a snort, Squall then pointed the sharp enough key (to get his point across) at the blond, and said, “Not one word about the jacket, Strife.” A raised brow was his response. His own eyes narrowed. “I mean it.” 

Cloud raised his hands in a show of mock surrender and then lowered the goggles to shield his eyes. “No words said.” 

Squall nodded in approval while making his way over, studying the sleek machine. Obviously, his choice seat was behind Cloud, although it seemed it would be a tight fit for two grown adults. So what. Steeling his determination, he gritted his teeth and, after bracing himself on Cloud’s shoulder, swung his right leg over the bike to attain his seat. Unfortunately, it applied unnecessary pressure to his bad leg and a bolt of pain lanced through him. He went rigid and a concerned look shot over the shoulder he just leaned on. 

“I’m fine,” Squall growled out, a low warning poorly concealed within the words. Giving himself a minute to settle and for his head to stop pounding, he breathed in and out steadily, and then sighed. Only when he impulsively ran a hand through his own hair did he realise something critical: “Where’s your helmet?” 

A gleam came into blue eyes and Squall felt slight trepidation in his choice. “No helmet. Hold on tight.” 

The engine roared to life as Cloud twisted his right hand and Squall instinctively grabbed onto what was closest: Cloud’s jacket – procured from where, Squall didn’t know, but could certainly appreciate. Not a second later, they were tearing up Squall’s driveway, dust clouds and debris kicking up behind them as wheels scrambled for purchase. Before long rubber kissed tarmac and Cloud released the clutch, twisted the throttle, leaned forward and really started to move. The bike shot off like a rocket and Squall could only hold on for dear life, vice-grip on Cloud’s sides being switch for the more secure looping around his waist, face buried into the back of Cloud’s jacket, heart racing as fast as the vehicle he’d willingly jumped on, idly wondering if he’d make it out alive. 

Exhilarating was too tame a word to use in description for the feel of wind whipping his hair about. The sheer amount of fresh air hitting his throat when finally releasing the breath he’d been holding nearly made him choke (and he lived in the mountains already). Eyes watering immediately when he attempted to open them to view the rapidly passing countryside, he chose to keep them jammed shut, listening to the roar of the engine whenever Cloud accelerated and the pounding of his own heart that felt was about to leap out of his chest. 

Now to say Squall had lived a lively, fast-paced life so far would be a gross understatement, but there was something so utterly terrifying, yet breathlessly freeing, about riding so recklessly with a gorgeous stranger he’d just met. 

Liberating. 

[kewltie]

"Izuku. Izuku! Are you listening?"

Pulled from tunnel visioning his Charms essay and pretending it’s not internally making him cry, he looks up at her sheepishly. "Sorry, what were you saying earlier?"

Ochako rolls her eyes. "We were discussing our preparation for the Yule Ball and wanted to know if you got your dress robe yet?"

Izuku shakes his head. "I,” he bites down on his lower lip as he drops his quill onto his halfwritten parchment, “I don’t think I’m going.”

Shock silence descends upon their table. "What?! But everyone know you're gonna go with—" the rest of Mineta's words are cut off with a yelp of pain.

Ochako tells Mineta pointedly, "Be quiet." She retracts her elbow from having it jammed into Mineta's side as he adopts a wounded look before turning her full attention to Izuku with an encouraging smile. "Now, why don't you want to go?" she presses gently as Izuku finds himself the center focus of his entire table.

Izuku glances down at his lap. "Nobody ask me."

Another bout of silence descends upon their table.

"Get Bakugou," he hears Ochako hisses at someone. 

He jerks his head up at the complete 180 degrees shift in her tone. Never had he heard her sound so angry. "What? Why call Kacchan?! This has nothing to do with him," he insists hotly. "I'm just," he winces, the thought alone cuts deep, "undateable, I guess." Unwanted in other word. "I mean, since you guys already have dates and I didn't want to go alone so I tried asking around, but they ran away as soon as I brought it up."

He'd tried not to feel hurt by it, but it was hard when they all looked at him like he'd summon a basilisk on them or something. He hadn’t felt this way since his early years at Hogwarts when it had seem nobody had wanted or needed him here, when Kacchan couldn’t look at him without wanting to hex him, and when it had hurt to think if he even belongs here with the rest of his friends.

"That's because they're scared of Bakugou," Mineta interjects with a shrug as Ochako glares at him. "Veelas are terrifying enough, but Bakugou's Bat-Bogey Hex is no joke." One of the best duelists in their generations, more than one professor had said about him.

Izuku frowns. "But why would Kacchan even try to hex them?! He may be trigger happy, but h wouldn't hurt people for absolutely no reason!"

Mineta stares at him, hard enough that Izuku can feel the weight of it from his seat. "You're joking, right? You really, really don't know? Haven't got any clue, really?!"

"What do you mean?" Izuku's brows furrow in further confusion as everyone lets out an exasperated sigh around him.

Having taking some pity on him, Yaoyorozu smiles at him from across the table. "Did Bakugou mention anything about the Yule Ball to you?"

Izuku cocks his head in thought. "No," he starts, but then, he recalls one moment, "wait, he did tell me he'll see me there a few weeks ago, but that's all."

"That arrogant bastard! He didn't even bother to ask you!" Ochako spits out as Tenya pats her back consolingly in an effort to calm her down. "I'm going to hex him the next time I see him!"

Izuku blinks as a dawning horror sets in. "Wait, did everyone thought I was going to the ball with Kacchan except for me?!" Everyone stop, look sheepishly at each other, and a litany of "sorry" falls from their lips as Izuku's jaw drop. "But, but—! He didn't actually say anything of that nature to me!" he despairs. "How was I supposed to take his 'be there, Deku or I'll hunt you down' threat as some sort of invitation to the ball with him?!"

Ochako scoffs. "Because he's still that stuck up and prideful brat who can't take no for an answer," she says scathingly, the fact that she and Kacchan are housemate has no weight on her. Even though they bicker of Izuku often, she doesn’t have any actual problem with Katsuki. Only when it pertains to Izuku does it trigger all the protective instinct within her, house loyalty be damn. "But now the question becomes: do you want to go with him?" She gives him a well-meaning look.

His gaze drops back to his lap as he feels several curious and heavy eyes fall him, "Well, I," he flushes, "I do, but—" he grimaces as a nauseating weight sits uncomfortably on his chest. A soft hand reaches for him.

 "You want him to ask you first, right?" Yaoyorozu says softly. “It’s understand if that is the case.”

The uncomfortable feeling shifts at her words and he breathes out, shakily at first before it slowly evens out. "Y-yes," he finally admits, staring hard at his lap.

Even though his answer won't change, it was always going to be a yes, but he wanted to know he has a choice in this. That Katsuki would give him one. He would consider Izuku's decision like it matter to him instead of taking that choice from Izuku like it's already owe to him. It didn't make him feel wanted, not when he'd spent weeks thinking nobody had care and he didn’t matter; he'd assumed he was going to be alone that evening.

Like, how Izuku spent his first years at Hogwarts hated and isolated because he didn't fall in line with Katsuki – he was too quiet and shy, but worst he was a former squib and a pitiful Hufflepuff – and it took Ochako and all his friends to helped him lift up from that awful place and left that wretched past of his behind.

All of it for naught if Katsuki still treat Izuku as though he's still that kid who chased after his shadow and followed him wherever he go without a complain, because he was needy and lonely and Katsuki, so bright and beautiful, was all he had. No. He's not that boy anymore.

"Do you want me to punch him for you?" Ochako asks, and he looks up in time to see her standing up with the sleeve of her robe pulled back. It's easy to forget that Ochako is a muggleborn and has a different way of resolving problem with how effortlessly she fits among them.

Because he got the best friends in the world, whom he clearly doesn’t deserve, he couldn't help but smile at her threat of violence. "It's fine." He shakes his head. "I'll talk to him." He squeezes Yaoyorozu's hand before she retreats it back to her side. "It's not a big deal—"

"Deku!"

Their entire table and, really, all of the tables in the Great Hall turn toward the familiar booming voice that make his presence known before Izuku even catch sight of that blond hair and glaring red eyes as he heads their way.

Izuku swallows nervously.

He'd thought he would have more time to prepare himself before he can confront Katsuki, but he'd forgotten that Ochako sent someone to get him earlier. Still in his quidditch gears and looking like he had ran several laps around the school grounds, Katsuki stomps toward him.

Everyone scoot back as though to give them room and privacy, averting their gaze from the always entertaining and embarrassing Bakugou-Midoriya Show that is permanently in theater since their first year even as he can see some of his friends casting concern glance at them.

Katsuki narrow his eyes and there's a dangerous glow to them that make the entire hall on edge, but not Izuku. Never Izuku. "What the fuck did I hear about you not coming to Yule Ball?!" he hisses. "You know we're going together!"

Izuku lips thin out. "No, I didn't, because you didn't tell me." He pauses, more quietly now: "Didn't even ask me."

"What," Katsuki sneers defenselessly, "were you going to tell me no?"

Izuku huffs. "I was going to say yes either way, but you had assumed my answer without bothering to ask me first. You can't do that, Kacchan!"

Katsuki throws his hand up in the air in frustration. "Why does that matter when you're going to say yes anyway? Stop being such a little bitch, Deku!"

"You don't get it." He shakes his head disappointingly. "It's the same reason why you were furious when you found out I'm your mate."

Katsuki draws back in shock, face flushed an angry red.

Unfinished, he continues relentlessly, "You spent years and years cruelly rejecting and hating me because my existence took your choice of finding your own mate for yourself." He stares up at Katsuki with clenched fists. "But now you're doing the same thing to me."

"I love you Kacchan,” he admits, the confession comes easily even as the words cut him deeply as he say them. “Maybe I have always loved you even when you had hurt me deeply and I didn’t even know what it had meant back then, but you can't take it for granted. You have to work for it just like everybody else." He abruptly stands up. "I may be your mate, but I'm not a guarantee thing so stop assuming that you know me at all!" And he runs out after that, face flushed and heart palpating erratically in his chest, like it’s going to claim out of it and fall to the ground.

But not before he hears Ochako yelling at Katsuki, “You’re a veela and he’s your soulmate so how are you so bad at making the one person who the entire universe is telling you that you're destine together happy?!”

Izuku may be a Hufflepuff and softhearted, but he's no doormat.

Not anymore, anyway.

In that moment, he feels brave even as his hands haven't stop shaking since he'd hallow out his chest nd spilled his feelings all over the Great Hall and for all to see, but the thing that haunt him the most is the distraught look on Katsuki's face that follow his every step.

[inky-whump]

Layla - Part 1

Part 1 - Blonde

Masterlist

Did I just start a new series? Yes. I can hardly believe it myself. This one feels very different from my other series (Silvas Chronicles), but I'm looking forward to sharing it with you! Hope you like it. :)

Taglist: none yet, so I'll just tag some of my followers: @spookyboywhump, @galaxywhump, @slaintetowhump, @whimperwoods, @burtlederp, @deluxewhump, @theeighthassassin, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi - LMK if you wanna be added or removed!

Layla stood with her face close to the mirror, looking down as she applied mascara. The false lashes really do look nice. Maybe I’ll start wearing them on a regular basis. She looked at her reflection again, pleased with what she saw. A bright, clear face sparked back at her. She could partially thank her highlighter for that. Blush brought out her cheeks and her lips were highlighted with a shimmering pink gloss. She usually used pink colors, but she had decided to use blue and purple eyeshadow today and was pleased with how it complemented her pink outfit. Pink was her favorite color after all. She smiled, flashing brilliant white teeth in the mirror. Her golden hair was smooth and sleek, her strand of pink highlight held in place by a well-placed clip.

“The best way to start a day is to feel good about yourself”, her mother had always said. Layla found it to be true. “Today is going to be a good day,” she told herself as she grabbed her pink bag and keys.

She could feel everyone’s eyes on her as she walked to her class, her heels clicking on the concrete. As she passed by a group of boys, she could see them tapping each other on the shoulder and gesturing towards her. One of them broke away from the group, approaching her with an easy smile.

“Hi there! I’m Jordan. How you doing?”

Here we go again. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Let me help you with that bag, sweetheart.”

“I’ve got it, thank you. And I’m not your sweetheart.”

“Well then what is your name, sweetie?”

Internally, Layla rolled her eyes. “It’s Layla.”

“Layla. That’s such a pretty name. I saw you sitting by yourself the other day and I knew I had to get to know you. So, where you headed?”

“Building G.”

“What a coincidence! So am I! What class?”

“CRJ 303.”

What’s that? Cute Ruffles and….Jewels?” Jordan winked at her.

“So you think I’m a fashion major.” Just like everyone else does.

“Well, with your makeup done so well, your trendy clothes...and your body…” She could feel his eyes lingering on her hungirly. She cringed internally.

“Actually, why don’t you look up the class? I’ve forgotten the full name of it. How silly of me.” She flashed a playful smile at him. Jordan grinned ear to ear as he whipped out his phone. Looks like he took the bait, Layla smirked internally. Now to go in for the kill.

“...Wait. That can’t be right.”

“Hmm?” She looked up innocently.

“...It says here that CRJ 303 is Statistical Analysis.”

“That’s right.”

“But, you can’t be taking that.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well for one thing, you’re a fashion major, and second, you’re too…”

“Too what? Too pretty?”

Jordan froze and flushed red. Layla stopped to face him, standing at her full height. She was only 5’4”, but three inch heels helped.

“First off, I never said I was a fashion major. You assumed. Second, you assume that just because I’m pretty that I can’t possibly be smart. Am I right?”

“Well, I…”

“CRJ 303 is Statistical Analysis for Criminal Justice majors. It covers the fundamentals and application of descriptive and inferential statistics, with emphasis in the administration of justice. It requires math as high as Calculus, which I’ve already taken. I’ve already knocked out all of my pre-reqs while I was still in high school and am here on a full-ride scholarship. I’m here to study and become a detective, not just be some blonde bimbo who will let herself get laid by any boy who walks up and tries to be cute. Got it?”

Jordan had shrunk by at least six inches. He couldn’t speak.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a class to get to. Go find someone else to objectify. Or better yet, don’t objectify anyone at all.”

She turned with a swish of blonde hair, leaving Jordan in shambles. As soon as she was inside the classroom, she slumped down in her seat and breathed a sigh of relief. This kind of interaction was fairly normal for her. Why can’t people see that I am intelligent and_ like makeup and dressing nice?_ When people gave her unwanted attention at first, she had tried just telling them no, but they wouldn’t listen. So she had been forced to develop a more...potent way to deal with them. I’m tired of everyone seeing me as just some Barbie Girl with no brains. Who says a pretty girl can’t be smart? I have a nice body and I am happy in my skin, but that’s all anyone ever sees.

A tap on her shoulder startled her from her thoughts. Her face eased into a genuine smile when she saw who it was: Waylen.

“Fend off another pack of vultures today?” He flashed a crooked smile at her as he settled into his seat.

“Yeah. If there was a season for vultures, this must be it. They’re everywhere.” She sighed as she stared blankly into space.

“That sucks for sure, Layla. But you know what else it is the season for?”

“What?”

“Pumpkin Spice Lattes.” He produced a steaming cup of coffee, the scent of autumn emanating barely contained by the beverage’s lid.

“You didn’t have to!”

“But I did. You know it’s your favorite.”

Smiling graciously, Layla accepted the hot drink, it’s warm scent calming and invigorating her. She smiled as she sipped the latte. “Maybe I should cut my hair, then the vultures would leave me alone.”

“Do you want to cut your hair?”

“...no. I love it at this length.”

“Then leave it. They are the ones who need to change, not you.”

