#i think that's what their pairing name is but its so rare someone please correct me if its not

[pansy-picnics]

Okay hi! I first want to apologize for how long this will be, but I just found your page and am sort of new to tumblr.

For one, your art is amazzingggg! Every fandom you're in is heavily blessed. It's especially awesome for myself as a tts geek, to see so many dedicated to creating content. As far as the unknighted ship goes, from what I can tell, and this may be totally wrong so please correct me if it is, you want more people to be in the ship? I 100% agree that the division in this fandom is honestly detrimental to its growth, however, I feel like it keeps the peace in a way.

I myself like new dream and am fine with the poly ship, but, i was speaking with a friend who doesn't ship unkighted and cassunzel at all. They were explaining to me how it seems like most of the unknighted shippers do prefer cassunzel, which is again fine. I'm not sure if that's a fact through and through but the sentiment is there. But it got me thinking about how that perception in itself could disuade newcomers who are more into the Eugene/Rapunzel relationship? As far as division goes, I mean.

Again it's no problem to have favorites, in fact it's actually great that this fandom has so many spaces to include people who have a particular liking to any one thing, but it's rare to see anyone here really neutral on pairings if that makes sense? I know those people exist, but even beyond ships, our favorite characters, platonic relationships, and much more are pushed usually, very individually.

Love Cass? Great there's a ton of blogs for that! Rapunzel? Eugene? Varian? So many blogs for them too with art, concepts, etc! But with this fandom being so tiny- and that other weird anon we shall not mention by name, I think as long as people aren't flat out rude to each other, maybe a little separation is alright. Not everyone mingles well together. Maybe it's for the better?

I hope this wasn't annoying to read oops- but I am interested to hear your thoughts, if you feel comfortable responding.

oh no absolutely and i really enjoy these kinds of discussions!! i 100% agree lol and i’ve never meant to make it seem like i don’t. the distance between the fandom is absolutely what keeps the peace and as much as i SAY i want people to branch out more i know if it actually happened it would probably just leave us with even more division and infighting LOL😭

the neutrality is VERY rare and it’s honestly the only reason i’m so passionate about it, because i’ve never fallen into any of those divisions and it makes it really hard to find likeminded people!!! it’s why i put so much effort into my characterizations and how i portray all the dynamics, it tends to cater to everyone because i’ve never been able to pick and choose favorites myself haha

i would love for more people to find enjoyment in uknighted dream especially, since the dynamic is so important to me, but i totally understand it’s just not everyones thing and thats cool too!! :) i’m a bit surprised about the idea that most of us prefer cassunzel though, i never thought about it that way especially since i’ve never had a preference myself. i do sometimes find myself drawing cassunzel more, but that’s less because i prefer them over new dream and moreso because i feel the need to be super upfront about it…💀 i’ve had a lot of new dream fans comment on my uknighted dream art who seem to COMPLETELY miss the point and/or just disregard cass entirely. when i try to be subtle abt it most people don’t acknowledge it so most of my art is just me like violently pointing to them like LOOK!! she’s in love with BOTH of them!!! THEY’RE KISSING!!!!

as someone who’s been super involved with the uknighted dream community i’ve never felt like any of us really have a “preference”, a lot of us are hardcore cassunzel fans but that’s a given cuz that’s usually what drives us to the polyam ship in the first place. i have seen a lot of people argue that like “its just an excuse to ship new dream and cassunzel at the same time” and like….Yeah???? thats kind of the point??? 😭 i really don’t understand how people make it out to be a BAD thing bc like. the point of fandom is just to do whatever and have fun. so what if we wanna ship two pairings at the same time. why NOT just shove them into a polycule

it’s not like cass and eugene don’t have chemistry either???? they obviously care about each other and they don’t get along solely for rapunzel!!! i can’t speak for all ukd fans obviously but i think in my experience most of us did just start off “shipping two things at the same time” but with all the substance involved they VERY quickly become a set. cass and eugene’s dynamic whether platonic or romantic is really fun to explore and they all bounce so well off of each other i think it’s perfect!! they all just mean so much to me ok. they’re all equals and at the end of the day that’s really what i try to portray most in my work :3

[aquilamage]

guess! who! wrote! fic!

So this is a random snippet of a ‘scene’ I had floating around in my head and really liked, so wrote it out. It’s an au in a scenario where some events congruent to canon happened, but I haven’t thought out every little detail. Basically they’re all late teens and grew up in the same area.

will end up being posted on my actual fic sites when I give it another lookthrough and a title, but I’m pretty happy with this as is so:

“So, are you finally going to tell me what it is we’re doing on the side of the road in the middle of the woods, at dusk?”

           Kay’s hair whirled around her as she turned, the brightness of her grin barely visible as a flash of a reflection of the fading light. “We’re enacting a sacred tradition, and since we’re friends now, it only seemed fair to invite you along.”

           “And I am all for bonding, but could it not be a bit less…this?” Klavier spread his arms out to encompass the expanse of trees, the mud they were definitely already tracking around, the background of insect noises which had only just begun in full force.

           “I told you to wear sturdy shoes.” She shrugged, stomping one of her heavy boots on the edge of the asphalt in emphasis.

           He had, or at least an older pair of sneakers that he had decided we alright potentially being ruined when they had told him to be ready for an “excursion”. But that wasn’t really the point. The point was that whatever this was supposed to be, it seemed to him that it could at least have happened under slightly less suspicious circumstances. A small grin, and then, “you aren’t planning on hazing me, are you?”

           Kay gasped, a hand clutching the fabric of her shirt, although her eyes held the same warmth as before. “Of course not. Right?” Gaze shooting to a spot behind him, she winked.

           “Yeah. Hazing would suggest that our friendship is congru- contingent on you doing this. Which it isn’t.” Shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, Sebastian kicked at some loose stones. “You can leave if you want. We just thought you might enjoy being a part of it.” Shaking his head to move his bangs out of his face, he added, “It’s getting into trouble, but we’re not breaking any rules or anything.”

           “Yeah,” Kay waved it off, verbally and physically as she flapped a hand through the air. “Nothing like where there’d be real consequences. Honestly, this has to be one of the least messy kinds of trouble I ever get into.” She flashed another grin before jumping from where she stood, bounding over the ditch that separated the road from the trees. Her landing was signaled by only the barest rustle of leaves, despite the mid-autumn carpet of dry ones everywhere. “Probably why my dads let me keep doing it even with the complaints.”

           “Now that hardly makes you sound reassuring, Fraulein.”

           She shrugged. “It’s only because we’re annoying people who are irritated by us merely existing. Trust me, they kind of deserve it.”

           “Very well.” Casting about for a safe spot to cross, he noticed that he was now the only one on that side. At the frown he made, the other two burst into laughter.

           “It’s not actually that far. Or so deep you can’t walk through it. Someone’s just a show-off.”

           Kay stuck her tongue out at him.

           When Sebastian did an exaggerated version of her pose, Klavier mentally shook his head and ignored them, at least for long enough to pick his way across the gap with the minimum amount of getting mud or grass on his pants as possible. At that point, he was greeted with the sight of his friends trading increasingly obnoxious faces. He looked between the two of them. Seeing this type of childishly familiar interaction still continued to confound him; he had known Sebastian, albeit not that well until recently, for several years, so he knew that Kay had only met him a little under a year ago. And even with that, he still had to occasionally remind himself that they weren’t actually fraternal siblings.

He stood there watching them for a bit. But quickly realizing that they weren’t responding to his mere presence, he stepped between them, breaking the line of sight. “So, where to now?” He gave one of his dazzling smiles.

           Kay was the first to recover. “This way.” She gave a sweep of the arm, bowing deeply.

           There followed a good ten minutes of tromping through the woods until Sebastian called them to a halt, switching off the flashlights they had brought. Ahead, the trees quickly thinned out into a clearing.

           Poking his head forward in the space between the other two, Klavier stared out into the darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out a sizeable expanse of land that gave way to the back side of a massive house. Other than a few windows, the main source of illumination came from a light attached to the roof that was pointed mostly towards the far-left side. While it almost cast more shadows than anything else, it seemed to show that the main portion of the back yard was covered in a network of gardens and some combination of benches and or statues.

           “Is that a waterfall?” Klavier pointed at the edge of the pool of light, where a sizeable pond sat, the surface disturbed by a cascade of water coming from a hill to one shore.

           Kay snorted. “I know, right? You’re not even allowed to swim in there. It’s reserved for ‘spiritual cleansing’ and ‘meditation training’ and junk like that.” She made finger quotes as she spoke, rolling her eyes.

           “The head of household is super stuffy, if you’d believe it.”

           “Never would have guessed,” he drawled as he scanned the area for anything he might have missed. “And we are here for what, exactly?”

           At this, Kay brightened even more, were it possible. “We,” she placed her hands on her hips, legs firmly planted, “are on a mission.” Her voice dropped lower than it usually was. “A rescue mission. Within the walls of this manor lives the grandest princess in all the land, condemned to waste her life away, alone, by those who have cruelly imprisoned her. But!” Stepping sideways and dramatically throwing out an arm to point in the direction of the house, she gave a smirk. “No longer! For the Great Thief has come to steal this lovely maiden away, flying off without a trace into the dark sky of the evening!”

           “…We’re sneaking her girlfriend out of the house to visit for the weekend,” Sebastian supplied, barely concealing a grin at Klavier’s bemusement.

           Kay wilted. “Seb, no.” She crossed her arms, settling her weight more on her back leg as she regarded him. “The Great Thief has recruited a pair of bards to assist her on this most perilous mission, to share in the glory and sing in her accolades, and this is the thanks they give her? Such betrayal.” Clutching at her heart with both hands, she fell to her knees in a mock expression of agony.

           Now standing over her as she literally sprawled out on the ground, Klavier spared Kay a glance longer before he turned to Sebastian. He raised an eyebrow. “And you don’t enjoy this? It seems like fun enough.”

           He shrugged, staring off into the distance. “Oh, I do. I just don’t need a fantasy version to make it interesting” The biggest mischievous grin Klavier had seen bloomed on his face. “Even though her mother is completely fine with her being with us, it’s just because her aunt’s technically in charge when she’s gone and doesn’t like us. I mean, she almost never cares about what Maya does otherwise; she gets so upset about this specifically though, it’s great.”

           Klavier didn’t notice that he had been staring for a moment, until Kay, who had sprung back up, clapped him on the back and motioned for them to follow her. He was glad to have the guidance, since even in the light there was, they had to keep their gaze down to avoid stepping off the stone pathways and tripping over something or another. Finally, they stopped behind a larger bush situated just next to the house itself.

Kay pointed at a second-floor window just to the side of where they stood. “That’s our target. See the bench over there? We drag that over and you guys give me a boost from there. I climb in the window, retrieve the lady, and off we go. Ready?”

Despite its heavy appearance, the bench moved with relatively little fuss by the three of them, although they did have to take care not to scrape it against any of the stepping stones embedded in the grass. Once it was positioned below the window, Kay directed the boys to step up before climbing up in the middle.

“So,” she said, seemingly unfazed by being practically squashed between the two of them, “if you can just get me up high enough to reach that ledge thingy, I’ll fly up the rest of the way! Stay out of sight until I get back, and we’ll be out in no time.”

It took a bit of maneuvering and a last-second aversion of an accident, but finally Kay was pushing off of them. Regaining his balance after the sudden loss of weight on him, Klavier looked up to see that she was true to her word, climbing the bumpy surface with only slightly more apparent difficulty than most people would a ladder.

“A woman of many talents, ja?”

Sebastian shook his head, smiling. “Something like that. Here, help me move this back.” As they picked up the bench, he added, “She practices rock climbing a lot. And on other buildings. She climbed through my window in the middle of the night a lot after she found out I was having trouble sleeping. Mr. Edgeworth actually gave her a house key to try to get her to stop, but she still does it some of the time.”

As they returned to their initial spot by the side of the house, Klavier gave him a soft smile. “Good.” When he received a confused tilt of the head and an otherwise mostly blank expression, he added, “That she wants to help you. I-“ A hand went up to run through his hair. He suddenly wished he’d brought his sunglasses after all (which he hadn’t because it was dark out when they left and that would just be ridiculous, even for him).

“I feel bad about not being as much a friend as I should have been, in the past, and…” A sigh. “At least now you have other people too, ja?”

“I guess.” He raised his shoulders as he spoke, accompanied by a shake of the head that it seemed unclear whether he was aware of. “But there’s nothing for you to apologize for. I mean, I was, well…you know. I wouldn’t blame you guys if you never wanted anything to do with me.”

Klavier paused his instinctual motion to comfort halfway there. “May I?” he ventured. When he received a nod, he gently placed a hand over one of Sebastian’s. “Those were quite different circumstances. And nothing changes the fact that you deserve to have good people in your life.” In a lighter tone, he added, “Besides, would we be here doing this now if we didn’t want to be your friends?”

A sniffle. “I guess not, huh?” Sebastian ducked his head, but the tension in his body had lessened significantly.

Satisfied, he smiled to himself and opened his mouth to add something else, but was interrupted by a shriek.

---

           Kay pulled herself up the final few inches to be level with the window. A quick pattern of taps against the glass, and it slid open almost instantly. Climbing inside, she sat against the windowsill. “Well, I appreciate the assistance. But,” she struck a pose, staring down the standing girl in the middle of the room, “I do hope you realize you just let in a thief.”

           “You’re lost then. The exhibit area’s downstairs.”

           She flipped her scarf over her shoulder. “Oh, but I am here to steal something far more valuable than that. I am here for...your heart!”

           At this, Maya’s serious expression broke. “And that’s where you’re wrong again.” Arms crossed over her chest, she grinned. “You can’t steal what’s freely given.”

           Kay started. Stumbling forward as she tripped over her own legs, she finally made her way over the other, flushed and stuttering.

           Maya giggled. “You’re adorable,” she said, stepping up on her toes to press a kiss to Kay’s cheek.

           “Yeah, well, so are you,” she mumbled under her breath. Then, after a minute of looking around to compose herself, she added, much more audibly, “Where’s Pearly?”

           “Not coming this time. Said she had too much to work on, and Athena’s…” She trailed off as she struggled not to burst into laughter as Kay had immediately started to search for the girl, first by opening the wardrobe, and then by crawling under the bed.

           Kay dragged herself out, beaming as she stood back up and made her way over to her girlfriend. She wrapped her arms around her, tilting her chin so that her head rested on top of Maya’s. A content sigh as she melted into the embrace.