The professor called the class to order and to go over the study guide for the upcoming exam. Waylen sat beside her taking frantic notes, his tongue stuck out in concentration. Layla couldn't help but smile as she doodled some notes. She had grown to enjoy Waylen’s kind, genuine, funny, and quirky personality. I’m glad there are people like Waylen in this world...

[chosenfamily-valkyriequeens]

Personal opinion: Nesta Archeron deserves better

Nesta is definitely closed off and hurt by what had happened to her, and for completely understandable reasons. It angers me that Rhys is so heartless and an a**hole when it comes to Nesta—like Feyre did go through trauma too, some from their childhood (everyone’s trauma is different yes) but y’all didn’t just expect her to be okay the next day, why would Nesta be any different!

Mor as well is bugging me and she is just acting like a straight up b*tch for no reason besides being jealous and petty over Cassian and Nesta’s budding relationship and Feyre’s hurt feelings. Mor more than anyone should understand what Nesta is going through considering the sexual assault. I hope the two of them realize how wrong they’ve been to treat her so cruelly. Personally I’d like it to be a dramatic Nesta is about to die and they’ve found out the truth about her past and that she’s always loved her sisters and they are like “I’m so sorry please forgive me for being an a**hat” but who knows;)

Nesta’s character is so complex, intelligent and dark, she’s my favorite character out of every book I’ve ever read—and I’ve read A LOT of books. She’s so relatable to anyone who’s felt like the mistreated, worthless, unloved, unwanted, charity case of the family or friend group, when no one valued your side of the story to favor a biased version. And everyone goes through this feeling at least once in their life. This attitude towards Nesta becomes a single story mindset that is so toxic, and the “inner circle”—minus Cassian every now and then( haven’t forgotten about the “your sister care for you and I don’t understand why but they do” part)—is falling into it.

They are so protective of Feyre that they aren’t realizing they are ignoring someone who clearly needs help but doesn’t know how to or doesn’t want to ask for help yet. You can’t pressure someone into asking for help, the have to want to be helped before anything can happen.

I’m not sure how I really feel about her being BANISHED to the mountains with Cassian, I really love them together and want them to be endgame. But how they went about deciding her life without her opinion upsets me. Yes she isn’t in the best to be making life decisions alone, but it’s still HER LIFE she should have a say in what’s happening.

When Feyre was brought to the Night Court it took her months to open up to them, longer for her to even fucking smile! She’d been kidnapped and killed and then she was stuck in a toxic relationship and she needed to figure out how to love herself and be okay with her new body first before she started any type of relationship with Rhys and the inner circle. She didn’t just click her fingers and wish away the pain, it took her a long time to cope with what happened.

Nesta should be given the same courtesy. She at a young age was told she was only good for marrying for status and wealth and having children by her mother who never showed her much attention, her father was always gone and lost all their money putting them all in jeopardy. She wanted to believe her father was the knight in shining armor that would fight for them and save them—but he didn’t. She was almost raped and was sexually assaulted by someone she thought cared about her. Was then later dragged out of her bed and was DROWNED&KILLED turing into a thing she had feared her while life. But not before having to watch as her sister was killed right before her eyes and turned as well. You don’t just get over that with a snap of your fingers.

It kills me that people are so upset about Nesta not stepping up and helping as the oldest. SHE WAS A CHILD, yes so was Feyre but don’t forget that Nesta too was a little girl, heartbroken that her family life was destroyed, her mother dead and her father not the hero she thought he would be. Everyone deals with pain different. She was raised to believe her only purpose was to marry and have children, not go out and kill animals in the woods.

Feyre being the youngest daughter was probably not subjected to the lessons Nesta was to become a perfect wife, giving her more time to be kid and play and be a little bit more outgoing—most likely what lead her to be the provider.

(the reading lessons I feel was unfortunate, she forgot overtime for not practicing—not saying that was her fault ether, but I 100% believe that if Nesta had known she couldn’t read she would have taught her. Just think about it, Nesta loves to read, it’s empowering and she would definitely teach her had Feyre asked for it, because no one knew she couldn’t read, they even mention that in the books, Nesta said she would’ve taught her had she known she didn’t know how.)

Nesta wasn’t raised to be like that, so don’t expect her to just wake up and forget the years of programming her mother had drilled into her head. Let’s also not forget Elian is older than Feyre too, they really just brush over her and ignore that she too didn’t help provide for the family ether, yet the inner circle welcomed her with open arms because she’s quite and shy and won’t fight back or lash out for her feelings being hurt.

Nesta also was probably embarrassed that she didn’t know how to help, and didn’t know how to ask. People tend to skip over parts that they don’t like to focus on the parts they only want to see. Nesta went out and cut the wood when Feyre asked, Nesta went into the woods to go get Feyre back, she offered up her story to the high lords for the war, she wanted to learn how to fight so she would be helpful, how to use her powers, but do we hear anyone talking about that in the inner circle? No. And that pisses me off.

When the two Ravens came after them in the library she didn’t want to leave Feyre alone to fight them. She stayed and only went when Feyre told her to go find help. She wanted them to have an advantage in the war so she stayed and fought, made herself a distraction so they could get to the cauldron and keep the king distracted. Cassian was about to die and instead of running like he told her to she picked up his sword and tried to fight and when it failed she covered his body with her own, they wouldn’t die alone, they’d go together.

Her charter traits amaze me because if she were a male character I’m almost 99% certain none of us would be having this conversation about how “he” is a bitch that doesn’t deserve to be happy. If she was a male it would be socially acceptable that he is this way because he had a “troubled past” and he’s “dealing with it” he can drink and fuck whoever because he’s “healing” and that’s what guys do. No one would question it. The allure of the bad boy is so captivating that we ignore that they’ve made mistakes. But the minute you make them a female the are automatically a bitch and deserve to be hated because that’s not how a female should act.

Double standards exist in the books we read as well as the world we live in. It’s easy to forget that because we want to believe that the fantasy we have created is perfect when in reality it’s flawed. Flawed characters make for the best stories because they are the most relatable and REAL.

Nesta is probably the most real and relatable character to ever be created. She’s made mistakes, she’s made up of flaws, she been hurt but continues to go through life with her head held high. She doesn’t give two shits about what people think of her. She runs her life how she wants it. She doesn’t stand for people treating her like crap. She’s quick to say something back to defend herself or deflect it to something else. She’s intelligent and smart. She knew how many ships were needed to save the humans she cares about others.

But she is also flawed. It’s hard for her to feel emotions, to be open and understand other peoples emotions. She’s quick tempered and hot headed, but she’s also caring and passionate about the people she cares about. She would lay down her life if it meant she would save the people she cares about.

At the end of the war she’s hit with the reality that her father actually cared about them and she watched him be KILLED right in front of her, if that doesn’t speak volumes about scaring emotional trauma I don’t know what does.

She also has to come to terms with the fact that shes killed people. Jus because they were bad doesn’t mean that killing them was easy and didn’t effect her. The power burst saved them all but it also ended thousands of lives, regardless of what they did she has to live with the fact that she has ended another persons life. Even the King of Hybern’s death might not be easy for her to deal with. She ripped his head from his body, that would give any sane person nightmares.

She has had less that three months to cope with her new body and magic and is thrown into a war and watches the people around her are dying. That’s probably why she helps out in the medic tent and tends to the wounded, she can’t really fight so she finds something to do to help.

Side note: when she was helping in the medic tents during the war do you all remember the scene when she noticed Cassian’s hand was hurt? She literally took care of him. She might not show emotion often but when she does it speaks volumes. And then Cassian had to go and rip his hand away from her when Mor walked in. That probably made her feel like he was embarrassed to be seen with her. That’s she’s not worth being around if people don’t like her and will judge him if he’s seen with her.

For her PTSD It mentions how every time she lights a fire all she can hear is bones popping and necks snapping—I wouldn’t want to light a fire ether if that’s all I thought about and heard. The bath tub has me reeling. She’s forced herself to get over her fear because she thinks she deserves the pain is causes her. She stopped eating and taking care of herself because she thought she deserved to punish herself.

And the biggest problem I had with the inner circle—Cassain included this time, was solstice. Not one present for her besides Elain(and whatever the hell cassian threw in the damn river!!), and they practically forced her to go and they didn’t even get her anything! What the heck!!! I mean sure she didn’t get them anything, but she’s never celebrated this before how would she know? And it’s not like she had the money ether. Yes it was Feyre’s birthday but she also probably didn’t know what to get her with the bad place they were in at the moment. And there was not one painting of her in the entire house. I would feel uncomfortable and unwanted too if I was her. They don’t like how she chose to deal with her pain and they try to fix her pain, instead of listening to her pain and what SHE needs verses what THEY think she needs.

They only do what they want because they want to sweep it under the rug and move on. Because they don’t want poor fragile Feyre to feel sad. Fuck them honestly. If Nesta’s not ready to deal she’s not ready to deal giver her her damn space and time.

She needs to hit rock bottom before she’s ready to climb back to the surface. And all the the inner circle has had hundreds of years to cope with their pain and know what works for them. Nesta is a 22 year old women. She’s not developed the right ways to cope with death and tragedy yet, she needs to figure out what works best for her and that’s okay, she should be able to learn what works for her, not be forced to try what works for others.

Nesta is Depressed, she’s shown clear signs of PTSD, as well and Anxiety. You don’t just get over those because people are done with your mopping, they take time and sometimes they never go away you just learn how to cope with them when they flare up. You can’t just stuff it into a jar and hope it never comes out. It doesn’t work that way. And the 500+ year old Fae should understand that!!!!

Her drinking and having sex is her way of trying to feel something as well as not feeling anything. Again if she was a male character no one would be having a problem with this. Cassian and the other go out and drink for no reason and no one gets on them about it. Rhys said the day Feyre was going to marry Tamlin he was going to be piss drunk to not feel anything. And can you imagine what he would’ve been like had Feyre actually married Tamlin? He’d be wreak, and probably end up destroying himself because of his broken-heartedness.

Another thing about her going to the camps is, she has extreme PTSD from the war and from her sexual assault with Tomas. And now she being sent into what will probably be another war. A camp where all males do is fight all day—not good for someone who has PTSD about fighting. A place where women are treated like breeders and objects—not good for some who has sexual assault trauma. And they just expect her to be fine?! Noooooo!!!

She is going to struggle and not in the good way that gets her to feel again. She’s going to be pushed beyond her limits in a bad way and this could ultimately be what destroys her. My only hope is that the other females recognize what’s she’s going through and find a positive way to support her. I want her to have her own group of strong empowering and compassionate females and males in her new friend group.

The inner definitely doesn’t deserve to have Nesta in their “happy little circle” as Nesta puts it. She is someone I’d want to be friends with because she’d go to the ends of the earth to help her friends and the inner circle doesn’t understand that she DOES have a heart, she is just scared of it getting hurt and broken because she let herself love someone and be loved by someone, to only end up getting hurt the same way she did by Tomas. Trust is hard to build when it’s been broken time and time again.

Things I want from ACOSF is for Nesta to get better all on her own. To ignore the inner circle—minus Cassian sometimes, I do love their banter and I want to see some fluff and sexual tension/frustration and smut from them, as well as a good heart to heart with some tears on both sides about their pasts. Her to United the camp lords. Befriend Devlon—have a father daughter relationship with the dude, change the way females are treated in the camps. Come into her powers. Have Cassian stand up to his family and defend Nesta(she’s probs had no one EVER stand up for her before). For her to ABSOLUTELY NOT apologize to the inner circle, they should apologize to her only for treating her like crap and holding her last mistakes over her head like a sword waiting to cop her head off if she makes one wrong move . For Nesta to befriend Bryaxis—OMG how awesome that would be!!! Hahahaha. Maybe The Court of Nightmares cameo. Find out who Cassian saw in the prison, as well as WHAT THE BLOODY HELL CASSIAN THREW INTO THE SIDRA ON SOLOIST!!!! And hopefully the Ilyrians will become independent from the Night Court with the help of Nesta as their newQueen—Sarah has called her a queen without a throne, if this doesn’t happen then I quit. And maybe Cassain ruling with her. Oh and of course NESSIAN MATES AS ENDGAME!!!!!!!!

I hope Nesta gets her deserved happy ending, regardless of whether or not the inner circle is involved in her healing and empowerment. She is a Queen, and nothing will stop her from owning her life and getting her happiness like she deserves!<3

Sorry for the rant:)

#nesta #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #sarajmaas #cassian #nessian #queennesta

[shera-dnd]

Nostalgia

And the last post in celebration of me and Buff Anon’s gayniversary

A fic inspired by her marangella dream

Hope you guys enjoy it

The first thing Angella saw as she woke up were stars. They covered the sky in a way she hadn’t seen in over a thousand years. Their light shining down upon Etheria. Except this wasn’t Etheria, or at least not her Etheria. This was the world between worlds, the world inside the portal and she was stuck there for the rest of time.

Fear and regret made her heart sink into her stomach. This was it, this would be the rest of her existence. Could she really live like this for the rest of time? She shook her head and forced herself to stand. She had done this to save her people, to save her daughter, it didn’t matter if she was stuck here now, she would never regret that decision.

She took flight to try and find out where exactly she was. It looked like the same field as before and equally empty, seeming to stretch through miles and miles. She looked down to the place where she had woken up and quietly spoke.

“Good luck, girls. At least you’ll always have each other” And with those words she flew towards the horizon, unsure of where to go, but not wanting to stay in the same place for long.

She didn’t know for how long she flew, for neither the stars nor the moons moved in the sky, but after a while the fields were slowly replaced by trees and then by what she recognized as the Whispering Woods. It had been so long since she last flew over these lands. It almost felt nostalgic.

A glimpse of blue among the green trees made her stop. Could this be another person? Was someone else here with her? She tried not to get her hopes up. That was impossible and she knew it, but it would still be wise to investigate.

As she landed on a clearing in the woods she was hit by a strange feeling of deja vu... like she had landed in this exact patch of the woods before. Following that feeling, Angella walked through the oddly familiar path among the trees. As she travelled deeper the sense of familiarity grew stronger and yet she still couldn’t quite understand why. That was until she reached the next clearing.

Someone stood there, distractedly looking away from Angella. The queen froze as she realized who it was that awaited her, the same way she had waited so many centuries ago, and when that person turned around to meet her gaze Angella couldn’t help the tears that formed in her eyes as she whispered the name.