           They both probably would have stayed there for hours, quiet revelry in each other’s warmth and the way they could rest against each other so comfortably, all that time spent figuring out the exact way to hold each other so they fitted together perfectly paying off more than they could have imagined. Kay had just reached a hand up to run fingers through Maya’s hair, though, when she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye.

           She let out a squeak, turning sharply to face what turned out to be the door, open enough of a crack to show the form of a woman frozen halfway inside.

           “Hi…sis…” Maya’s voice came out muffled. With a little effort, she extricated herself from her still-shocked girlfriend’s grasp enough so that her face wasn’t pressed into her. “What are you…”

           Mia lifted an arm to show what she had been carrying. “You left your jacket downstairs, and it would hardly be responsible of me to let you go out tonight without one.” Pushing the door shut with only the softest of clicks, she made her way over to the two of them. “I know you’re quite attached, but if I may borrow my sister for a moment.”

           Kay stared at her before realizing that she still had her arms firmly around Maya’s waist. “Right!” She released her and took a good couple of steps back, to give them space.

           Holding up the jacket, Mia nodded her head. As Maya lifted her arms, she went about the motions of sliding the jacket on over her pajamas, a warm smile appearing in her eyes. She tugged down on the edges before carefully zipping it up.

           “Sis, I’m plenty old enough to do this by myself,” she groaned, staring off at a spot on the wall.

           Giving the zipper a final tug, she chuckled. Putting a hand each on the sides of Maya’s face, she held her still long enough to kiss her forehead. “Exactly. You’re growing up so fast. It’s like yesterday you were a baby and now I’m here embarrassing you in front of your girlfriend.”

           Maya’s only response was to stick her tongue out and yank the hood of her jacket up over the top of her face.

           As if remembering her presence, she took that opportunity to levy a glance in Kay’s direction. “And I can be confident that she will take care of my baby sister, correct?”

Mia was only an inch or two taller than her sister, but her stare still made Kay feel as though she was the one having to look up to make eye contact. Her mouth seemed to have stopped working, so she settled for vigorously nodding instead.

“Good.” She fluffed up Maya’s hair with one hand. “I can handle Aunt Morgan as long as you’re back by-“

“MOTHER!”

“Aw shit,” Kay breathed, lunging for the bag that sat by the edge of the bed. “Time to go.” Sticking her head out the window, she cringed as she noticed a figure in white dashing away from the area under the window.

“Busted?” The whisper came from behind her as Maya attempted to get a view as well.

“Dahlia.”

She slapped her hands on the windowsill. “Ugh.” Wriggling her way so she was also partially out the window, she cupped her hands around her mouth. “Time to go, boys!” She tried to wave at the two as they appeared from behind a bush, but found that the spot was just a little to tight to let her actually move from how she was.

A sigh from inside the room. “You’re going to get stuck if you keep that up, and I’m not going to be able to delay them that long.” With a gentle but firm grip, Mia tugged the two of them out from the frame. “Go on,” she waved at Kay.

She gave a single nod. The bag was unceremoniously dropped out the window seconds before she began climbing out of it herself.

Mia gave her sister one last hug before making her way to the other side of the door. “Have fun, be good. Chair under the handle, I can stall easier that way.” A smile, and then she was gone.

Wasting no time in doing so, Maya dashed back to the window, under which the other three were standing. She managed to maneuver her way out and hanging off the ledge with only a little trouble, and at Kay’s signal, let herself drop down.

The landing wasn’t as comfortable as it could have been, finding herself in a tangle of limbs, mostly on Sebastian with Kay still half-hanging on to where she’d caught her legs, but nothing broken, nothing bruised. She grinned at the unfamiliar blonde half-crouched to one side of them. “Hi!”

           He simply frowned, looking over at something behind them. “Nice to meet you, Fraulein, but perhaps later? It seems we have some attention.”

There were in fact a lot of lights on in the house now, and shouts could be heard from inside.

           Kay took Maya’s hand and pulled her up, starting at a run as soon as she was on her feet. Both of them be laughing as they went, picking their way back through the maze of landscaping.

Behind them, Klavier hesitated as he scanned the grounds. The girls had retreated enough in the moments longer it had taken him to get to his feet that he couldn’t quite follow their movements, and there were so many winding paths of garden, even with the lights from inside he-

           His problem was easily solved as Sebastian skidded to a halt close enough to almost knock into him. “May I?” He held out his hand.

Klavier began to hesitantly raise his own to take it when there was a much louder exclamation. A woman appeared from the side of the house, holding up a flashlight and shouting Maya’s name, among other things that his mind wasn’t bothering to process right now, apparently.

At this point, Sebastian grabbed onto his arm and began absolutely booking it towards the trees. Practiced motions wound through the obstacles with ease even in the dark, accompanied by a pace that had them out on open grass in minutes.

It was hardly fair, Klavier thought, that even though he was barely shorter he was still being pulled along behind Sebastian a little, adrenaline being the main factor that had him keeping pace. Well, that and the little breathless laughs that he could occasionally hear over the rustle of leaves and the girls’ laughs and whoops ahead of them.

They skidded to a halt just inside the tree line. Klavier had just slid his arm out of Sebastian’s grip in time to dodge away from Kay barreling towards him.

She let out an “I’m gonna hug you ok,” so fast the words mushed together. A second’s pause right in front of him with her arms held out. When he nodded, she practically flung herself at him, the force of it lifting him off his feet. Kay went with it though, using the motion to spin Sebastian around. “That was awesome!”

“Yeah!” Maya’s volume was a little too high for comfort considering she was almost right next to Klavier, who was still trying to recover. She gave him as good a look-over as she could in the near-complete darkness. “You want burgers? I could go for a burger right now wow I am out of it right now. I’m Maya, by the way.” She held out a hand for a high-five.

“Klavier.”

Her flat hand managed to shift to a firm grip as she shook his hand when he moved to high-five her. “Nice.” Letting go, she circled behind the other two to retrieve her bag from where it had been dropped.

“Well then,” Kay, who had finally put Sebastian down, slung her arm over Klavier’s shoulder. “You have fun?”

He looked at her, grinning wildly and sweaty to the touch. Then over to Maya, dirt streaked across her face and hands (he faintly recalled seeing her stumble before). And Sebastian, looking ruffled but more importantly with another of those genuine smiles which Klavier was pretty sure he’d seen more of during this evening than ever before. They were debating about going out versus heading back to Kay’s, but exhaustion setting in kept him from really paying it much mind. He took a breath, his heartbeat only just settling down from something he could actively feel and the fall chill starting to register again.

“Ja,” He turned back to Kay, a mirror of her smile blooming on his own face. “I did.”

[asirensrage]

The Art of the Steal - Billy Russo x You

Title: The Art of the Steal Rating: Explicit Fandom: The Punisher Pairing: Mafia!Billy Russo x female reader Warnings: Sex. Violence. Threats. Kidnapping. Unprotected sex. Summary: An old friend throws you under the bus.

Notes: This started with @vixenofcourse asking for a distraction and me going "okay, imagine this...you're in the office..." I rarely write this pov but I have a couple requests in my askbox for my 800 follower celebration and I continued this for practice. It's unbeta'd. Please let me know what you think. Thank you. Hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

It's been a terrible day. 