“Mara”

~~~

The princess of Brightmoon flew above the Whispering Woods with great joy. She flipped and rolled and danced in the air as she laughed. She was hardly ever allowed to leave the sight of her guards, but in these few moments where she did get to be alone she could finally fully enjoy herself. Sure she was not supposed to leave the castle grounds, but as long as she got back before her next appointment she would be just fine.

She gained more and more altitude as she flew towards the clouds and let the sun warm her face, her laughter grew louder and more full of energy as she reached heights she would never be allowed to reach in the castle, and as she touched the clouds she closed her wings and fell backwards towards the ground.

She had done this a thousand times, never from this height of course, but it was still the same principle. Just gain enough speed that when she opened her wings she would be sent rocketing forwards and upwards again.That was easy and now she could truly see how fast she could go.

The answer was very fast, too fast even. When she righted herself again she was barely above the treeline and she was flying faster than she ever had before. All it took was a single branch sticking a little higher than the rest and she was sent barreling down through the Whispering Woods.

The princess landed face first into a clearing. If she hadn’t put up her magic shield she was pretty sure she would’ve died there. Well, as long as her mom didn’t hear about it she was fine. She spread her wings to fly back towards the castle, but a sharp pain shot through her body. That was bad, she must have broken a wing on her way down. She was such a fool, why didn’t she listen to her mom for once? Oh no, her mom was never gonna let her out of her sight again, she was gonna be stuck in her room for the next century.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” A voice called  from among the trees. The princess remained very quiet, trying her best not to garner any unwanted attention. Maybe it was a bandit here to kidnap her, or worse, a castle guard here to bring her back to her mom. Though she didn’t remember any of the guards sounding quite that cute.

The woman that emerged into the clearing was clearly neither - though she was very cute - her beautiful blue clothes were too fancy and well kept to be a bandit and she was much too young to be a guard. The woman before her was just about her age, but carried herself like a knight.

“Oh no!” She gasped, running towards the princess “Are you okay? Please, let me help you!”

Before the princess could say anything the woman extended a hand towards her and began glowing gold. Her warm light radiated towards the princess and she felt a comforting energy emanating from inside her. In just a few moments her wing had fully healed and all pain had faded away. The woman in front of her smiled and the princess felt a different kind of warmth.

“Are you a princess?” She heard herself asking before even noticing. She shook her head and berated herself “I mean thank you for helping me”

“No worries” the woman said with a giggle “and I guess you could say I’m a princess”

“You guess?” She asked, confused

“It’s complicated” She said with a shrug “And my name is Mara, by the way”

“Oh” How rude of the princess to forget something  so basic “My name is Angella. It’s a pleasure to meet you”

“Angella? The princess of Brightmoon?” Mara asked and Angella let out a tired sigh. Could she not be a princess for once?

“Yeah, that is the one” She admitted “Did the wings give me away?” she asked, spreading them behind her.

“Wow” Mara said, distractedly “I mean no. I didn’t want to assume everyone with wings in Etheria was somehow related”

“Right” Angella answered. There was something weird with how she phrased that, but Angella decided against prying any further “Well, I should probably get going. Wouldn’t want to keep the queen waiting”

She turned around to leave, but a hand grabbed her shoulder and wow was that hand strong. Angella tried her best to hide her blush as she looked back at Mara.

“Let me accompany you” She asked. Earning an annoyed huff from the princess.

“I can take good care of myself, thank you very much” Angella declared, taking Mara’s hand away from her.

“No no, I didn’t mean it like that” Mara apologize “I just...wanted to talk to you some more” She admitted awkwardly.

“Oh” Angella let out in surprise “I would like that very much”

And so the princesses walked together towards the castle. The rush from before and any concerns over worrying the queen completely forgotten as they joked and laughed and casually strolled back to Angella’s home. The stars shined bright in the sky by the time they finally arrived at the castle gates.

Angella gave her savior and new friend a smile and a kiss on the cheek, before being escorted back by the guards and even as she was berated by her mother her mood did not falter, for how could she feel like anything but the happiest woman in all Etheria after seeing Mara smile.

~~~

Mara stood before her, just the same as she did over a thousand years ago. Still the beautiful young woman Angella fell in love with such a long long time ago, but Angella was no longer the same. She had aged, even if not much physically, she still had gone through so much loss and hurt. She had to watch so many loved ones die while she continued to be the immortal queen of Brightmoon. All these losses slowly corroded her bravery until it gave way to a crippling fear that kept her locked inside her castle better than her mother ever could.

And there was Mara, her first love and her first loss. The woman who carried the weight of the world on her back and did so with a warm smile and a comforting laugh. The woman who made Angella feel like she could take on the world.

For a moment she wondered if this was all still a trick of the portal, like Micah had been before, but when Mara held her hand she knew this was true. This was her Mara, stuck in this world with her and now neither of them were alone anymore. And as she pulled her close into her embrace she felt that, for the first time since she had lost Micah, eternity was a weight she could bear.

[drjackandmissjo]

firewhisky on ice, sunset and vine

you’ve ruined my life by not being mine

Chapter 2 --- previous chapter --- next chapter

Harry Potter fic Masterlist

Set in the course of his Sixth Year, this story follows Slytherin’s finest, Blaise Zabini, as he navigates classes and friendships and Death Eaters and a certain idiot plant-head Gryffindor.

'Dittany is a powerful healing herb and restorative and may be eaten raw to cure shallow wounds.'

Blaise had read that same sentence for the 24th time. Had counted each time his eyes went up on the page towards the words that were now permanently marked in his memory, yet so far out of his grasp. It wasn't that 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi' was a boring book. To someone truly passionate about the subject it might actually be quite enjoyable, but it was a textbook and textbooks are not supposed to be entertaining. Unless you were a freak as Granger, but her distorted mentality was not his to judge.

Sighing, he rested his head on the table he was studying on, careful not to make too much noise. Madam Pince and her fine hearing were simply awful to anyone who merely breathed too loudly in the library. "One more time and if I can't do it then I'll try again later after dinner" he told himself, on the verge of despair.

He simply couldn't understand. Charms came easy to him, even Potions with Snape wasn't that hard to follow, even if he was a mess at teaching it: brilliant man and head of the house, but all over the place and really, really terrible at sharing knowledge. Even in his current new position as Defence Against the Dark Arts, he wasn't that great, and that was the job he had lusted after, for years.

But flowers and herbs, those were is Achilles's heel. The worst part was that it seemed to come naturally to Bloody Longbottom.

Perfect asshole with his neat notes at the margins of his books and his terrible grasp of changing shit from their original form, but despite all that was better than a few of his housemates and studied hard to maintain his acceptable level in Transfiguration. Bloody moron who simply could understand what Professor Sprout meant to say even before she said it, who had the best grades in Herbology, who laughed tilting his head backwards whenever Saint Potter or one of his friends made a joke that was particularly funny, who seemed to be everywhere since their first Transfiguration lecture together.

Blaise was so screwed.

He had now begun to have a hard time concentrating during the class he seated with the Gryffindor, his mind wandering to the bloody fingers tapping lightly over the desk as he scrunched his nose up in concentration.

He was so bloody screwed.

'Rule number eight, if you can't get someone out of your head, make sure you're stuck in theirs also.'

But it wasn't that easy, was it? For one, despite being 100% positive of his sexuality, he hadn't told anyone but his mother, who was really supportive and immediately shared all her rules for landing a hot and rich husband. At that time he had laughed, almost uncomfortable, but now he was sure her set of rules was going to be a lifesaver, and not only when boys were concerned.

Second, he did not know whether or not Longbottom shared his likings and had absolutely no way of figuring it out. Sure, he had gone to the Yule Ball two years prior with the Female Weasley and hang out now with Loony Lovegood and the rest of the moronic Gryffindors, but there was nothing that betrayed his heart's true desires. He had no one in their circle to ask to, and was pretty sure that cute, shy, jacked, nervous and downright hot Longbottom, "damn Salazar why even his surname had to have such a sexual innuendo?", wasn't out or anything. Maybe he was still figuring it all out?

Groaning, he rose up to his feet, unable to concentrate on fucking dittany without losing his mind for one second more. Bloody Longbottom with his very nice ass made his way into his mind and suddenly Blaise's pants felt way too tight for his own comfort and he had to adjust his robe. He closed roughly his book, placing it in his bag alongside his notebook and pens and highlighters, avoiding Madam Pince's burning glare at the unwanted noise.

He began to quickly make his way towards the Great Hall, wondering what would be there for dinner and completely lost in thought. In the back of his mind, he could feel his mother's voice telling him 'Rule number twelve, always be conscious of your surroundings', but his brain couldn't stop wandering, his body relying only on muscle memory to not walk into walls.

Unfortunately, muscle memory wasn't that reliable when taking into account other moving people and objects. Which was why he had ended on the floor, landing on his ass and soundly cursing whoever was the bloody "pezzo di merda di doxy" that still hadn't learnt how to walk.

His mother was always controlled and poised and he had never heard a bad word coming from her red painted lips, but his paternal grandparents were a different kind of people. His grandfather’s favourite word was, alongside of other Italian curses, a very pointed minchia. He used it almost on each sentence, changing the intonation to accommodate a different meaning. Most of the time he added to the equation a variety of gestures that, given the situation, assumed a rather crude sense.

His Nonna was slightly more PG, preferred not to use certain words, especially in front of Blaise, but she still told her husband to fuck himself in whichever language she was thinking at the moment and taught him her fair share of Ethiopian hexes.

"You came onto me, genius" the idiot that had clearly gone into him said, rather angrily sounding.  "Ma porca di quella puttana" Blaise thought, of course his rotten luck would make him crash into the long legged Gryffindor he was just daydreaming of.

Remembering who he was and finally stopping acting like a ridiculous hormonal dork, he rose from the floor, trying to look menacing despite being the shorter one in this debate. "No, good sir, you appeared out of nowhere" he said, sounding sturdier and surer than he'd thought. He was rather proud of his impeccable composure, until the other boy spoke with a sly smirk on his lips, "Haven't taken my apparition exam yet so can't just do that."

Blaise's brain stopped working immediately. Deep down he knew that anyone, even someone as dull and bland as a Gryffindor, could surprise him, and so far the dumb dork had surpassed all his expectations, excluding the ones on Transfiguration. But he simply couldn't picture sweet, shy, formerly chubby, Schlongbottom as someone who knew how to talk back, especially with such an authoritative tone. The mere thought did funny things to his body.

Questions began to swim all around his mind: Was this real or a hallucination caused by his very recent fall? Since when did this bloody plant-head even know sarcasm? How was it possible for someone to become even more attractive?

Did Blaise mention that he was so fucking screwed?

"What, cat got your tongue?" Longbottom asked smugly, visibly pleased with himself.

In that moment Blaise swore off any possible feeling that wasn't related to hatred or anger towards the idiot in front of him. "I don't reply to morons such as yourself" he said, mustering a casual and bored tone he didn't know he had. "Bloody superb" he thought proudly as he watched the Gryffindor's gaze harden.

He suddenly didn't enjoy the turn their conversation had taken.

Longbottom then briskly shoved his forgotten Herbology textbook, "when did he even picked it up?", and stormed off to the other side of the empty corridor, towards the glasshouse, without uttering a single word.

"Great Hall's on the other side, idiota" he yelled at his slowly stepping away back, "You're gonna be late for dinner." Blaise couldn't care less, of course, but the impulsive part of his brain wanted to get the Gryffindor's attention for a little bit longer.

Longbottom stopped dead on his track, turning sideways to look back at Blaise and giving him the perfect side view of his backside, as well as of his front. "Ammazza oh." was the only thought that filled his mind before registering that the other boy was speaking: “Not that's any concern of yours, but I gotta get some Baneberry for my toad."

He was speechless. It was explicitly forbidden to take even the most innocuous weed from the glasshouses and classes, even during lectures to study them afterwards, yet this bloody Gryffindor marched towards the door as if he owned the place. He knew Longbottom had the best grades and was clearly their Professor's favourite since he fainted in excitement on their second year at their first class, but damn.

Astonished, he couldn't stop himself from blunting possibly the dumbest sentence ever: “But Professor Sprouts doesn't let us take any of her plants outside our designated scheduled time!"

The other boy had the audacity to grin, viciously and borderline dangerously and porca miseria it was getting hotter under his robe by the second. "Maybe to the rest of this school" Longbottom said, his shoulders squared and posture tense, "But I'm her assistant and have her blessings to do whatever the hell I want in any of the greenhouses, however dangerous it might be. So taking an innocuous plant for my toad isn't gonna get me expelled before I can say 'Quidditch'"

Blaise did definitely misread the look the Gryffindor gave him, thinking it hinted something while it was only meant as a superiority glance, and he was definitely thinking with his dick now.

Longbottom merely turned around, unbothered by his silence, and walked forward towards the glasshouse for the 2nd year, unaware that Blaise was still rooted on his spot, trying to regain his footing and willing his body to direct the blood back into his legs, failing miserably.

He was in such deep shit it would almost be laughable.

BONUS

When Neville turns around all he can think is either "Shitshitshitshit" and "Damn he's hot but I’m Str8. I think, but damn I'd tap that."

Glossary:

"Pezzo di merda di doxy" means 'piece of doxy shit' "Minchia" is a commonly used curse word, especially in southern Italy; it literally can mean both penis or vagina, depending on where you're from, but most commonly is referred to the female genital; it is typically used in the same way as the English 'fuck' to curse "Nonna" is Grandmother "Ma porca di quella puttana" again, another curse; literally is 'that fucking bitch' or something along those lines, but here it is used as an expression of disbelief, like 'you gotta be kidding me' "Idiota" is idiot "Ammazza oh", literally "Kill it oh", is the equal of a long whistle, mostly of approval "Porca miseria" is "that rotten luck", and is used to express discomfort or as the English 'holy shit'

I'm sorry for all those curse words! I deeply apologize!

Bonus: When Neville turns around all he can think is either "Shitshitshitshit" and "Damn he's hot but I’m Str8. I think, but damn I'd tap that."

[bewareofchris]

Public Relations 5/??

PG-13 atm | Alec Hardy/Dr. Bill Masters | Broadchurch, Masters of Sex | Strong language, eventual sexual situations

“The fact that Alec Hardy was not currently, had not ever, and did not want to date the American sex research did not seem very important at all to the town of Broadchurch.  They did what they had always done with a little bit of juicy gossip: they made a spectacle of it.”

<< prev

Bill had taken the precaution of preparing himself to be stared at.  It was always easier to handle being the center of attention when you had stood in front of the mirror that morning reminding yourself it was only curiosity.  There was nothing wrong with a bit of healthy interest.  (An excess in interest, though, that left a man feeling every so slightly slimy.  There was just something about the slide of long stares across his body that left him with a film of disgust on his skin.  He certainly wished he’d never learned the difference but there was no going back now.)  He had attempted to look casual, like anyone might try to look when they were out on vacation.  Contrary to popular belief at his office, he did own T-shirts.  He just didn’t have any here.  Betty could only pack what she had access to and the only clothes he’d rescued from Libby had been the ones she hadn’t already thrown out or burned.  

Casual was the effect he was hoping for, but the best he’d managed was rolled up sleeves and the top few buttons of his shirt left undone.  Even his shoes were shiny, like a beacon to draw in attention.  He might as well taken to introducing himself as Dr. Bill Masters, I cheated on my wife and got kicked out of the country, I professional observe couples having sex.

Might have been easier to just say ‘cheating pervert’.

The young woman who owned the hotel did not stop him on his way out.  She had been distracted by an oversized crowd in her sitting room.  (Or bar?  Or dining room.  He wasn’t clear on what it was other than it had tables and served beer, maybe.)  It allowed him to escape without too much fuss.  The air was still crisp, and fresh.  

Bill walked without any sense of direction and he found himself along a path that took him closer and closer to the edge of the cliff he’d seen from the beach below.  It was breath taking, like a fist in his chest that robbed his body of oxygen.  It was amazing how small it left him feeling, and how beautiful it was to feel so small. 

And he might have stood there, enraptured in an unfamiliar feeling of smallness and beauty if not for the crude, unwanted interjection of, “for fucks sake,” that sounded a little bit like the skinny stupid man that was fine with dying alone.  Bill turned toward the sound of the voice and there was the bastard himself.  There was a faint blush of color in his face, a shivering restoration of strength to his limbs.  His voice was scraped out of his throat, and his face was twisted up in disbelieving disapproval.  (No it was harder than that, it wasn’t disapproval, it was something like distaste that was bridging into disgust.)  He didn’t say another word but turned immediately and walked away.

“No wait a minute!” Bill shouted after him.  He stumbled after him.  (That came from wearing dress shoes and damp grass.)  It was easy to catch a man with a heart like Alec Hardy’s.  It wasn’t like he was even capable of moving fast enough to avoid a turtle much less a full grown man.  His arm was thin as bones when Bill’s hand caught it and the man whipped around so fast it was unthinkable it was followed with some kind of blow.  A punch, a kick, an open handed slap.  

They were staring at one another, Hardy glaring with contempt and Bill catching his breath (and trying to reason out why he was so vile to the man).  “Just stay well away from me,” Hardy said.

“I have no interest in being near you,” Bill snapped back.  And then, more importantly, “you live here?”

Hardy looked lie he would rather answer any question in the world but that one.  (Or maybe he just didn’t want to admit that he, too, had been sent here by forces beyond his control.)  “Unfortunately.  I mean it, stay away from me.  I don’t have time for you.”  He half turned, stopped, and glanced back at him, as if he were judging if Bill would try to grab him again.  Then he turned full and stalked away.

No amount of imagination, or scientific hypothesizing could have prepared him from this moment.  He had stood in his mirror to prepare himself for nosy baristas, but how could he have known that ill-tempered dying detectives would sneer at him with something that felt almost like hatred.  And what did it even mean I don’t have time for you?  

Bill hadn’t even been asking for time.

He hadn’t been asking for anything but an explanation.  (Maybe.  Maybe just someone that looked almost familiar to him.)  Betty would have loved it, seeing him struck dumb and offended, lost on a cliff side.  She would have died laughing, with a little wink because he’d left so many people feeling the way he felt right now it was about time he got a taste of it.  

The morning had only started and now it felt hopelessly ruined.  (And since there was no hope of improvement, there was nothing stopping him from going back to the coffee shop to be gawked at.)

--

There were far worse things to be than gay.  Being routinely referred to as shitface behind his back came to mind.  And if the whole of his coworkers and the town around them was going to call him such a charming nickname, they could have at least done so with secrecy.  The longer he stayed the less they seemed to care about the pretense of respect.  The last stronghold against the brewing dislike for him was Miller and her amusement at his foulness was almost as annoying.  Hardy didn’t mind being disliked as long as the investigation proceeded properly.

He didn’t mind being thought of as gay either.

But he didn’t have time to fuel any rumors about the sex life that he wasn’t even capable of having.  He wasn’t capable of having anything but a matter of months that was quickly narrowing down to weeks.  His body could feel the failing of his heart and it left him with a sense of dread that couldn’t be ignored.

He’d read somewhere, that’s how it felt when you knew you were going to die.  He remembered seeing it in an article, lost somewhere in late-night wandering through the internet.  He couldn’t remember now if it were true or not, but the idea had stuck with him.  It had been at the back of his mind so long that it had become a fact.  (After all, anything could be true if you believed it long enough.)  The body knew when it was wrong and there was no mistaking that regardless of the spryness of his mind, and the bitterness of his soul, his body was wrong.

Hardy was dying.

He couldn’t have been fucking an American Doctor even if he’d wanted to.  He couldn’t fuck anyone.  He could hardly stand a brisk walk.  He couldn’t even manage an intense emotion without his chest crushing itself.  He could feel the fist of pain starting, and his head was spinning before he’d even made it back to the hotel.  He had intended to go straight to work, but there was no hope in making it there now.

He got through the door without collapsing, let it slam behind him with no sense of decorum or shame.  Becca leaned out of the doorway of her gathered assembling of snoops to squint at him with concern.  She said, “are you alright,” as he walked past.  “Hey,” she called after him.  Her feet were shuffling after him, because she knew enough about him to know that he was not.  “Do you need an ambulance?”

“No,” Hardy snapped back, “I forgot,” what could have possibly forgotten, “a file.  I’m fine.”  His voice was even enough that he could almost believe himself.  He lost her in the hallway, she didn’t follow him the whole way to his room.  That was a small miracle.

Hardy wasn’t interested in thanking God for anything lately, but he spared the idea of a prayer to be thankful that he made it all the way to his room before his legs turned rubbery.  He lurched for the bottle of pills he’d left on the bedside table.  He landed on his knees against the bed, collapsing sideways so he could sit.  His hands were shaking as he opened the bottle and pushed the pill into his mouth.

The pain was intense as the anger.  The anger was useless, it wouldn’t keep him alive.  The anger was a reminder of everything he was losing, or had lost, or still had just enough time to lose.  He’d lost his wife, and he’d lost his reputation, and he’d lost his daughter.  He’d let a child murderer go free and he couldn’t sleep without remembering it, remembering the exact second that he’d found out.

There were two dead little girls out there that couldn’t have justice for what was done to them.  There was a murderer free, toasting Alec Hardy as the fuck up who let him go.  

And Hardy was here, pressing a fist against his own chest, feeling a well of fury and unfairness that could have drown any man.  Hardy was here, right now, taking his time about dying.  

Not just yet.  Not until he found the man who killed Danny Latimer.

next>>

@marvelmisha, if you’d like to be tagged on future updates just let me know.

[magefeatheredfic]

It’s not technically Valentine’s Day here yet, but I’m getting ready for bed so I figured I’d slap my @mysmevalentinesdayexchange​ fic up real quick! Happy Valentine’s Day to @leiram-art​ I really hope you enjoy it!

Pairing: Saeyoung x MC

Rating: G

Word Count: 4,500

All throughout their lives, ice cream had been the rarest and most treasured treat for the Choi twins. When they were young: because they had no money, because they weren't allowed to leave the house together, because they weren't allowed to ask for unnecessary things - or even necessary ones. When they were apart: because Mint Eye offered luxuries like sweets few and far between, because the mere thought of ice cream reminded 707 of the person he'd been, and the person he'd left behind; above all, because neither of them felt very deserving of it at any point in that span of time. Now that they're reunited: because Saeran's anxiety prevents him from leaving the house almost as effectively as their mother had, and because keeping it in the house seemed like it would taint the speciality of it, ruin all their memories of ice cream as the highest reward.

But it's still cold enough in February that the ice cream parlor nearest to their apartment is almost always empty, even on Valentine's Day, and an empty shop is the most inviting kind to those with anxiety. Saeyoung has been awash with loneliness ever since he weaseled himself out of his job as an agent - “Nothing is stopping me from getting a girlfriend anymore, and I still can't manage to find one!” - and Saeran's mental health is still trying to bounce back from the seasonal depression, and both of these conditions are only exacerbated by the impending doom that is the lovey-dovey holiday. As such, the brothers decide to treat each other to a nice ice cream outing on Valentine’s day, so that neither of them is stuck moping around the house over their lack of partnership.

The bell above the door jingles when they enter, catching the attention of the girl behind the counter. “Welcome!” she calls, glancing up at the boys and throwing a bright smile their way.

“Oh no,” Saeyoung whispers, coming to a halt just inside the doorway, one arm held out to stop Saeran in his tracks as well.

Saeran looks down at the hand on his chest, brows furrowed, then looks to Saeyoung. “What's wrong?” he asks. Saeyoung nods his head toward the cashier.

“She's cute,” he answers, sounding positively mortified. 

Saeran sighs, pushing Saeyoung's arm aside and continuing into the shop. “Wait!” Saeyoung hisses. He grabs Saeran by the sleeve, tugging his brother back. “I need time to prepare myself!”

“Prepare yourself a little closer to the counter, so I can see what flavors they have,” Saeran says. “You look like a creep hovering in the doorway.”

Saeyoung groans, and follows Saeran across the dining area. Saeran examines the case of ice cream flavors, while Saeyoung tries to control his breathing. Talking to beautiful women as an agent, when he simply needed to use them to finish a job, had been easy. Flirting with any cute girl he saw when he knew he wasn't allowed to have relationships, and therefore it didn't matter whether or not she reciprocated, had been a piece of cake. But actually approaching a girl who looked cuter than anything his imagination could have cooked up, and smiled like she might actually understand his sense of humor, when he was free and able to have romantic intentions? Speaking to her face to face?

Saeyoung felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

“Are you guys ready?” her voice chimes, startling Saeyoung out of his thoughts. His eyes dart up to her face, and he feels his cheeks heat when she smiles at him. He smiles back, but his mind blanks itself of all verbal responses. Luckily, Saeran speaks up.

“I think so.”

The girl turns her attention to Saeran, but Saeyoung can't take his eyes off of her. “Cup or cone?” she asks. Saeyoung watches the way her lips wrap around the question, the way her tied-back hair swings over her shoulder when she turns to grab Saeran's choice of cone. “And what flavor would you like?”

“A scoop of vanilla and a scoop of chocolate.”

Saeyoung's eyes follow her as she ducks down to reach into the display case, scooping out Saeran's order. She steps a little further down the line, stopping in front of the toppings display. Saeyoung finally manages to tear his eyes away when she glances back at the pair of them, asking Saeran, “Any toppings?”

Saeran steps over to take a look at the options, while Saeyoung pretends to be incredibly interested in the menu board hanging overhead. “Chopped peanuts. Please.”

She hands Saeran his cone once he's confirmed that he doesn't want any more toppings, then returns to Saeyoung. “And for you?”

Saeyoung allows his eyes to return to her when she addresses him, and his lips return the smile she gives him without any input from his brain. It doesn't occur to him that he should be replying until she prompts, “Cup or cone?”

“Ah!” The question manages to startle Saeyoung out of his stupor, and kick his brain into gear. Her interaction with Saeran had been so standard and plain, he wanted to immediately separate himself from any idea she might have that he and his twin were identical in personality as well. “A cup, please,” he replies. His eyes flick down to her name tag, and he leans in as he reads it. “MC.”

Her smile brightens when he uses her name, and she bats her eyes at him when she turns to grab his cup. “And what flavor would you like?”

Saeyoung blinks, his smile falters. He realizes that he has not so much as glanced at the flavor options. His eyes drop down to the display case, and he hums thoughtfully. There are too many flavors for him to make a quick decision, so he improvises. Leaning his arms on the display, propping his chin up on one palm, he fixes her with a bright grin and asks, “What does the chef recommend?”

MC snorts out a laugh, glances from side to side, then leans over the glass. “Don't tell the other patrons, but we don't actually make the ice cream ourselves,” she tells him in a playful stage whisper. Saeyoung reels back with an exaggerated gasp, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense.

“What a scandal!” he proclaims. “I don't think I can eat here if you didn't milk the cow yourself out back of the shop!”

Saeyoung watches the laughter bubble up and spill from her lips, and his heart melts. Off to the side, Saeran rolls his eyes, licking at where his ice cream has started to melt down the side of his cone.

When her laughter dies down, MC straightens up. “If you really wanna know what I'd pick, though, we just got in this new specialty flavor that I am obsessed with.” She taps the glass, pointing to a tub of light yellow ice cream. “It's honey buddha flavor, based on the chips!” Saeyoung's eyes widen as they snap down to read the label, confirming her claim. “Some people don't like the saltiness of the flavor mixed with the sweetness of ice cream, but I think it's a perfect combo!” She reaches for a sampling spoon, but Saeyoung waves his hands to stop her.

“Say no more!” he announces. “I'll take three scoops of the honey buddha flavor. You, miss MC, have exquisite taste!”

MC beams at the silly compliment, and when she ducks down to scoop his order, Saeyoung thinks he sees a hint of a blush on her cheeks. When she stands and starts toward the toppings Saeyoung follows her automatically, not wanting her to walk away from him, even just those few steps.

“And for toppings?” she asks. “Do you like nuts, too?” The sparkle in her eye and the quirk of her brow tell Saeyoung she knows exactly what she's doing when she adds, “Or do you prefer cherries?”

Saeyoung waggles his eyebrows in return. “Can't a man enjoy both?” he answers, his voice low.

MC fakes a gasp, covering her mouth. “It appears we both have scandalous secrets!” She giggles, before lowering her voice. “Don't worry, I'll keep your secret if you keep mine.”

Saeyoung slathers his words in exaggerated sincerity, pressing his palm to his heart and giving her a slight bow. “You're the truest friend I've ever made in an ice cream parlor.”

The pair descends into a fit of laughter, causing the few other customers sprinkled throughout the shop to turn in their direction. Saeran steps away from them, waiting by the cash register at the end of the counter to avoid any unwanted attention. MC takes a few deep breaths to calm herself, but her voice is still is still bubbly when she asks, “So, chopped nuts and cherries?”

Saeyoung nods emphatically, still chuckling. “And sprinkles, too! Rainbow, not chocolate.”

“A honey buddha sundae with nuts, cherries, and rainbow sprinkles?” MC asks dubiously, though her grin is still in place. “That has got to be the most interesting sundae I’ve made in a while.”

“Then I guess I’ve got to be the most interesting customer you’ve had in a while!” Saeyoung’s heart thuds through his chest at the brazen line, but he’s on too strong of a roll to let his anxiety stop him. To his surprise, MC’s smile never falters.

“Oh, definitely,” she confirms. Saeyoung grins widely, a soft chuckle escaping from his lips, and MC's cheeks flare. She ducks her head as she loads on his choice of toppings, hiding her blush behind the fringe of her hair. Saeyoung watches her fondly, admiring her embarrassed side just as much as her joking side. When his sundae is complete, she hands it to him over the display case, then heads toward the register.

“Ah, sorry for the wait!” she apologizes to Saeran upon seeing him waiting at the register, as if she had fully forgotten he was also there.

“It's no problem,” he replies with a shake of his head. MC sends him a thankful smile, and proceeds to type their order into the register. Saeran glances up at Saeyoung, who’s watching MC's fingers tap at the screen with the most smitten expression Saeran has ever seen his brother wear. He stifles a sigh, marvelling at how utterly hopeless Saeyoung can be; he knows that Saeyoung won't take the final leap to close the deal on his own, so he tries to nudge the pair in the right direction.

“Your boyfriend must hate that you have to work on Valentine's Day,” Saeran comments in what he hopes is an offhand manner. MC chuckles anxiously, her fingers pausing momentarily in their task.

“I'm sure he would, if I had one,” she says, looking up at him with a tight-lipped smile. “As it is, I'm free to work while everyone else is out on their dates.”

“A national tragedy,” Saeyoung laments. “A girl as sweet as you deserves someone to spoil her on Valentine's Day. Hell, every day!” The sincerity in his voice catches him off guard almost as much as her. MC laughs, but it's jittery, as if she isn't sure whether or not he's still joking.

“Yeah… well,” she pauses, unsure of what to say. Her eyes flick from Saeyoung to Saeran, back to Saeyoung, and a grin spreads across her face. She gives an exaggerated shrug. “I think I'd rather be single than out on a date with my brother.”

Saeyoung laughs, the return of the joking atmosphere putting him more at ease. “That's fair,” he concedes. “Though you have to admit, I couldn't ask for a more handsome brother.” He takes a wide sidestep to throw an arm around Saeran's shoulders, tugging his twin against his side. “He looks just like me!”

MC giggles as Saeran shrugs easily out of Saeyoung's hold, a well-practiced art. “Platonic dates are healthy,” he defends, despite his exasperation. “That's what our therapist tells us, anyway.”

MC brings a hand to her mouth to try and stifle her laughter, unsure of whether or not Saeran is joking. “In that case, I won't hold you up any longer,” she says. “Your total is…” She glances at the screen, pauses, and her gaze returns to Saeyoung. “Actually, I need a name for the order first.”

“Saeyoung.” He gives a goofy smile along with his name. “I'm Saeyoung.”

“Okay, Saeyoung,” MC replies, returning his grin. “Your total's going to be…” Saeyoung pulls out his wallet and pays her the specified amount, and as the twins start to walk away, MC calls, “Have a great day!”

Saeyoung turns back toward the counter, holding his ice cream aloft and giving MC a deep bow. “Already accomplished!” he announces. As he straightens up, he says, “I hope yours is even better.” MC smiles and waves them off, and the brothers find a table across the dining room, near the front window. Saeran watches in mild horror as Saeyoung digs into his loaded sundae and melts into his chair almost immediately.

“Dare I say, this is almost as good a combination as real honey buddha chips and Phd. Pepper!” He scoops up another spoonful, making sure all of his toppings are represented, and holds it out toward Saeran. “Try it!”