The hours are dragging on. You're back to daydreaming about quitting while you refresh the email, waiting for the one thing you need to reply to in order to finish the rest of your tasks so you can go home. It has yet to arrive and you already called the person asking about its status. They promised it within the hour but it's looking more like it'll be the actual end of the day before you get it. You shouldn't be surprised. 

A shadow passes over you. Half expecting it to either be your boss or the creep down the hall who keeps trying to shoot his shot, you look up slowly. It's neither. The man standing there is tall, handsome and looking way too good in a suit that fits perfectly. You've never seen him before but he's watching you with a small smile on his face.

"Can I help you?" You ask. 

"I hope so. I'm looking for someone." He gives you your name. 

"You found her." 

He grins. "I was hoping it would be you."

Your eyes narrow in suspicion. “For what?”

“She didn’t tell you.” 

“Who?” 

“Your friend, Sarah, set you up. Gave you up might be more accurate.” 

You haven’t spoken to Sarah in months. The two of you fell apart because she kept running off to parties and getting herself in trouble and got pissed when you didn’t want to join. You had no regrets over that friendship ending, though you did worry she would get herself into hot water. 

“I don’t know Sarah.”

He grins slightly at you. “Sure you do. Just like she knows you and what you’re capable of.” 

You glance around. There’s no one else standing about though you catch some of the others still in the place glancing at both of you. “You got the wrong girl,” you tell him. 

“I don’t.” He leans forward, hands resting on the desk. “I hear you’re quite the artist.”

“Sure,” you say dryly. “I’m great at painting pets.”  

“We both know it’s more than that.” His voice lowers slightly. “Now your…not friend Sarah got herself into some hot water and owes something specific. She can’t pay it.”

Somehow, you’re not at all surprised. “Sounds like a her problem.”

“It is but she gave me you. Now either you’re going to help me or I’m going to have my men start removing pieces.” 

You’re tempted to tell him to go ahead and take them. Sarah did this to herself. Maybe it would help her finally realize there are consequences to her actions. You sigh though. Years of friendship linger enough to make you feel guilty about it. 

“Say I do decide I know Sarah,” you say slowly. “What exactly are you looking for?” 

“I suggest we don’t talk about this here.”

“Well, hate to break it to you, I got another couple hours here. You’re going to have to wait.” 

He straightens. “We’ll see.” He moves past your desk, heading towards the office where your boss resides, closing the door behind him. Something tells you this is not going to be good. 

When he returns, your boss follows him. They both stop at your desk and you note the way your boss keeps wiping his hands on his pants. He’s swallowing nervously. 

“There you are,” your boss says. He glances at the man next to him before turning back to you. “Why don’t you leave early today? In fact, take the next week.” 

“A week?” the suited man asks, raising his eyebrows at your boss. 

“Come back when you’re ready,” your boss corrects. 

“Are you firing me?” you ask carefully. 

“No, no,” your boss reassures. “Of course not.” 

“I’m not finished with my work. I still need the email from Accounting.”

“I’ll take care of it,” your boss says. “Don’t worry. Just…go.” 

Your eyes narrow at the two men across from you and you calculate your choices. Something bad happened in that office. Sarah clearly ran her mouth about your extracurricular hobbies and now is attempting to drag you down with her.  

Your boss retreats back into his office, turning to look at the other man with something that looks like fear in his eyes. 

You turn back to the man who is still standing across from you. 

“Shall we?” he asks, motioning for you to get up and move. 

“No.” You lean back in your chair and stare up at him. “I don’t know you. You came in here looking for me, on the word of someone I haven’t spoken to in months, and clearly just threatened my boss and ex-friend. You’re going to have to give me at least a name.” 

He smirks at that before holding out his hand. “Billy Russo.”

You take it carefully and shake it, feeling the calluses on his fingers. “Let me get ready. I’m going to need to grab some stuff if I won’t be back for a while.” He nods and you take the time to close your computer and pack up your bag. “I just need to make sure my work is covered. I’m going to hand it off to my coworkers.” You pick up a stack of files, making sure not to look at him as you head over to some of the others in the office who have been keeping an eye on what was happening. 

You walk over to the nearest desk, handing over a file and mentioning that something came up. You can feel his eyes on you. You continue on, stopping at a couple of desks before heading to one that you know is out of the eye line from yours. 

You drop the files on the top of one of the cabinets and quickly move for the stairs. Fuck this. Old friend or not, you are not getting roped into whatever this is. Sarah made her choices. You are making yours. 

 You get down to the ground floor without anyone following behind you. It’s luck you weren’t aware you had and you’re suddenly grateful that you’ve moved since the last time you saw Sarah. 

You open the door, ready to sprint if you have to for the nearest exit. You don’t get the chance. Billy Russo is there, pushing you back into the stairwell and covering your mouth with a cloth. You hold your breath. 

“Nice try but you’re not quite fast enough.”

His grip on your face tightens over the cloth and before you can stop yourself, you gasp for air. The smell of chemicals fills your nose and your sight goes dark. 

Waking up with your head already pounding sucks. Everything already feels like it hurts, like you're hungover despite the fact that you know you weren’t drinking. It’s the feeling of someone brushing your hair back that makes your eyes snap open. 

It takes a moment before you recognize the face that’s near yours. You recoil automatically. 

“Sleeping beauty wakes.”

You groan at the way he already seems pleased with himself. He moves back and you try to sit up. The world spins. 

“What did you do to me?”

“You tried to run,” he says. “Admirable effort but you didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?”

“I hoped,” you admit. You turn, planting your feet on the ground as you sit on the cot you were laying on. Your stomach revolts at the movement and a bucket appears in front of you in time for you to heave into it. You grip the bucket like it’s a lifeline until it finally feels like there’s nothing left to throw up. You wipe at your mouth and grimace before finally looking around. 

The room you’re in is dark aside from the light hanging from the ceiling. It’s enough to show you that the place is empty aside from the cot and the chair he’s sitting on. It’s a bit of a relief considering the way your head is pounding. “What do you want?” 

“I already told you. You’re going to do a job for me and in return, your friend gets her debt cleared.” 

“And if I refuse?” 

“Then things are going to get more…unpleasant.” 

Considering you were already attacked just for trying to run for it, you’re not really willing to press it. Your face, head and stomach already hurt and that was from one encounter. You didn’t want to have more. 

“What’s the job?” 

“A simple forgery, one I’m told you have the skills to do. I need a piece of art replicated.” 

You consider it. It isn’t something that you advertise. Very few people know what you’re capable of. Unfortunately, Sarah was one of them. She likely told him everything you could do. 

“I’m going to need everything you know about the piece in question, all my tools and some very specific things to do this. Including a workspace.” 

“Give me a list. You’ll get it all.” 

“It’s only the one job,” you say. “One job and I’m done. You don’t bother me again.”

He smirks, looking like a shark in the dark. “You want me to leave you alone when you’re done, I will. But sure. One job.”

“And the next time Sarah fucks up, it’s on her. I’m not her get out of jail free card, got it?” 

He grins. “Sure thing, sweetheart.” 

He keeps to his word and gets everything you ask for. 

You’re set up in a room that has all the tools, paints and information on the painting you’re meant to replicate. You demand that you be left alone. You work best when you’re not interrupted by others. He gives the orders to everyone to leave you be…he just doesn’t heed them himself. 

“I told you I needed to be alone.”