Saeran stares at the spoon, then flicks his gaze up to Saeyoung. “Absolutely not.”

Saeyoung shrugs, taking the bite himself. “Your loss; more for me!”

The brothers make idle conversation as they finish off their ice cream, discussing the tentative plans for the RFA’s next party, the success of Jaehee’s cafe, the reasons why Vanderwood has kept in touch with Saeran but not Saeyoung. The conversation lulls as Saeran finishes his cone, and Saeyoung absentmindedly stirs his melting ice cream while staring dreamily off into space. Saeran follows his brother’s line of sight, and finds him watching MC as she wipes the fingerprints from the glass above the display cases. Saeran rolls his eyes as he turns back toward Saeyoung.

“Do you have any idea how hopeless you are?”

“Eh?” Saeyoung drops his spoon, startled from his daze by Saeran’s words. Saeran shakes his head.

“I have no space to complain about not having a girlfriend; I never leave the house,” Saeran starts off. “Meanwhile you complain about wanting one all the time, then a girl flirts with you like that and you still don’t ask for her number.”

“You can’t just ask a woman for her number while she’s working, Saeran!” Saeyoung replies, picking up his spoon and pointing it at Saeran accusingly. “It’s disrespectful and predatory. It’s in poor taste!”

“Staring is predatory too, idiot.” Saeran leans an elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand as he levels Saeyoung with his unimpressed gaze. “Besides, it’s different when she clearly wants you to.”

Saeyoung’s mouth snaps shut, the response he’d prepared dying on his lips. He squints at Saeran, leaning across the table, and whispers, “Tell me what you know.”

Saeran sighs. “Obviously you were flirting with her, right?” Saeyoung nods. “And she was replying in the same way. So she was obviously flirting with you, too.”

Saeyoung sits down, frowning. “Well, we were just joking around. Just because I meant it in a flirting way doesn’t mean she did, too.”

Saeran buries his face in his hands, taking a deep breath before looking back up at his brother. “Okay, well. Did you hear her ask any other customers for their names?”

Saeyoung looks down at the table, thinking. “Well, no,” he says, looking back up. “But that doesn’t mean any-”

“It means she wanted to know your name, specifically. She certainly wasn’t looking at me when she asked.” Saeran leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “She’s single, she has your sense of humor, she clearly likes you as much as you like her. Why are you making excuses?”

Saeyoung’s eyes fall back to his cup of melted ice cream. He swirls what’s left of the concoction with his spoon, watching the trails of color bleeding from his sprinkles. “You of all people should know,” he mutters. “Saeyoung doesn’t flirt, 707 does. Just because she likes Seven, doesn’t mean she’ll like Saeyoung.”

Saeran’s shoulders fall, guilt over his prodding hitting him in the chest. He forgot sometimes that Saeyoung had almost as little self confidence as he himself had. He casts a glance to MC and wracks his brain for something he can say to convince Saeyoung not to let her slip away. He could tell the two of them would be good together.

“You know, something my therapist told me, back in the early days when I refused to talk to anyone… was that if I didn’t want people to abandon me, I couldn’t just assume that they would and push them away first.” He turns his gaze back to Saeyoung. “If you want her to accept you for more than just your jokes, you shouldn’t just assume that she won’t. There’s probably more to her than jokes, too.”

Saeyoung turns his attention back to MC, watches the way her hair swings as she walks, the small smile that curves her lips as she works, and he wonders what she could be thinking about. He wonders if she’s thinking about him.

“Make up your mind soon,” Saeran says softly. “We’ve been done with our ice cream for a while, and we can’t keep sitting here forever.”

Saeyoung stands from the table without looking at Saeran. “I’m gonna do it,” he says, and Saeran cracks a smile.

He takes a few deep breaths as he crosses the dining room, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to do. How long had it been since he’d asked someone out? Had he ever asked anyone out with actual romantic intentions, and not just as a joke or a ploy? He couldn’t remember. He clears his throat as he approaches the counter, catching MC’s attention. She smiles as she turns toward him, and all thoughts fall from his head.

“Hey! Did you enjoy your sundae?” she asks.

“Oh! Yes! It was delicious. A perfect combination!” Saeyoung gushes, and MC chuckles.

“I’ll have to try it myself one of these days, then.” She smiles at him for a few moments, and when he doesn’t respond, she asks, “Did you need anything else?”

“Ah, um. Well!” Saeyoung fumbles for words, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck anxiously. MC cocks her head to the side, watching him curiously. He takes another deep breath, and tries again. “Well. I know this is inappropriate to do, and I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable! So feel free to say no! But. If you’d like. I’d, um, I’d really like to take you out to dinner tonight. So you aren’t alone on Valentine’s Day.”

The bright smile that breaks out across MC’s face could light the entire shop. Saeyoung’s heart flutters in his chest.

“I’d love to!” she answers, before quickly reeling her enthusiasm in. “But… it’d be almost impossible to get a last-minute reservation on a night like Valentine’s Day. How about another night?”

Saeyoung grins, cocking an eyebrow at her, ready to tackle the challenge. “I’m very resourceful,” he promises. “If anyone can manage a last-minute dinner reservation on Valentine’s Day, it’s me.” MC laughs, and pulls a napkin from a nearby dispenser to write down her phone number and what time she would get off that afternoon.

“I’ll definitely be impressed if you can manage something tonight,” she says as she hands him the napkin, “but don’t be embarrassed to set the date for another night.”

“I’ll see you tonight.” Saeyoung smiles widely, then returns to the table where Saeran waits for him.

“Told you so,” Saeran comments simply, but Saeyoung pays no mind to the tease. He grabs Saeran by the sleeve and tugs him toward the door.

“Come on, I have arrangements to make!”

The twins go home, and Saeyoung starts his preparations. He calls in every favor he’s owed, and asks for more on top of them. It takes time, negotiation, grovelling, and a healthy dose of teasing being dumped upon him, but he manages to get everything sorted out and ready by the time MC gets off work. He gives her time to get ready after letting her know that their reservations are made, and when she texts him her address he sets off to pick her up.

Saeyoung pulls up to MC’s home in his cheetah-print porsche, wearing his best suit, with a bouquet of red roses in his arms, and the surprised laughter that rings from her lips when she opens the door is worth every penny and every ounce of effort he’d spent. She runs back inside to put the flowers in water and then reemerges, taking Saeyoung's offered hand and following him down the driveway to the car.

“I hope you didn't rent a car this flashy just to impress me,” MC teases.

“Rent?” Saeyoung gasps, affronted. “Are you implying that my precious Purrsche is a lady for hire?”

“Purrsche?” MC asks, laughing with disbelief. As they approach the car, Saeyoung pulls open the passenger side door for MC to get in, while also stroking the vehicle's hood lovingly.

“It's okay, baby. She didn't mean to call you a lady of the night,” he murmurs to the car. “She just needs to get to know you! She'll see what a classy woman you are!”

With a small smile on her face, MC pets the dashboard. “Deepest apologies, Madam Purrsche,” she says, earning her a grin from Saeyoung.

“See?” he says, with a pat to the hood. “You two will be fast friends.”

After ensuring MC is safely inside, Saeyoung closes her door and goes around to the driver's side to climb in as well. As they drive, MC asks questions about what kind of restaurant they’re going to, how far away it is, whether she’d dressed up enough, or too much, and Saeyoung answers them all cryptically. When they reach their destination, sooner than MC had expected, she gazes up at the building Saeyoung leads her toward with a confused furrow to her brow.

“Is… this a restaurant?” she asks, prompting a nervous laugh from Saeyoung.

“Well… not technically,” he answers. “It’s a coffee shop owned by a couple of my friends. They close early in the afternoon, so they said they’d let me borrow it for the night.” He fishes the keys to the shop out of his pocket, unlocking the door and holding it open for MC. The inside of the cafe is decorated with red and pink streamers, heart-shaped balloons coating the ceiling, and vases of vinyl roses on every surface. Just inside the door waits a blond boy in an ill-fitted suit, two menus in his hand.

“Welcome to Saeyoung’s Valentine Bistro!” the boy greets. “My name is Yoosung, and I’ll be your server tonight. I'm really glad you're real, because when Saeyoung asked me to do this, I thought he might be pranking me!”

“Yoosung!” Saeyoung hisses, but MC laughs nonetheless.

“A pleasure to meet you, Yoosung,” she greets, bowing to him slightly.

“You too! Let me show you to your table.”

Most of the tables in the cafe had been cleared away, lined up against the walls, leaving only one table in the center of the dining room. Yoosung leads the pair to this lone table and sits them down, leaving them with the menus as he heads off to fetch their drinks.

“All dishes prepared fresh by Chef Saeran,” MC reads from the top of the menu, a smile on her lips. “Let me guess, your brother?”

“Clever girl!” Saeyoung praises. “Believe it or not, he was much harder to wrangle into this than anyone else.”

“Saeyoung… this is beautiful,” MC marvels, gazing around the redecorated coffee shop. “You really put all of this together just this afternoon?”

“I told you I was resourceful.” Saeyoung smiles at her, watching the wonder on her face as she takes it all in. Her smile falls slightly as she turns back to him.

“But… why?” she asks, and anxiety starts to claw at Saeyoung's throat. Had he gone too big too fast? Was his grand romantic gesture too much for her? Did she not believe he had really accomplished it in one afternoon, and now she thought he was stalking her? Dozens of possibilities race through his mind in a matter of seconds. The disappointment must show on his face, because she quickly rephrases. “I mean! It's wonderful! I just don't understand… why you'd go through so much trouble for someone you just met.”

Saeyoung’s expression softens into a smile, and he reaches across the table to take her hand. “I can't really explain it,” he says sheepishly. “There was just something about talking to you that felt… right.” MC mirrors his smile, rubbing her thumb gently over the back of his palm. “For a long time I wasn't allowed to have any emotional attachments because of my job, so I don't have a lot of experience in dating. But something told me that if I didn't go all out for you, I'd regret it.”

A blush rises to MC's cheeks, and she breaks eye contact to take one last glance around the cafe. “Well, this is definitely all out,” she says with a laugh. Returning her gaze to Saeyoung, she flashes him a playful smile. “You could have taken me to Burger King and I would have been impressed.”

Saeyoung laughs, relief lifting the weight from his shoulders. “I'll remember that... for next time?” he says, his voice hopeful.

And when MC smiles, Saeyoung's world lights up.

“I can't wait.”

[moononmyfloor]

Review: The Tyrant's Tomb by Rick Riordan

Thoughts on The Cover

Well, if you've seen my previous posts by now you'd know that I'm not a big fan of loud and action-packed covers. I prefer classy, if not always subtle. But you might like it! See, Reyna is owning the bigger portion of it, which is a nice change. :-)

Ok to Low Points

Halfway through the book, I was STILL unable to "get" into the story

Literally, not much was going on for 2/3 of the whole book, which is very surprising considering:

The time between the release dates of The Tyrant's Tomb and The Burning Maze is the longest as of yet. Whereas other books within a series have come out within twelve months of each other, these two books will be released within eighteen months of each other.

.....and that even the most boring books by Uncle Rick had some silver linings here and there to keep you engaged. Even The Dark Prophecy had the gang arrive and settle in Indianapolis, visit the zoo and free Griffins and REVISIT the emperor. Here? Apollo and Co. escorted Jason's hearse into Camp Jupiter in a frankly insulting manner(more about that later), Apollo got sick, we see that the noble prophecies are being tattooed on Tyson's back, Apollo and Co. went on a lil' trial quest and returned, Apollo got more sick.🤷‍♀️ I was so confused I opened the previous books to see how far those stories had progressed by midpoint.

It got slightly better later on, but it doesn't change the fact throughout the 1st half of the book I just kept on turning pages SIMPLY because I wanted it to get it on with and finish the story. Sad.

2. The so-called Tyrant

I didn't see much tyranny, like...only 3 pages were spent in the Tyrant's Tomb and his company, bad old Commodus and Caligula had more appearances than Tarquin who re-appeared in the very last chapters only to get immediately vanquished courtesy of Diana.....yeah. That's that.

3. How Jason's final voyage was depicted

Uncle Rick doesn't write emotional crying scenes well.

People talk about peeing and pop chewing gum bubbles while delivering the hearses of valued, honored characters.

And I seriously wonder in what position and condition poor Jason's body was after all the drama his coffin underwent.

And based on the spoilery lines(which sadly turned out to be not spoilers at all) we saw in the Magnus Chase series I thought we'd at least get a Percy-Annabeth cameo in this, that Jason will have more of his closest comrades mourning and sending him off. Nah. Nada. Not even a mention of Annabeth. Then why did Uncle Rick mention things like Annabeth and Percy being at California and even Magnus joining them at their time of crisis? Utter puzzlement. And we were also robbed of Nico's reaction to Jason's demise, considering how much Nico valued Jason as a brother-in-arms and a friend. Let's not even talk about Thalia. Why, Uncle Rick? :-(

Which brings us to...

4. Plot Inconsistencies

Why do I have to talk about this in each and every book? :-( Seriously, why would you write about Percy and Annabeth going to New Rome to attend college and being broken hearted over Jason DURING the period of Demigod communication malfunction, only to have us know they have YET to travel across the country and when we meet them again it would still be at New York? And now the communication is working, proving that Uncle Rick conveniently forgot about the clues he conveniently dropped.

AT LEAST I'm glad one thing is consistent in the Trials of Apollo series, that when Zeus decided they'll stop meddling too much in demigod affairs at the end of Heroes of Olympus, he meant it and now it's super duper hard to seek a god even for dire needs, no matter how wonderfully (ill)timed that decision was, costing lives of valued heroes.

5. The Haiku-titles weren't amusing at all this time.

I found one fun haiku .

O, blood moon rising

Take a rain check on doomsday

I’m stuck in traffic

6. The whole Apollo-Reyna debacle.

I would say Uncle Rick pulled a clever twist by turning fan theories on their heads here, but it too way more plot space than needed and when he got to the "Gotcha!" part, I was not feeling it. For YEARS now, we heard abut this no-mortal-no-demigod thing over and over, and fans predicted it might mean Apollo's the one for Reyna. And when it initially seemed like it was the route that Uncle Rick was indeed taking, the only thought that circulated inside my head was; "Reyna doesn't need this completely random and unwanted baggage! Give the girl a dam break!!" But then he was like; "Lol nooo. You kids are wrong", but STILL I was not happy...well, for obvious reasons.

What's the point of this whole plotline? So unnecessary. I mean, the fans always wondered WHY exactly would Reyna think she needs a partner in her life, but now I see Reyna might not have had time to contemplate her personal life logically like WE had what's with her dramatic life. Of course the shallow gods would think her heart was something to be "cured" and Reyna never stopped to think that it's quite the opposite till Apollo provided her with a breather and reason. And to answer why din't she choose to join Amazons instead of Hunters is probably that she wanted to be her own person and not be under her sis the Queen once again. She'd indeed have the freedom, calm and few friends so she wouldn't feel lonely and bored with the Hunt. She might even choose to leave Hunters after she found herself in her own time. I get it. But the way it was dragged and executed was meh.

If Uncle Rick intended this plotline of Reyna to be empowering for female readers, in my opinion it was not. Yes, even a badass girl could have weaknesses, not enough self-confidence and wobbly life choices, but Reyna took too much time with her "Eureka!" moment.

It was funny while it lasted, at least.

“Lester.” Reyna sighed. “What in Tartarus are you saying? I’m not in the mood for riddles.”

“That maybe I’m the answer,” I blurted. “To healing your heart. I could…you know, be your boyfriend. As Lester. If you wanted. You and me. You know, like…yeah.”

HAHAHAHA. That Totally came from the left field Lester, even for you.

“Your girlfriend was pregnant when you had her killed?” Reyna launched another kick at my face. I managed to dodge it, since I’d had a lot of practice cowering, but it hurt to know that this time she hadn’t been aiming at an incoming raven. Oh, no. She wanted to knock my teeth in.

“You suck,” Meg agreed.

I mean, if THIS is not the ultimate deal breaker then what is? Apollo might have changed for better by now, but it doesn't mean we can overlook what he did. I for one certainly don't need a loveline for him in this series. I'm glad Uncle Rick drew(or at least seemed to have) a clear line here.

High Points

It took half the page count even for Uncle Rick's special brand of snark to return. Nonetheless I managed to find some good ones. Which is what matters, right?

1.

“So,” I said, making a second attempt at nonchalance, “are you and Thalia, er…?”

Reyna raised an eyebrow. “Involved romantically?”

“Well, I just…I mean…Um…”

Oh, very smooth, Apollo. Have I mentioned I was once the god of poetry?

Reyna rolled her eyes. “If I had a denarius for every time I got that question…Aside from the fact that Thalia is in the Hunters, and thus sworn to celibacy…Why does a strong friendship always have to progress to romance?"

Preach, sister. But then again I would have to ask did YOU have to swear to celibacy to prove your independence....which is sort of the point🙄..

2.

Even when I was a god and could speak any language I wanted, I’d never sung well in Italian. I kept mixing it up with Latin, so I came off sounding like Julius Caesar with a head cold.

LOL

3.

It was time to be helpful. I needed to be repulsive for my friends!

Which you're most of the time...the latter sentence I mean.

4. Don't we all relate? 😂

“O protector of Rome!” I read aloud. “O insert name here!”

5. And one more.

I bet Gregorix was wishing he’d pursued that business degree his mom always wanted him to get. Being a barbarian bodyguard was mentally exhausting.

.

Heartrending quotes.

1.

This was the source of all our communications troubles—one sad, angry, forgotten little god.

2. This was the wisest quote I saw in the book. The simple indescribable deepness of letting go.

“Good-bye, Apollo,” said the Sibyl’s voice, clearer now. “I forgive you. Not because you deserve it. Not for your sake at all. But because I will not go into oblivion carrying hate when I can carry love.”

Even if I could’ve spoken, I wouldn’t have known what to say. I was in shock. Her tone asked for no reply, no apology. She didn’t need or want anything from me. It was almost as if I were the one being erased.

3. I was saddened to learn about Julia's untimely loss, but I'm sure everybody had a meltdown moment at the following scene.

The old god’s face hardened a bit more, which shouldn’t have been possible for stone. “I see. Well. I’ve concentrated the last bits of my power here, around Julia. They may destroy New Rome, but they will not harm this girl!”

“Or this statue!” said Julia.

4. Honestly? I too forgot until Apollo pointed it out and then I had *shivers*! They're one immediate family, grieving over one loss that affects all of them in various ways, and having mixed reactions about each others the members who survived!

I shivered. How easy it was to forget that this young woman was also my sister. And Jason was my brother. At one time, I would have discounted that connection. They’re just demigods, I would have said. Not really family.

Overall Conclusion

This is the most bored-outta-my-mind I felt after reading a PJO universe book. Am I finally growing out of the Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus fandom? Oh dear, I hope not. I can't imagine living without it and I'm SO not happy with this new development. Just as I feared, Uncle Rick couldn't keep it up after the excellent Burning Maze and now.....please, for your fans' sake who had been loyal for years, I hope at least the final book delivers. Just so we could at least part ways/go dormant with pleasant sentiments and a content heart.🙆‍♀️

[ghosthunthq]

Familiarity

For: @samantha-girlscout

From: @frenchcirce

The lovely Sam asked for something fun and fluffy, if possible about minor characters. I hope I won’t disappoint with this little story about a blooming friendship (or more hehehe). I’m rusty and it shows, but I did my best!

“Welcome to Shibuya Psychic Research… Oh Masako! What a surprise, we were not expecting you!”

Masako watched with hidden amusement Mai’s expression change from her perfunctory professional smile to wide, surprised eyes to a happy welcoming grin in less than two seconds.

The girl really was an open book.

“Good evening,” she greeted back in cool politeness, eyeing intently the door Mai was still holding half-closed. “May I come in?”

“Ah sorry, of course!”

Mai had the decency to look ashamed while opening the door in full and making way for Masako to step in.

“But what brings you here exactly?” Mai asked with furrowed brows. “Because if you’re here to see Naru–”

Masako shot her an annoyed glance. Was that a proper way to welcome visitors?

“What do you think I came for?” she interrupted, determined to mirror Mai’s level of rudeness. “Work of course.”

“Ah, but–”

Masako ignored Mai to greet Yasuhara, who was coming back to his desk with several folders in hand. He stopped and saluted politely, and Masako shot Mai a significant glance. At least someone here had manners.

“Yasuhara-san. Good evening.”

“Hara-san,” the young man answered.

“Hara-san,” echoed a sharp voice behind her.

Naru.

Masako smiled despite herself. She turned to greet him back, but Naru passed her without stopping, his features set in this focused look he only sported when he was absorbed with this work.

“Mai, get ready, we should be on our way already.”

The smile on her lips fell as suddenly as it had appeared, and Masako thought it wiser to hide her treacherous mouth behind her kimono sleeve.

She regretted stopping by the office already. It was obvious Naru had other plans and would only see her presence as a bother.

“Geez Naru, we’re not even a minute late!” Mai scolded.

Naru put his coat on with a little more determination than necessary and glared at his assistant. Mai didn’t flinch, too used to being the aim of his death stares.

“Plus Masako is here for a case, it may be important, you know?”

That made Naru pause.

Mai let out a triumphant huff and Masako tried to ignore the pang of disappointment in her stomach.

Work. Of course. She only existed in his eyes through work..

“Is it an urgent matter, Hara-san?”

Even the way he was addressing her was ever mindful of putting a respectable distance between them. The very professional Hara-san.

She despised the honorifics in his mouth.

Masako bit her lip, tempted to lie and say the case needed his immediate attention. But the bitter reminder that deceiving Naru had proven to be a poor choice, always, made her reconsider.

She shook her head. “No, it can wait.”

The flicker of interest in Naru’s gaze died immediately and Masako could only watch him forget her presence altogether. He went back to glaring at Mai who took too long to get ready, and Mai, of course, was glaring right back at him while haphazardly throwing things into her purse and berating him for his lack of manners.

The situation was nothing out of the ordinary, really. If anything it should have been comical, the way those two were arguing. But Masako caught herself clenching her jaw.

Surprised by the surge of jealousy she forced her muscles to relax, grateful for the secrecy her sleeve was providing.

She had thought she was over it, over him.

Yet the intimate, almost fond way Naru called Mai, just Mai, had made her yearn for the level of closeness those two were sharing.

Why couldn’t she just be Masako?

Masako willed herself to smother the embers of longing in her heart. It was just a stupid name, it was no reason to feel inadequate and lonely. She knew where Naru’s affections lay, and she had made peace with the situation a long time ago.

She couldn’t let herself get troubled over this.

She schooled her features and allowed her sleeve to drop, revealing her best neutral expression. Thankfully Mai and Naru were too busy bickering to notice her discomfort.

She took a steadying breath, her mind racing to find a dignified way to make her exit. Whatever she had to say about her case could wait until she recovered.

“I see my timing is most inconvenient,” she started, satisfied by the firmness of her voice. “Maybe–”

“On the contrary, your timing is perfect Hara-san.”

Masako bristled, startled. Yasuhara. She had almost forgotten his presence.

“I was about to have a cup of tea and some company would be appreciated, if you don’t mind staying.”

Masako turned her head slowly to face him, slightly panicking.

Did he notice her little display of jealousy?

She found him smiling politely like usual, his penetrative gaze unreadable behind his spectacles.She narrowed her eyes, trying to gauge his intentions.

His intervention did spare her the embarrassment of leaving like the unwanted guest she was, but Yasuhara was known for having his own agenda. What exactly did he want her for?

She hesitated a moment, but the option he was offering was less mortifying than being shooed out so she gave her assent with a graceful nod.

“That would be my pleasure,” she muttered

Yasuhara grinned widely, his gaze leaving her for Mai. Who had stopped putting her coat on to look between Yasuhara and Masako, an insufferable knowing smirk blooming onto her lips. Masako refrained an exasperated roll of her eyes. For someone supposedly so instinctive her friend could be quite oblivious.

“I’ll let you enjoy some quality time together, you lucky ones–” Mai smiled, the teasing light in her eyes soon disappearing as she remembered the actual reason why she was heading out “–while I do Naru’s biding. Can you believe it? He is using me as his henchman to carry his heavy stuff!”

“And I pay you for it, so you have no ground for complaining,” the young man tersely countered, his hand tapping the door handle impatiently.

Mai stuck out her tongue at him but obediently followed nonetheless when he kept the door open for her.

“Yeah, yeah I know. See you later guys! ” she waved.

“Yasuhara, you can close the office when you’re finished, I won’t come back.”

“Understood boss. See you tomorrow, Taniyama-san!”

After a brief nod en lieu of a goodbye Naru shut the door, leaving Masako alone with Yasuhara in a silent office.

Masako realized with a start it was the first time she had to deal with Yasuhara without Mai or the SPR extras around. It was somehow unnerving.

The awkward atmosphere drew for a few moments before Yasuhara dispelled it with a practiced host smile.

“Please take a seat Hara-san. I’ll be back immediately.”

He then disappeared in the little kitchen, the sound of of clattering cups soon filling the void Mai’s chatter had left.

Masako let herself drop on the nearest sofa with a tired sigh.  

She shouldn’t have come.

It had been a mistake using this case as an excuse to see Naru. She should have just called, but she had been looking forward to chatting with Mai, too.

Mai. If only she hadn’t shown this stupidly genuine smile when she had recognized her at the door. If only she could hate Mai and blame her for the heartache.

Of course she couldn’t.

Because of the happy way she called her Masako. That was what had started their friendship, the unaffected way Mai was treating her, calling her by her first name. Like she had done with Naru.

“If only she wasn’t so familiar,” she sighed out loud.

“I suppose you’re talking about Taniyama-san?”

Masako almost gasped. How come she hadn’t heard Yasuhara approaching? She was starting to believe he was making a point catching her off guard.

The young man was standing right in front of her, a tray in hand and a slightly amused smile on the lips. He didn’t wait for her to confirm and carefully put their two mugs on the table.

“Speaking of whom, she’s the one who made the tea, so it is safe drinking.”

Masako took the cup wordlessly, trying to hide her blush with the motion. She hoped he hadn’t hear the resentment in her voice.

“She does act too familiar,” she defended meekly.

Yasuhara sat on the couch, putting the empty tray next to him.

“It is what makes her so easy to befriend–”

Or to love, Masako thought wryly. But didn’t dare say it out loud.

“–Let’s say that’s part of her charm.”

Yasuhara’s voice was even and light, but Masako could swear there was something in the undertone. Something deeper and darker.

It was as if…

Oh. Oh.

She put her cup back on the table, her full attention now on him. It was time to ask about something that had bothered her for quite some time, and to confirm her little theory.

“Is that why you keep calling her by her family name? To avoid falling pry to her charm?”

The question was asked in a mundane manner, but the atmosphere shifted as soon as the words left her mouth.

She watched Yasuhara’s reaction closely. His easy going smile tightened and his back straightened imperceptibly in a rare display of discomfort.

Touché.

He recovered at an impressive speed though, flashing a playful grin.

“Would you believe it if I told you it is out of pure politeness?”

Masako arched doubtful eyebrows.

“No.”

The unexpected bluntness of the answer had Yasuhara laughing out loud. He sighed in mock defeat and looked at Masako with something akin to appreciation.

“I figured.”

Masako should have felt relieved. She had the upper hand in their conversation since she had confirmed what she suspected about Yasuhara’s inclinations. However it was sympathy instead of triumph that was creeping into her chest.

Funny how sharing a similar pain could make you feel closer to someone.

In the meanwhile Yasuhara had engrossed himself in the thoughtful contemplation of his mug. It was the one Mai, Ayako and Masako had bought him right before Naru had left.

“You know,” he mused with a half-smile, “you’re the first one to ever ask.”

His gaze was unexpectedly honest behind his glasses, and Masako’s scruples about having wrangled this secret out of him vanished at the sight. How lonely must he have been, bearing the weight of his feelings by himself?

“That doesn’t surprise me,” she said softly, ‘they’re all idiots.”

That earned a chuckle from Yasuhara, and his lips turned into a boyish grin which spoke of mischief.

“How dare you call big boss an idiot!”

Masako couldn’t help a laugh at the mock offence. If felt good to make fun of Naru after this disastrous evening.

“He deserves it,” she huffed. “He and Mai are two peas in a pod in that regard.”

The memory of Mai teasing them about having tea together had Masako wrinkle her nose in distaste. There should be a limit to obliviousness! Poor Yasuhara.

“And the rest of them are no better,” she resumed after a thoughtful pause, “You never denied you liked Mai but you never made any fuss about it, so people just assumed your feelings weren’t deep. That was actually a really clever way to hide it, provided you didn’t give her special treatment calling her Taniyama-san, of course.”

Yasuhara raised falsely scandalized eyebrows.

“That’s a flawed argument, I call you Hara-san too.”

Masako pressed her lips together in displeasure. Everyone was putting her at a distance with these stupid honorifics. It made her feel left out somehow.

“You do,” she admitted, ignoring the sting of the comment. “You give almost everyone else a nickname though, even your elders. As you junior and your closest colleague it would be normal you called Mai by her given name. Especially since everyone but you does.”

Yasuhara put his hands up in surrender.

“I can’t hide anything from you, Hara-san. You’re far too observant.”

Masako shook her head, a wry smile on her mouth.

“No, I’m just another victim of Mai’s familiarity. I tried to keep my distance from her the same way. And now I call her Mai and can’t help thinking of her as a friend,” she grumbled. “How am I supposed to compete against someone like her?”

Yasuhara took a sip from his mug and leaned into the couch.

“You think you have it bad?” he asked in a joking tone. “I was doomed from the start! Having big boss as an opponent was terrible, he put my good looks and intellect to shame!”

Masako put her finger on her chin, falsely pensive.

“You’re right, I can at least console myself thinking I’m the more beautiful of the two. You don’t have such a luxury I’m afraid…”

Yasuhara made a face and clutched his heart as if mortally wounded.

“Hara-san, have some mercy!”

Masako couldn’t help but laugh at the theatrics. It reminded her of the Yoshimi’s case, when Yasuhara had raised everyone’s spirit just by joking with Bou-san. Making fun of himself for the sake of others.

“It’s better to admit the hard truth,” she deadpanned. “By the way,” her tone softened, “I owe you some thanks for today.”

A flash of understanding passed in Yasuhara’s gaze. Masako wondered if today’s scene had been painful for him, too.

The man really had a good heart, it was a shame he got it broken.

Did Mai even know what she was missing?

“Not at all. Actually, I’ve wanted to talk with you for quite a while. I never got the chance to ask before today, I figured it was now or never.”

“I-Is that so?”

Masako couldn’t determine if Yasuhara was trying to spare her feelings or if he was sincere, but she appreciated he made it look like he really wanted to get know her better. She had had enough of feeling unwanted for the day.

“Thank you for asking then.” She let a sincere, grateful smile brighten her lips. “I’m glad I stayed.”

Yasuhara’s eyes widened like he just realized something, and his own mouth split into a hearty grin before letting a hearty laugh out.

“I’m grateful you accepted my invitation,” he said. “I should have done this a lot earlier. It really cheered me up and I feel up to some competition after all,” he muttered.

He ignored Masako’s questioning stare and flashed his best charming smile.