“You said you needed silence,” Billy counters. “I’m not saying a word.”

You give him an unimpressed look. “I work best alone. Don’t you have other things to do?”

“And deprive you of my company?” he grins. “Maybe I just want to get to know you better.”

“I’d rather not.” You peer carefully at the canvas in front of you. Any fear you had of the man faded once you started to get involved in your work. It also helped that he kept showing up, occasionally bringing snacks and asking questions. It did a lot to endear him to you. 

You grab a little more paint with the brush, adding bits to the shadows in the grass. It’s a constant back and forth between your copy and the original, adding the bits that really match it. This isn’t the most important part. The type of canvas and paint is important to match the time period it was created, but it’s the wear and tear that really make it authentic. You have to match any small ticks that the original artist had. 

“Why are you working in an office when you can do this?” Billy asks, standing close behind you as he watches. 

“Because this is a hobby and I don’t do it for money.”

“Could be well off if you did.”

“Could also go to jail if I got caught. I like my freedom.” 

“Don’t we all.” 

You can feel him reach out, touching the ends of your hair that is pushed back out of your face. “Will you stop? Go bother someone else.” 

“They’re not as fun or as pretty. Why? You want to see me covered in blood? I can make that happen.” 

“I’m sure you could.” You put the brush down and turn in your chair to look at him. He’s not wearing a suit today. In fact, he looks more comfortable than ever in jeans and a sweater. If your meeting hadn’t been tarnished by him kidnapping you, you might have been more inclined to his interest. Or at least more polite. “Billy, I can’t work like this.”

“Like what?”

“With you hovering!” 

He stares at you for a moment before he leans forward, hands resting on the arms of your chair. You lean back as much as you can. Billy is attractive and you can smell the spicy scent of his cologne with how close he is. Your breath hitches slightly as you see his gaze dart to your lips. 

“You’re right,” he says softly. “I’ll leave you be…after you take a break and come eat with me.” 

You swallow tightly. He still hasn’t moved back and he’s close enough that he just needs to lean forward a little more and his mouth will be on yours. Not that you should be thinking that. Especially with him. “I shouldn’t.”

“I ain’t asking. Come with me.” 

There’s an innuendo in there and you know it. “Okay.” 

He grins at you and finally moves back, giving you some space that you feel like you can breathe again. “Good girl.” 

Something flares low in your stomach at that and you try to ignore it. “Give me a second.” You turn back, cleaning off the brush and covering the paints to make sure they don’t dry out while you’re gone. When you’re ready, you turn back to him. “Let’s go.”

He offers you his hand, helping you to your feet before he moves it to sit at your lower back. He ushers you out of the room, clearly pleased to have gained your compliance.  It makes you want to punch him in his stupid perfect face.  

You pass the guards outside the room who don’t even look at you. They murmur greetings to Billy, who ignores them, more content to lean towards you. He says something softly but you’re not entirely paying attention. You can barely focus with the warmth of him against you and his voice in your ear. He knows it too. You can tell by the smirk on his face. 

He leads you down a hall before opening a door and motioning for you to enter. You do. Whatever you were expecting, this isn’t it. 

The room is softly lit with a lamp and a few candles. There’s a table that’s already laid out with place settings. If you’re completely honest, it looks like a rich date. It makes you want to run but the door closes behind you and he’s touching your back again.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s eat.” 

Billy Russo is driving you insane. 

At first, it was the way he hovered, giving not so subtle threats as he watched you work, pushing your irritation to its limits until you snapped at him. Now it was because you were keenly aware of him when he was around and the way he kept trying to take care of you. It was the snacks and demands to join him to eat when he was here. It was the way he kept finding ways to touch you that sent shivers down your spine. 

You are nearly done with the painting. It feels like a blessing and yet…you find yourself a little hesitant. When you finally get free and the threat of Sarah losing fingers is no longer hanging over your head, you’ll be going back to an office job that you hate. Then again, your boss looked terrified the last time you saw him. You might be able to use that. At least to get more vacation days. You aren’t above using what opportunities are given to you. 

Billy stands behind you, staring at the latest process in aging the canvas. He’s been strangely silent now that you’re almost done. 

“What do you think?” you ask quietly.

“I’ll get an appraiser. Test the quality.” 

“Of course.” 

He keeps staring at the painting. “You’re very good.”

“I know.” 

He smirks at you. “Might take a few days.” 

You try not to roll your eyes. “Are they going to be aware that it’s a fake?”

“Course not,” he says. “Where’s the fun in that?” 

“It’s a better challenge that way,” you grin as you say it. You know you’re good at what you do but you haven’t been tested in a long time. 

He shifts slightly, moving closer to you. “You gonna miss me when you’re done here?”

“No,” you lie. You won’t admit the ways you’ve actually enjoyed this. It’s been a while since you’ve been able to focus on your art like this. 

He smirks like he knows. His hand touches your arm, stroking down it softly causing goosebumps to prickle in its wake. His eyes meet yours and for a moment, you think you can see his thoughts. So, before he can make any threats, any promises, you decide to do something that you’ve been thinking about. You kiss him. Just quickly, just to know what it feels like. It doesn’t mean anything, you just want him out of your system before you leave so you don’t sit around wondering. 

He’s faster. 

His arm goes around your waist, hand pressed against your back, pulling you into him. His other hand cups your jaw, kissing you harder. You can’t help but react, opening your mouth to deepen the kiss. Your arms go over his shoulders, trying to get closer. You want to feel this. Just once. 

He breaks the kiss first, murmuring against your lips how he’s waited, how he’s wanted to kiss you since he saw you glaring at your computer. Since you ran. You pull him back to your lips. 

Billy kisses you over and over, moving until you’re leaning back against the table and away from the easel. He lifts you to sit, moving between your legs as his hands tilt your face up to his. His lips move across your cheek and down your neck, taking his time to kiss and suck marks into your skin. It feels like he’s trying to brand you as his. 

You arch into him, letting your head fall back as you lose yourself in the feeling. One of his hands moves, sliding up your thigh slowly, back and forth. It’s just enough to keep you aware of him. It feels as though you’re being consumed by him, bit by bit. For a moment, you’re almost tempted to thank Sarah for the problem she brought to your door. If only because the man could kiss. 

It’s only when he tries to get you to lean back that you stop him. “I’m not messing up my paints,” you tell him. “Not here.” 

He kisses you again. “‘Course not, sweetheart. Let me take care of you. Properly.” His hands go to your waist, helping you off the table before he leads you to the door. Your awareness of him is still heightened. He keeps a hand on you, slipping under the shirt you’re wearing so that he can touch your skin. You’re so lost in how it feels, still a little drunk on his kisses, that you don’t actually pay attention to where he’s bringing you. At least until you recognize that it’s an entirely new area. 

Before you can question it, you’re led into another room. The door closes and locks behind you. Billy’s chest presses against your back as you look around the lit bedroom. It’s not too opulent but it’s also larger than your apartment. 

Billy’s lips are back on your neck, just for a moment before you feel him lift your shirt. You raise your arms to help before you turn towards him. His hand goes under your hair to the back of your neck, gripping just tight enough as he pulls you into him. His lips meet yours again. 

“Undress, darling,” he says when you finally break the kiss. “Let me see you.”

“Quid pro quo,” you counter. He grins at you and there’s just enough sharpness in it that something flutters in you. He raises his eyebrows, looking at you pointedly. You take the hint. 

You undo your bra first, letting it fall to the floor before pulling down the yoga pants you had requested to wear. You liked to be comfortable while creating. His eyes watch every movement and they somehow seem to grow darker as he stares. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he says. 

Heat flares in your stomach in response. “Well?” you ask, ignoring the way you feel way too exposed in comparison. 

“Get on the bed.”

Part of you wants to argue but there’s something in the way he’s looking at you that compels you to move. You’re not one of his minions, but it’s your choice that makes you go. You both know it. 

You watch as he pulls off the shirt he’s wearing. You catch sight of the scars on his shoulder, chest and abdomen, but you don’t ask. You’re more focused on the way he unbuckles his belt before unbuttoning his jeans and letting them fall to the floor. You could feel him hardening against you when you kissed, but seeing it was always different. 

He comes toward you, bending down to kiss you again. He guides you to lie down, mouth still moving against yours. You really shouldn’t be doing this but any argument is lost as his hands move against your bare skin. 

“Tell me you want this, sweetheart.” His lips move back against your neck, nipping lightly at your skin. He grabs one of your legs, hooking it around his waist and pressing closer. He grinds against you. 

You moan softly. “Please, Billy. Stop teasing.”

“Tell me,” he says again. His mouth goes lower, leaving marks against your chest. He covers one of your nipples, sucking softly. “You want this?” 

“Please.” Your hand goes to the back of his head, trying to gain more friction.

One of his hands cups the breast his mouth isn’t on. His fingers tweak at the nipple, squeezing lightly. “Sweetheart, you gonna play with me?”

“No,” you moan. 

He grinds against you again. “You want me? You want this?”  

“Yes.”

He grins against your skin before moving lower. Your head falls back as he goes between your legs. It doesn’t take long before you’re arching up against him. He grabs your hands before you can touch him, pinning them against the bed. He doesn’t relent. 

You hook a heel against his back, trying desperately to keep him there, even as the pressure grows. He continues, using his tongue against you until you’re keening and begging and rocking your hips, trying to gain more friction. It’s not enough. You need more. 

He finally pulls back, just as you get close to the precipice that would send you over the edge. You can’t help but whine at the loss. You feel him chuckle against you. 

“Now who’s playing?” you ask. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll let you win.” He shifts then, angling himself before pushing into you slowly. Your mouth falls open, eyes closed as you try to breathe against the intrusion. He groans before burying his face in your neck. “Feel so fucking good,” you hear him say. “So fucking good. Knew you would.”

You can barely concentrate. You are pinned by him in more ways than one, surrounded and lost in the sensations he creates. Especially when he pulls back just a bit so he can thrust forward. 

“Let me hear you.” 

He moves slowly, muscles tense as he pulls out and pushes in. It’s not enough and he knows it. You’re left trying to reach for him, even as he pins your hands down again. This time over your head. 

“You’re taking me so well,” he punctuates it by grinding his hips against yours. It’s not enough friction. You need him to move more. “Doing so good.” 

His words make you clench around him. “Please,” you beg. “Please, please, please.”

“Please what?”

“Fucking move!” 

He laughs slightly but he lets go of one of your hands to hook his arm under one of your thighs. He shifts his angle with it and increases his pace. Your orgasm finally hits.

Your one free hand clings to him, digging your nails across his back as he kisses you hard. He doesn’t stop though, dragging out your release as he chases his own. He moves the leg he’s holding up against his arm up onto his shoulder and leans closer to you. You’re going to be sore but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when the feeling is building back up. You move your hand to your clit, trying to get there faster. Billy grabs it, bringing it back above your head and shifting his grip so he’s holding both your wrists with one hand. He moves his free hand to your clit. 

“I wanna hear you, sweetheart. Come for me.”

You break around him, crying out. His pace increases, hips jerking forward as he kisses you before swearing and groaning against your mouth. When he finally slows, both of you are covered in sweat. He doesn’t move, preferring to lazily kiss you over and over. You can’t help but return it, still reeling from your high. 

He finally moves and you feel the loss of him instantly. You know you need to get cleaned up, and it takes a moment before you realize you didn’t use a condom. 

Fuck. 

Thank god you had an implant. It saved you at least from the fear of getting pregnant. 

You look over at Billy who looks as though he’s about to pass out. You need to get out of here. You need to clean up, go to your cot and get some sleep before finishing the last touches on the painting. You shift sideways, closer to the edge of the bed. 

“You won’t get out,” Billy says without even opening his eyes. “There’s a bathroom there if you want to clean up.” He motions to the left. You look over and see a couple of doors. You get up, going through the motions automatically to clean up before you come back to the bed. Billy moves past you, completely confident that you won’t run while he’s in the bathroom. Not that there’s much point. He proved that in the beginning. 

He comes up behind you, kissing your neck softly. “Come to bed.”

You follow automatically. There’s no other option. 

Your forgery passes inspection. 

You watch as Billy thanks the inspector. It’s been two days since you slept together and thankfully, he’s been busy. You’ve been left alone to your own devices, finishing the painting and counting the moments until you can leave. You have a life to get back to, after all. 

Billy comes back and stands before you. He looks you over and you try not to shift under his gaze. 

“Well?” you ask. 

“Excellent work,” he tells you. “It passed.”

“I know,” you tell him. “That means Sarah’s left alone and I get to go home.” 

“Maybe I’ll just have to keep you,” he teases. 

It makes you scowl. “We have a deal.”

“No,” he says, stepping closer. “The deal was for one job. I said I’d leave you alone if you wanted me to, but you don’t want me to, do you?” He steps forward again until he’s right in front of you.

You swallow tightly. “I’m not a part of this.” 

“Sweetheart, you’ve been a part of this since Sarah gave your name.”  His hand moves to the back of your neck. 

“I’m not.”

He smirks at you. “You’re mine. You’ve been mine since I saw you, since you ran from me. Since I caught you.” Emphasizing each point with another drugging kiss. He pulls back and his eyes meet yours. “And I’m yours. Do we have a new deal?”

Taglist: @raith-way  @lokitrasho @zeleniafic @jvstjewels @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse @borg-queer  @delicateblackrose @stanshollaand @itscapokaybye

Billy Russo: @profoundme444

[havin-a-wee]

If Only She Knew

pairing: dad!harry x cheerleader!reader

word count: 4.2k

warnings: smut (fingering + unprotected sex), cheerleading position implies readers weight, 20 year age gap

hi! ive been having some really bad writers block but i wrote this and even though its def not my best work i like it enough to post it :) also, i totally didn't mean to imply the readers weight, i only realized afterwards, so im really sorry about that. also the age gap is kinda big, so if ur uncomfy with that you shouldn't read this <3

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY

“Geez watch where you’re going!”

You don’t even look up at the girl, recognizing her nasally voice easily from how annoying it is. You were nose deep in a book while walking down the school hallway, and of course your worst enemy had to be walking down the same hallway, at the same time, in the opposite direction. You are both at fault for the collision, considering Ella had her eyes locked on her instagram feed. But knowing the girl, there is no way in hell that she will take any responsibility, even though you are the one who has coffee dripping down the front of your white blouse.

Since middle school, Ella Styles has always hated you. You have never known why, but she seems to have a vendetta against you, and tries her best to make your life miserable. You never let her, always refraining from giving her the explosive reaction that she was looking for. And that makes her hate you even more.