“What about we do this again some other time Hara-san…”

He hesitated a second.

“Or do you mind if I call you Masako?”

Masako nodded wordlessly, ignoring the blush the use of her name was putting on her cheeks.

Masako.

A word that started a friendship.

And for some reason she didn’t mind the familiarity in his mouth.

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 36

It’s all in the nuances

Chapter 36: The Death of Tuon

Somehow I don’t think that title means what it looks like it means.

We’re back with Mat, but Verin is here so hopefully that should make things interesting.

“My goal was to make my way to Tar Valon.” “Then how did you end up here?” Mat asked

That’s an entirely fair question, but the first thing my mind went to, when Verin said that, was that you know who else’s goal was initially to make their way to Tar Valon?

Rand.

And so far, he has yet to even set foot in the city. I just find that kind of fun to think about, because I hadn’t really given it much thought before. But that was his entire goal pretty much all through EotW.

In comparison to that, Verin getting sidetracked for half a book somewhere in the middle of…is Mat in Murandy still?...is small potatoes.

Bloody [bench] must have been designed by insane, cross-eyed Trollocs and built from the bones of the damned. That was the only reasonable explanation.

Somewhat cringing at this because it is so very not Mat, and feels like it’s trying too hard. Meh. Anyway.

“You can Travel. So if you intended to go to the White Tower, then why not just bloody Travel there and be done with it?”

“Good questions,” Verin said. “Indeed. Might I have some tea?”

What, you thought you were going to get answers?

Good luck. I’ve been trying for ten books now and still all I have are suspicions. And one of those suspicions is that Verin is just a massive troll and enjoys fucking with people.

Because of the holes in his memory, Mat’s first meeting with Verin was fuzzy to him. In fact, his memory of her at all was fuzzy.

I’m not actually sure having your memories intact would help much with that, honestly.

Studying her, her mannerisms seemed too exaggerated to him. As if she were leaning on the preconceptions about Browns, using them. Fooling people, like a street performer taking in country boys with a clever game of three-card shuffle.

She eyed him. That smile on the corner of her lips? That was the smile of a jackleg who didn’t care that you were on to her con. Now that you understood, you could both enjoy the game, and perhaps together you could dupe someone else.

One trickster to another.

I like little moments of recognition like this between characters. Neither says anything, but they both know, and each one knows that the other knows, and so the rest of the scene can proceed with this undercurrent of understanding.

Two characters who recognise something similar in each other – or who recognise each other’s talents, at any rate – and who just look at each other across the board and say ‘shall we play a game?’

And as the reader you’re invited in as well, because it’s not so much adversarial as almost-but-not-quite-competitive, a test of skill almost, a game in many ways. So it’s an open invitation to play, because as the reader you also have that little extra bit of insight…but not enough to know everything that’s going on. So, like Mat, we get to try to spot the aforementioned con.

Also, I just love that Verin and Mat are set side by side here because at first glance they’re total opposites, but by positioning them this way we see Verin as being…perhaps not quite trickster but certainly trickster-adjacent, herself. She’s not the roguish yet honourable young man with a jaunty hat and a cool spear; she’s a plump middle-aged woman with probably an inkstain or two on her clothes and an almost grandmotherly manner. And yet here she is.

I mean, not that we didn’t already kind of know that. But I love these moments where Verin is revealed again to be not entirely what she seems, yet in a way that suits her. It’s some good character development for Mat, as well. Everyone wins here, really.

Good luck getting Mat to admit outright to being ta’veren, Verin.

(Good luck getting Verin to say anything at all outright, Mat).

“But you can’t hide your light in [Rand’s] shadow, Matrim Cauthon.”

That sounds like what Melindhra used to say to him.

Also, I don’t know; Tuon described Rand as having a shadow like a mountain last chapter, and it’s all rather dark there these days, so if you’re going to try, now’s the time.

Casual mention of Verin having just been with Rand, which I think is anything but casual.

“How…did he seem?” Mat said. “Is he…you know…”

“Mad?” Verin asked.

Mat nodded.

“I’m afraid so,” Verin said, lips downturning slightly. “I think he’s still in control of himself, however.”

There’s very little…softening of the truth with Verin, either to herself or to others. Obfuscating of it to serve her purposes, sure. But denial or wishful thinking or gentle presentation of facts? Not so much. She deals with the world as she finds it, because wishing it otherwise won’t make it so (unless, perhaps, you’re the Dragon Reborn and a Fisher King analogue, in which case all bets are off). So she’s not going to soft-pedal her perceptions of Rand, even for a friend of his. Whether or not she’s completely correct is another question, but she’s not going to waste time trying to ignore what she sees.

I like Mat’s hesitant concern for Rand, here. He tried to break off their friendship as far back as TGH, but it never quite snapped completely. And I think he cares more about Rand than he might admit.

“I’m not convinced young al’Thor’s problems are completely due to the Power, Matrim. Many would like to blame his temperament on saidin, but to do that is to ignore the incredible stresses that we’ve settled on that poor boy’s shoulders.

There’s something about the way she says this, so matter-of-fact but at the same time so clearly aware and even sympathetic of something that very few characters even begin to acknowledge, much less understand, that lends a great deal of poignancy to this statement.

I think it’s maybe because it’s so matter-of-fact. It’s not sentimental, and Verin knew Rand earlier on but doesn’t have any particular attachment to him the way, say, Min or Nynaeve or even Egwene or Mat do. She’s not saying this out of sympathy or sorrow. And yet that gives it more weight, in a way; it’s a way of showing how clear that is to her, that she sees it as just a statement of fact. His humanity and youth, so easily forgotten by most, are just simple fact to her.

And that means so much, when so few in the world see the Dragon Reborn anymore as anything but a force, a power, a monster, a legend. Rand is a man who can channel. Men who can channel are driven mad by the taint on saidin. Therefore Rand must be mad. Therefore the things Rand does must be madness. The root of this must be the taint. And thus they can ignore everything else involved that might be harder to accept, everything that might cause an uncomfortable conflict of conscience.

Easier to see the Dragon Reborn as a necessary monster on the verge of madness, perhaps, than to see a tortured young man carrying far too heavy a task for a world that fears and even reviles him. Because the first option doesn’t ask you to do anything. It’s terrifying, certainly, but in a distant ‘nothing I can do’ kind of way. Or, for those who want to manipulate him, it gives them a very reasonable basis for doing so.

But Verin…Verin just looks at the situation and sees truth, apparently unclouded by sentiment or self-interest or fear or denial. And thus, perhaps ironically, ends up with a view of Rand that is far more sympathetic than almost any other character aside from those very closest to him.

He is only human. He is young. He is tired and desperate and in pain. And Verin sees that, and understands its effects. Even as she is ostensibly working to keep him alive until it is ‘time for him to die’. She does not allow herself to soften that necessity, to take the easy way out by blaming saidin or by looking at him as anything other than what he is.

Oh and by the way saidin is clean now.

Once again, Verin has this way of getting straight to the heart of things, and making these sorts of statements that are almost uncomfortable in their truth or insightfulness or just in what they force people to think about. But she does it with this mask of being just a typical Brown, lost in her own thoughts, unaware of the full effect of what she’s saying, drifting off on a tangent that just so happens to make everyone else uncomfortable. et there’s nothing vague or accidental or even truly tactless about it. She knows that this is the best way to get her thoughts heard, but in such a way as to not bring any sort of…suspicion? scrutiny? unwanted attention? upon herself.

And also in a way that doesn’t leave people a lot of room to evade the truth, even if just for a few seconds. It’s why her words often result in brief uncomfortable silences. Because she doesn’t leave an easy way out…until she decides herself to provide one, to bring things back to comfortable topics.

“I would argue that the cleansing itself is more like a pebble thrown into a pond. The ripples will take some time to reach the shore.”

“A pebble?” Mat asked. “A pebble?”

“Well, perhaps more of a boulder.”

“A bloody mountain if you ask me”

Again with the mountains. Yes, Mat, a mountain. An almost literally bloody mountain, you could say.

Flaming Aes Sedai. Did they have to be like that? It was probably another oath they took and told nobody about, something to do with acting mysterious.

Hey, that sounded almost like Mat! The ‘it was probably another oath’ part, I mean.

And now back to alien body-snatcher Mat. Ah well.

That’s okay, because it’s storytime with Verin! Who seems to have experienced the fantasy, ta’veren-induced equivalent of the classic and truly infurating ‘this flight has been delayed for approximately thirty minutes’ announcement happening every hour on the hour for eight hours while you remain stuck in the airport waiting area, unable to actually go anywhere, even though you really could have, because every time you consider going a bit further away the announcement promises that you’ll be boarding soon. (It lies).

No I’m not speaking from personal experience what are you talking about.

Except in Verin’s case it involves a truly absurd number of coincidences such as leaks and inn fires to prevent her from ever learning a place well enough to Travel from it.

“So? Mat said. “Still sounds like a coincidence.”

You’d think Matrim ‘I’m leaving now, Rand, for real this ti—oh look a battle!’ Cauthon would have a little more sympathy.

“I soon started to feel a tugging on me. Something pulling me, yanking at me. As if…”

Mat shifted again. “As if somebody’s got a bloody fishhook inside of you?”

As if the Pattern is exasperatedly trying to fix a chessboard that was set up by six-year-olds? “No, that piece goes here…oh just let me do it.”

“I was quite fatigued from my days staying up all hours because of fires, crying babies, and constant moves from one inn room to another.”

Oh the joys of business travel.

“It was then that I kenw for certain that I was being directed. Most wouldn’t have noticed it, I suspect, but I have made a study of the nature of ta’veren.”

Is there anything you haven’tmade a study of, Verin?

“I spoke with Tomas, and we determined to avoid gong where we were being pulled. […] I opened a gateway, but when we reached the end of our journey, we stepped not into Tar Valon, but a small village in northern Murandy!”

I’m laughing at how hard the Pattern has to work to get anyone to go to Murandy, I guess. Maybe it’s not actually ta’veren; it’s just a lot of money spent on a tourism campaign. Part of Roedran’s plans for economic development, no doubt.

“One thing bothers me, however,” Verin said. “Was there no other person who could have happened into your path?”

You’re just that special, Verin.

Now the question is why?

“First, we should negotiate my price for taking you to Andor.”

Okay no, apparently the question now, as far as Verin is concerned, is just the classic ‘how much?’

I can respect that.

Ah, so she wasn’t the one distributing the drawings of him, she just found one.

I’m pretty sure saidarisn’t a verb, but then, Mat used ‘Aes Sedai’ as a verb when he was still being written by Robert Jordan, so…whatever. It’s probably the least out-of-character part of the sentence, which might be saying something.

“I received this paper, Matrim, from a Darkfriend,” she said, “who told me – thinking me a servant of the Shadow – that one of the Forsaken had commanded that the men in these pictures be killed.”

Oh, so it was about that after all.

More importantly though…*squints at Verin* any particular reason he thought you were a servant of the Shadow? That’s some extremely Aes Sedai phrasing right there…

She thinks Mat should go into hiding? That’s…extreme. Though it’s kind of what he’s been doing for the last several books, in a way, if not necessarily always by design.

“I’m always careful,” Mat said.

Presented without further comment.

She slipped a small folded piece of paper out from under the picture. It was sealed with a drop of blood-red wax.

Mat took it hesitantly. “It is?”

“Instructions,” Verin said. “Which you will follow on the tenth day after I leave you in Caemlyn.”

He scratched his neck, fronwing, then moved to break the seal.

“You aren’t to open them until that day,” Verin said.

NOW WHAT DOES THIS REMIND YOU OF?

Mysterious envelopes from an Aes Sedai, that must not be opened just yet, not while she’s here watching…

This has always boded well before. As Mat has every reason to know, having read another of them and seen a third handed over.

Mat wants no part of this agreement, though. Really? You’d rather walk twenty days to Caemlyn than wait ten days there?

Then again, promising to follow mysterious instructions given to you by an Aes Sedai you recognise as being not entirely what she seems, is…well, I suppose I can’t completely fault him for being wary. So here we are, at a question of whether or not to trust an Aes Sedai.

Is this her game, here? Which choice does she actually want him to make? Could it be that she knows he distrusts Aes Sedai and the One Power and also hates being told what to do, and so is presenting this to him in such a way that she knows he won’t open it? Though in that case, why? It reminds me a little, perhaps, of her giving Egwene the dream ter’angreal but not Corianin’s notes. Yet it also seems a little too convoluted; there would have to be some reason why she had no choice but to give him whatever instructions are in that envelope, and yet also not want him to follow them. Occam’s Razor would certainly suggest the simpler answer: she does want him to read them. But…I just don’t know.

“I might not need you to go through with the contents. I hope to be able to return to you and relieve you of the letter and send you on your way. But if I cannot…”

So there is a scenario in which she doesn’t want the instructions followed. Which means it’s possible she doesn’t want them followed at all, but has to give them to him for some reason…and nothing she’s said has narrowed it down even if we trust that she is bound by the first Oath. Which at this point I wouldn’t put any money on. On either side of that bet.

What instructions could she have for him, that are so conditional? And on what? WHAT ARE YOU PLANNING, VERIN?

What might you not be able to return from?

Who are you?

“The compromise, then?” Mat said.

“You may choose not to open the letter,” Verin said. “Burn it. But if you do so, you wait fifty days in Caemlyn”

A choice between knowledge but being bound, and ignorance but freedom. How…perfect a dilemma, really, for one who so embodies Odin and the trickster archetype.

But what does Verin know? What is going to happen in Caemlyn between ten and fifty days after she leaves? She has to know something; otherwise the waiting seems too arbitrary.

“Twenty days,” he said.

“Thirty days,” she said, rising, then raised a finger to cut off his objection.

She had to have known he would try to bargain with her. So, between ten and thirty days after she leaves him…what? What instructions would be relevant after ten days, but irrelevant before ten and after thirty? What is going to happen? All I can think of is something to do with Elayne being crowned as Queen, maybe, because just about everything else from that storyline was more or less wrapped up when we left Caemlyn at the end of the last book. Or something to do with the Borderlanders?

I can’t figure it out, and I also can’t work out what angle Verin is playing here, what she even wants Mat to do, which side of the compromise she wants him to take. So I can’t figure out which one he should take.

Verin’s pretty damn good at this.

Verin eyed him, a hint of worry on her face. He couldn’t let her know how pleased he was.

But we also know, from their brief moment of mutual recognition at the start of this scene, that she might know anyway. Or that she might be letting worry show deliberately. Or…

She folded up the picture of him, then took a small leather-bound satchel from her pocket. She opened it, sliding the picture inside, and as she did, he noticed that she had a small stack of folded, sealed pieces of paper inside just like the one he was holding.

What are you up to, Verin Sedai? Because this feels very like what Moiraine did when she knew she was about to…go away.

A stack full of mysterious letters? Instructions not to open them until after she leaves? A very vaguely worded statement about hoping she’ll be able to return to collect them?

She hasn’t told him ‘you will do well’, but other than that, this sure looks like a…not a farewell so much as a final play of some kind.

Also she can’t have let him see those letters by accident. So does she want him to wonder? Why?

Why was Verin being so cryptic?

GOOD. FUCKING. QUESTION.

Though it’s hardly a remarkable occurrence; she’s been cryptic for ten damn books already.

Tuon was dead. Gone, cast aside, forgotten.

That’s a fun way to start a POV. A statement not of identity, but of nonexistence. Of the relinquishing of an identity, the death of one.

Fortuona was empress.

OH

MY FUCKING GOD

FORTUONA.

Fortune rides like the sun on high, with the fox that makes the ravens fly…

Fortune. Fortuona. She’s Lady Luck.