High school is over in 2 months, and although you are going to miss the freedom of being a child, you most definitely won’t miss the people from the tiny town you’ve lived in since you were young. You’ve always been the type of person to have a small friend group, only 4 people in your circle. But that’s how you like it, because crippling social anxiety makes it difficult for you to meet new people.

“I- sorry.” You still don’t look at her, instead peeling the soaking wet top off of your stomach.

“You better be sorry.” She flips her blonde hair, ensuring that the fluffy locks hit you right in the face. You are lucky this time seeing as she didn’t take it further, because sometimes she would purposely embarrass you after small incidents such as this one.

Tears well at your waterline and you run into the nearest bathroom, pushing open the blue door and locking yourself in a stall.

After all these years of torment, Ella rarely was able to get to you. But sometimes, she does something that pushes you off the edge, leaving you with red, tear-stained cheeks. The final straw this time was her ruining your brand new shirt, the one you were anxiously waiting to debut at school.

But now there was coffee dripping down your chest and staining the bright white fabric. Your only saving grace is the cheerleading uniform in your backpack. In fact, you were walking to the locker room to change for practice, and then for the game at 6 tonight.

You had been excited for the game, knowing that Friday night games always led to parties and fun afterwards. You rarely go to parties of course, but the buzzing energy never fails to rub off on you. But now that stupid Ella had to go and mess up your day, you’re dreading seeing her smug face while she asserts her dominance as cheer captain.

You untie your top and rip it off in a haste, frustrated tears running down your face periodically. You could’ve put a jacket on and gone to the locker room, but Ella would be going there soon, and the last thing you want to do is run into her with teary eyes. She can’t know that you let her get to you.

You brush your hands down your uniform, pulling down the skimpy costume and stuffing your old clothes in your backpack. Once out of the stall, you pull your hair up into a high ponytail, reapply your lip gloss and walk back into the hallway, having already done your makeup that morning. You’re happy that it’s a home game today, because the home game uniforms are two pieces and the skirts are smaller than the ones on the away game uniforms. There is a certain someone you are looking to impress, and the way your tits spill out from the top of the outfit will most certainly help you in your mission.

It’s not like you need to impress him, because he’s shown time and time again that he finds you sexy no matter what you wear. And when he doesn’t tell you, he shows you, by pressing his hard on up against your ass after you just woke up, despite your messy hair and bare face.

However, he also loves when you tease him. And that’s exactly what you’re planning to do.

You sling your heavy backpack over one shoulder and trudge down the hallway, the old fluorescent lights practically blinding you on your journey. The locker room is dingy, smelling of cheap soap and Victoria’s Secret perfume. At least it doesn’t smell like the boys locker room, which smells like sweat and more sweat.

It's already bustling with people, your teammates scrambling to get ready in time as to not get yelled at by the coach.

“Y/N!” The familiar shout of your best friend Rose is like a breath of fresh air, and you bound over to her. She’s standing in front of your lockers, the two of you obviously picking ones next to each other. “Wait, why are you already changed?”

“The bitch spilled her coffee all over me,” you grumbled, your eyes shifting over to where Ella and her little goons are giggling.

“I keep telling you, anytime you want me to beat her up I will gladly do it.”

“Not that I doubt your abilities Rose, because I know you would have her on the ground in a heartbeat, but I can’t let you do that. She can’t know that she upsets me.” You lower your voice for the second sentence, irrationally fearing that she can hear you over the loud chatter echoing through the room.

“I still think you should let me beat her up, but you do you I guess.” Rose shrugged her shoulders and turned back to her locker, bursting out into laughter with you after a beat of silence.

The rest of the getting ready process goes smoothly, Rose distracting you from the girl side-eyeing you in the corner. Soon enough, the whole squad was in formation outside, and you have your hands on the shoulders of Rose and another girl named Bethany. You are a flyer, meaning that you’re the one who the bases support while you pose and flip in the air. Its a hard job, but you are one of only three girls on the team who is advanced enough at flying to be safe doing it in routines. One of the other three girls is Ella.

Ella is the flyer for the middle group, seeing as she is the captain. You are on the right and the other group is on the left. Luckily, Rose is a base in your group, so you feel a lot better putting your safety in the hands of someone you already trust with your life.

“ELLA! YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG!” Coach Habbiths voice is piercing, her angry shrieks bouncing off your ear drums. Ella audibly huffs, displaying her frustration with the critiques she has been receiving since we learned the routine weeks ago. That’s one of the biggest problems with Ella, she believes that she's always right.

Every single practice she has done a needle instead of a scale at the end of the routine. It's aggravating for everyone, and that frustration is amplified everytime she makes the same mistake over and over. “Alright, everyone down. group 1 and group 3 take five, Ella and group 2 stay on the field.

The team obliged to her instructions, and you are brought down from the air.

“Okay Ella, I want you to watch how Y/N does the last move, because she’s actually doing it correctly.” Coach is standing in front of you now, and she emphasized the word ‘correctly’. This is much to Ella’s dismay, and much to your excitement.

Nothing brings you more joy than seeing Ella’s face when you one up her, and this time is no exception.

Aside from a few eye rolls and nasty looks, Ella corrects the move without much fuss. By now there's 15 minutes until the game, and the players have been warming up on the field for about half an hour.

“Did you see her face!” Rose tugs on your arm while you walk back to the locker room, water bottles in hand.

“I know! I should’ve taken a picture!”

“We can only hope that it knocked her ego down a peg.”

“I doubt it” Rose nodded in agreement and you continued your chatter, talking about the random things that best friends talk about.

“It’s go time ladies!” You jumped in surprise when Coach Habbiths yelling booms through the locker room, the hefty amount of metal in the room enhancing the echo.

In a blur, your entire team rushed out onto the field, the crisp air cooling your warmed skin. There was a huge crowd. probably the biggest the teams ever had. But that makes sense, because this game was against your school's biggest rival. Luckily, despite the huge crowd you were able to lock eyes with those piercing green irises you have gotten to know so well over the past couple months. Everytime you see him he gets more and more attractive, and this time is no exception.

At this point, the teams routine is muscle memory and you’re done with it before you can blink. Most people would think that being thrown in the air is memorable, but your main concern is the growing wet patch on your panties that spreads each time you squeeze your thighs together. Just the thought of the man is enough to turn you on, and now that you’re sitting on the cold metal bench your imagination has time to go wild.

The only thing that snapped you out of your daze was the eruption of appaulause from the audience, and the realization that the other cheerleaders were standing up and running towards the players. You breath out a sigh of relief, recognizing the cheering as a signal that the game has ended.

“Hey, you coming?” Rose tugs on your arm, looking down at you still on the bench.

“Um, actually I don’t feel so well, I think I’m going to go home.”

“I should’ve known. You know, one day you’re going to have to go to a party.” Rose places her hands on her hips, giving you a sarcastically annoyed stare.

“And today is not that day.” You grab your backpack and sling it over your shoulder, turning back to Rose for a second. “Have fun and be safe.”

“I always do.” Rose places a chaste kiss on your cheek before turning back to the gathering crowd on the turf.

Instead of heading to the sidewalk and walking home, you duck under the bleachers and walk down the gravel path, pushing open the fence that separates the field and the school. The contents of your backpack slosh around while you sway your hips as you walk. Finally, you make it to the back wall of the school, leaning your back against it and plopping your heavy backpack down by your feet.