I can’t decide if that’s brilliant or over the top. Maybe a little bit of both. It does give a rather excellent double meaning to that line of the Prophecies.

Either way, she’s standing in front of the forces she has assembled for, presumably, an attack on Tar Valon. So…we’re doing this.

Fifty sul’dam and damane pairs, including Dali and her sul’dam Malahavana, whom Fortuona had given to the cause. She had felt the need to sacrifice something personal to this most important of missions.

Um, Tuon? Those are people. So yes, you are sacrificing something personalin that you are sacrificing a person. Who herself has no choice in whether or not to be your own personal sacrifice so that you feel like you’re truly invested in this.

Though for some reason Rand’s thought a few chapters ago about Min, that if she died, he would add her name to the list and suffer for it comes to mind. These are people, and their lives have meaning beyond the pain their deaths would cause you.

But of course, to the Seanchan, Malahavana is simply property. So the greatest cost, if she dies, is not to her or her family, but to Tuon. Which is fucked up. Hot take: slavery is bad!

Fortuona looked down at the soldier before her, laying her fingers on his forehead, where she had kissed him. “May your death bring victory,” she said softly, speaking the ritual words. “May your knife draw blood. May your children sing your praises until the final dawn.”

That doesn’t sound like a blessing you give to someone who has any hope of returning. This soldier is one of five, so maybe it’s a special suicide mission? To do…what?

Their assault would begin in darkness

How…appropriate. It was made possible – or made certain – by the darkness surrounding Rand, and such an attack serves the Shadow far better than it serves the Light, by bringing even greater strife and division amongst those that should be united.

They really needed that treaty.

It speaks to why Rand suppressing his ability to feel, deciding there are no limits left to him, losing sight of what he’s fighting for, and pushing only for the Last Battle itself and nothing beyond that, is disastrous on more than just a metaphysical/teleological standpoint. It’s not just an issue because this is a fight between Good and Evil and so the champion of Good must embody that ideal. I do think there’s an element of that, of course – it’s where the Fisher King imagery comes in, and the notion of the land being one with the Dragon and vice versa – but there’s also the practical fact that if you’re terrifying and cold and surrounded by an aura of darkness, people aren’t going to want to make peace treaties with you. Or be motivated to fight for your cause. Or listen to you at all. Or have any hope themselves of what might come after, because the examples and expectations being set are so dark.

It all blurs together at some point, the practical and more philosophical reasons, but there’s definitely a practical aspect there. It’s hard to win a fight you no longer have any reason to want to win. And it’s hard to win a fight when you look more like the thing you’re fighting than the thing you’re fighting for, because other people will see that. People who should be on your side will see that. And they, like Tuon, will draw their own conclusions and act accordingly.

Oh hey one of these special five is a woman. At least one. I like that this is specifically shown, in addition to the more general statement that over half the Fists of Heaven here are women. General statements are a lot easier to make, and are sometimes used as a bit of an excuse, or a halfhearted ‘see, look, we gave you what you wanted’. Specifics help bolster that. Even if in this case the specific in question is a woman being sent on a suicide mission to fight for the enslavement of women who can wield Power. You can’t have everything.

(I should clarify I’m being facetious there; I don’t think the Seanchan staging an assault on the White Tower is specifically gender-coded in that way. And I do genuinely appreciate seeing women amongst the elite forces, because that’s cool, all other issues with the Seanchan aside).

Oh. Bloodknives. They’ve been mentioned before, but only in the most offhand of comments.

The pure black stone ring each one wore was a specialised ter’angrealthat would grant them strength and speed, and would shroud them in darkness

That sounds quite a lot like the benefits of the Warder bond.

The incredible abilities came at a cost, however, for the rings leeched life from their hosts, killing them in a matter of days.

That also sounds a little like the costs of the Warder bond. Of a bond that is broken, anyway.

The whole thing also smells of a secondary purpose, introduced like this so late in the game. Not sure how, precisely, but I’ll be keeping an eye on these ter’angrealthat have now been placed on the mantle.

These five would not return. They would stay behind, whatever the results of the raid, to kill as many marath’damane as they could

Oh.

Was this what Min foresaw, when she visited the Tower in TSR and saw death and blood on so many faces? And knew it would all happen within the same day? The fact that Elaida’s coup took place so soon after made it seem like that was what Min had seen, but what if it was actually a viewing of this attack? If so, that’s truly impressive use of foreshadowing and misdirection. Well played. *slow clap*

Fortuona kissed the last of the five Bloodknives, speaking the words condemning them to death, but also to heroism.

I love this sentence, because the structure of it implies that heroism is also a condemnation. They’re presented as illusory opposites, but the same verb applies to each. Condemned to heroism. It’s a concept and a way of looking at things that I love, and actually it’s not at all out of place in this series. Just look at Rand.

That whole sentence reminds me of Rand, really. Condemned to death and heroism. Destruction and salvation. Condemned to be the saviour of the world, and reaching a point where it’s hard to tell, between death and heroism, which is the cost and which is the reward.

And the soldiers are off. No turning back now. I hope you’re ready, Egwene. It might be your last and best chance to pull the Tower together. A common enemy…

As the final light of the sunset died, they struck northward.

There’s something very appropriate about that. The final death of the light, the vanishing of that last chance for reconciliation as Rand walked away; it felt like a victory for the Shadow, a fracturing of the Light.

Also, even striking northward has something of a double meaning. The Blight lies north, but still they fight each other. They should be heading there, as the Shadow stretches across the land and the last battle comes. As the sunset dies they should look north. But not like this.

It could be the beginning of a bold new tactic. Or it could lead to a disaster.

Travelling, gunpowder, aerial assaults. They’ve changed war, and that isn’t something that they can just…step back from, once the Last Battle has been fought.

“We have changed everything,” Fortuona said softly. “General Galgan is wrong; this will not give the Dragon Reborn a worse bargaining position. It will turn him against us.”

She sees. She understands what that negotiation was, and what its failure has cost them. She does not see any other decision she can make – and given what she saw of Rand, it’s hard to see how she could think otherwise, and hard even to disagree with the underlying thought there, that he is dangerous and cannot be allowed to claim more power, as he is – but Tuon is very good at what she does. She understands nuances of politics and power and strategy, and she knows what this will do. But she also does not see an alternative.

Or should I be calling her Fortuona, now? It’s hard when fictional characters change names mid-story; I like it, as a storytelling device, because it’s such a good way to convey a sense or change of identity, but I never then know how to refer to the character, especially in something like this liveblog. And I’m not at all consistent – I call Moridin by his new name but I’m still referring to Tuon as Tuon rather than Fortuona, and I’m not even sure what I do with Egeanin/Leilwin.

“And was he not against us before?” Selucia asked.

“No,” Fortuona said. “We were against him.���

This is excellent. The subtle but at the same time vast difference between those two. The fact that Tuon can so clearly understand this, and what it means. They were his enemy. Now, because of what they do today, they will make him theirs.

Tuon isn’t always the most sympathetic character, largely because she came to the story late, is from a completely foreign culture to the rest of the narrative, and holds some views that are…difficult to reconcile, for a modern reader. But it’s moments like these that make her work, I think. This ability to see beyond what most do – not to change her mind, necessarily, but to be so perceptive and to understand the way people think and work. To be able to look at and judge her own actions and decisions, and to understand the implications.

She’s not going to war against the Tower – and making an enemy of the Dragon Reborn – just for shits and giggles, or even because of a clash of ideologies. That plays into it, because she believes her view to be the right one, but it goes deeper than that. And she understands consequences and tradeoffs and costs. She can recognise that yes, they were against him. And that this will not fix that, but will instead likely exacerbate it. And also that she has no other choice.

But we can sympathise with her more, because we believe that thought process, even if ours might be different. She doesn’t simply press blindly ahead with a single agenda; she looks at the whole situation and understands what her options are and what the results will likely be of each. And because she’s so perceptive, and so strategically capable, we can then trust her more, in a sense, when she does make a decision that sets her against most of the other sympathetic characters. So instead of being a villain by default, she gains much more depth and a certain level of sympathy.

Anyway, this is of course going to end well. To make an enemy of Rand, as he is now?

Though perhaps the more interesting question is, what will Egwene do in the face of her dream coming true? It seems like she could use this to unite the Tower around her. But I also wonder if maybe, just maybe, she could do here what Rand could not. There would be a certain poetry in that, for her own arc.

Next (TGS ch 37) Previous (TGS ch 35)

[onegayastronaut]

Mysterious Stranger (Hippolyta and Antiope x Reader)

Requested by @subjectx17 : Maybe that R is like a meta-human (Logan - but rly self conscious about it/tries to hide it cuz it's just not natural/normal) she was washed up at Temyscera. And is stuck there?  Some amazons are hostile, Antiope and Hippolyta protective/have a crush on her? Managed to fight off Stephenwolf or smth when invaded?

Words: 1706

Being a metahuman sucked in your opinion. Why were you chosen to be different? You didn't want to be different in the past, and you sure as hell didn't want to be different now. But there was nothing you could do about that now. Those scientists who experimented on you didn't exactly give you a choice in the matter, and now you had adamantium claws which drew attention to you wherever you went.

It was this sort of unwanted attention that drove thugs in your direction tonight. After beating you unconscious with a lead pipe, they decided to dump in the harbor where they hoped you wouldn't be traced back to them. The last thing that you remembered before fully passing out was that you hoped those assholes will eventually get what's coming to them.

The first thing that you noticed when you came to was that there was a very bright light shining down on you. At first, you thought that it was the after effect of another bad hangover, but when you felt sea waves repeatedly wash up your legs, you started to remember what had happened the night before.

Ugh, what now? Getting up, you take a first real look at where you washed up. You seemed to have woken up at this paradise-like beach, but as with all things, you were very suspicious of how welcoming this place was. As if on cue, your hearing detected what seemed like several horses arriving in your direction. It didn't take long for the people who resided here to reach you. When you realized that these people were a group of women armed to the teeth, your defense mechanisms immediately caused claws to come out of your hands. This, in turn, caused several of the warriors to point their spears at you.

Their leader seemed to not want to immediately attack and gestured at her fighters to stand down. "My name is Antiope, general of the Amazons. What is your purpose here?"

The Amazons? You had always believed them to be a myth, but apparently, they were as real as you. "I am (y/n), and as you can see I'm not completely human. I don't know how I got here but I want to be here as little as you want me here. So if it's okay with you, I'll be on my way now. There's no need for any trouble."

Antiope seemed satisfied with your answer, but none of the Amazons looked like they wanted to trust you. "I must bring you to our queen so she can make a final judgment as to what to do with you."

With that, the Amazons surrounded you with their spear tips pointed at you. The trip to the top of the mountain was a silent one, as no one wanted to antagonize you and risk a fight. When you reached the clearing where it seemed as if meetings took place, it was apparent that word had already reached their leader.

"You are now in the presence of our queen, Hippolyta. Kneel before her."

"I don't kneel to anyone and I'm not going to start now. If you're going to do something to me, you might as well get along with it."

Seemingly both impressed and shocked at your nerve, one of the Amazons took out a shiny, golden rope and tied it around your hands. Tried as you might, you couldn't get your hands free.

"What the hell is this?"

"It is the Lasso of Truth. It compels anyone tied with it to tell the truth."

"Well as I said before, I don't know how I got here. All I want to get back to where I came from. I'm not here to make trouble, so if we're done here, I'll be on my way."

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, Antiope takes the rope off your hands. "That is all we needed to know. We will get you a boat as soon as possible so you can leave. In the meantime, you can live in our guest quarters."

It didn't take you long to get settled into your new living quarters as you didn't bring anything with you to begin with. Throughout the next few days, you observed the Amazons go about their daily business. The Amazons seemed to be a fairly peaceful people, although everyone was tall, very physically fit and seemed ready for war at a moment's notice. There were a few Amazons who were on the beach fashioning a boat for you, but for the most part, everyone left you alone. Most of them, including the children, gave you suspicious side-eyes when they thought you weren't looking, but you were used to that by now. No one gave you any trouble, which was more than you could ask for in most places.

After a week, Antiope decided that if you were going to be there, you might as well train with the other Amazons. You didn't think that was the best idea, but Antiope was quite insistent. Having nothing better to do, you decided it would be best to have some sort of combat training before you left.

When Antiope handed you a spear, you waved it off. "Don't worry about that, I've got these," showing off your claws.

"Suit yourself."

Your impression within the first 5 minutes of training was that these women were not playing around. Never in your life had you felt so incompetent. Usually, you were able to land in at least a good punch or two, but these women were so quick that even with your enhance abilities you hardly managed to not be beaten into a pulp.

"It seems as if our guest has some catching up to do." A voice coming from above made you realize that Hippolyta had been watching from on top of the cliff. This made you even more embarrassed than a few minutes before.

Thankfully after a few days of training, your abilities were very much improved. Antiope helped you train with when to retract your claws and when to bring them out for maximum damage. Before you knew it, you had stayed on the island for three weeks. At the end of the week, Antiope and Hippolyta met with you to discuss your future.

"How do you like Themyscira, (Y/N)?"

"I like it here very much. I don't want to be imposing, but I feel like I'm enjoying this place."

Both Antiope and Hippolyta had to stop themselves from smiling. They both had a crush on you but neither of them had said anything, and they wanted you to stay. "Well (Y/N), you can stay for as long as you like."

With that, you stayed on Themyscira, training with Antiope and the rest of the Amazons every day. This was the first time for as long as you could remember that you felt like you were home, and both Antiope and Hippolyta took you out on separate dates. Because you never had much experience in the dating realm, you thought they were just being nice to you. After training, Antiope would always patch you up, whereas Hippolyta got you whatever you needed. There was an ongoing bet between the Amazons on which one of these women would tell you about their crush first, and the money pot grew larger every month. It was frustrating to everyone involved that neither one had said anything yet.

It was definitely a good life from what you had known before, but you knew it was too good to last. One day when you were out on patrol, a box that had been locked in a secure vault started shaking. From what you've heard about the box, it was used to trap a villain named Steppenwolf, someone who had been trapped for countless years in another realm. The threat of his presence had faded into distant memory, but apparently, Steppenwolf did not want to be forgotten. It didn't take long for chaos to rain down on Themyscira.

Before Steppenwolf himself came to get the box, parademons rained down on the Amazons like a plague. For the most part, they were fairly easy to bat off, but the real threat came quickly behind them. Steppenwolf came crashing onto the island like the demon that he was, crushing Amazons left and right. Knowing that you had to help, you ran over to him with your claws extended and swiped at him, causing a large gash on his face. Not to be outmaneuvered, Steppenwolf swung at you with his ax and sent you flying. Antiope looked at you with worry, but there was no time for her to ask if you were okay. Thankfully it didn't take you long to recover, and you managed to make a last ditch effort to run Steppenwolf over a cliff and away from the other fighters. With a final bellow of frustration, Steppenwolf batted you away and flew off. Not prepared for such a bulky demon to actually be able to fly, you fell through the air 100 feet into the water. The last thing you managed to think before your head hit the water was that you could not believe that the Amazons would find you face down on the beach again.

On the island, the immediate threat of Steppenwolf was gone, but he had made off with motherbox that the Amazon's were in charge of. The situation was dire, and the Amazons needed to figure out a game plan to stop Steppenwolf from becoming powerful again. The plan was to send a signal out to Diana so that she could find help from other groups.

One of the Amazons yelled out, "Since (Y/N) has such an affinity for jumping into the water, let's send her to help Diana!"

Knowing the dangers you would face fighting Steppenwolf, Hippolyta and Antiope were hesitant to send you out. But they also knew that you and Diana would make a great team, and only together did you have a chance of defeating this evil. It was decided that you would be sent to Paris to meet with Diana. Right after you were fished out of the water of course.