And now you wait.

Much to your convenience, the wait this time isn’t long, only five minutes passing before you see the familiar man following the same path you did earlier.

He has a pair of brown slacks on, pressing against his waist courtesy of his black belt. A button up white shirt hides the tattoos on his stomach, but he's rolling up his sleeves as he walks over to you. He's walking with intention, hungry eyes zeroed in on you.

When he’s only steps away, you cheekily bite your lip and use your finger to push up your skirt a little bit more.

Your actions have the intended effect, his eyes blowing wide and hands grasping at your waist.

“Y’can’t do that.”

Before you have a chance to ask what he means, his lips collide with yours, his tongue slipping in only moments after the initial kiss. But as soon as he started, he pulls away.

“Y’can’t be teasing me on the field like tha’, had me hard next t’my friends.” His hand is on the wall above your head, and his other arm is wrapped around your waist pulling you into his chest. He’s panting, and you are too.

“Sorry Mr. Styles,” you push your bottom lip out in a pout, giving him the most innocent look possible. “Just wanted to wear it cause I know how much you like it.”

“Aw, my babygirl wore this f’me? Well I guess y’can be forgiven. Now let’s get t’my house before I fuck yeh right on this wall.” He places a soft kiss to your lips picking up your backpack from the floor and turning to the direction of his car.

“But it hurts!” He turns around again, giving you a sympathetic look and caressing your cheek. The rings on his fingers are cold, but you’re used to the feeling.

“I know sweet girl, but I can’t take care of yeh here, s’too risky.” He pauses for a moment, thinking of a solution to your not so little problem. “How bout I give y’my fingers in the car? Hows that sound hm?” You nod eagerly, pulling his hand down from your cheek and holding it. He takes the signal and begins walking to his car while you follow him.

You never planned to sleep with your bullies dad. But a few months ago your parents dragged you to a family friends housewarming party, and that friend happened to be a friend of Harry’s too. There were no other teenagers there, so your focus was on the attractive older man who had been checking you out since you first locked eyes, and after ending up in the upstairs bathroom together the two of you have been fucking at least twice a week. You only learned that he’s a dad when you saw him for the first time outside the party. He didn’t look the part, and you actually thought he was in his 20s until he corrected you. He’s 38, having become a parent at only 20 years old. Your relationship is a bit taboo, but you’re a mature 18 year old and you and Harry get along well. So well that your time together has developed from casual sex to a mutually exclusive relationship. (Neither of you like labels, but you’re basically boyfriend and girlfriend).

He makes you really happy, and when you have to face off against Ella, it helps knowing that you have power over her, even though she doesn’t know it.

“Did she do anything today?” Harry is walking beside you, hands still intertwined.

“Besides spilling coffee on my shirt, nothing much.” Harry sighs in frustration and squeezes your hand as a show of affection.

“M’so sorry, I wish y’didn’t ‘ave to deal with her.”

The thing about Harry and Ella is they can barely be considered family. Ella’s mom is, for lack of a better word, a bitch. She’s snobby, conceited, and rude, and those behaviors have rubbed off on Ella. Another thing that rubbed off on her was her mom’s hatred for Harry. Being young parents put strain on their already struggling relationship, and they split before Ella’s first birthday. Harry said he tried his best to make it work for Ella’s sake, but her mom was looking for someone to pay for her life, and Harry had just started working his way up as a businessman.

Now, he’s a CEO, but luckily Ella’s mom already found a new beau with plenty of money, so she didn’t come crawling back to him. However, the success Harry achieved only a few years after their breakup made her jealous, and so she instilled that anger in their daughter. So currently Ella spends most of her time with her mother, and when she is with Harry she doesn’t treat him kindly.

“It’s not your fault Harry, you don’t have to apologize for her actions.”

“I know, I jus’ hate tha’ she treats yeh like that.” He sighs again, reaching into his pocket to grab his keys. In a few more steps you’re standing outside the sleek black suv, walking around to the passenger seat and sliding in once you hear the click of the door unlocking.

You both take a few seconds to breathe, an unspoken gesture to prepare for the night's events. Harry turns to you, a sexy smirk plastered on his face. “What d’ya think about fixin’ that ache darlin?” You nod eagerly, sliding down a bit in your seat to give your legs room to spread. “Think yeh can take off y’skirt fo’me?” Your head bobs once again as you nod, hooking your fingers under the elastic waistband and shimmying out of the skirt. While you’re doing that, Harry turns the car into the deserted street, using only one hand to steer.

You toss the tiny skirt into his lap, giving him a signal without distracting his eyes from the road. He reacts immediately, his free hand coming down to squeeze your thigh. You mewl at the contact and bite down on your lip, trying to stop your hips from bucking up in search of relief. His squeezes move up your thigh, and finally his fingers press against your weeping cunt. Swiftly, he pushes your soiled panties to the side, swiping his fingers up your folds collecting your juices. You shriek and buck your hips up into his hand, but much to your dismay he removes it from between your thighs. The car comes to a stop at a red light, and Harry takes the moment to look at you, his eyes wandering your squirming body. He’s practically drooling when he places his fingers in his mouth, tasting your sweet wetness.

“Sorry pup, jus’ needed t’taste yeh.” He chuckles again, and you whine softly in desperation. In one quick motion, he dives his hand back to your pussy, pressing his thumb on your swollen clit.

“Fuck!” The pleasure shoots up your spine, goosebumps raising across your body as he rubs circles on the puffy button. “Harry- please,”

“What d’ya want puppy? Want m’fingers?”

“Yes, yes,” you breathe out, words barely comprehensible through your panting.

“Alright, alright, I gotcha.” And with that his two fingers press into you, filling your tight hole perfectly. There is no hesitation before he begins pumping the digits in and out of you and his thumb never lets up on your bundle of nerves. “Such a needy puppy, got yeh soaking f’me from out in the stands hm?” His eyes are still on the road, but you can picture the lust filled eyes that are undoubtedly on his face.

“Get so wet jus- just thinkin’ about you,” you gasp, writhing as his fingers slam in and out of you.

“Yeah? This is my cunt, m’the only one who can make yeh this wet, isn’t tha’ right?”

“Only Harry.” At your confirmation he speeds his hand up, your vision clouding with white spots as the knot building in your stomach grows tighter and tighter.

All of a sudden, he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you empty. “Wha-” You begin to question him but you realize that he’s pulling into his driveway. Instead of complaining, you sit up quickly and unbuckle your seatbelt, pulling your skirt back up your legs to avoid being nude on his front lawn.

As soon as you feel the little jolt your hand yanks on the handle and you hop out of the car. Your brain is fuzzy with need and all you are focused on is alleviating the aching between your thighs. You hear Harry lock the car while you're on the steps, and you turn back to ensure that he’s behind you. And sure enough, he’s hot on your trail, just as eager as you to get inside and onto his bed. Your foot is tapping on the ground anxiously, waiting for Harry to unlock the front door. After what seems like an hour, he is next to you again, fumbling with the silver keychain in his hand, eventually unlocking and pushing open the door. You both practically run inside, hands roaming each other's bodies and lips locking as you shuffle through the hall.

You disconnect breathlessly when you reach the stairs, subconsciously wrapping your hands around Harry’s neck so he can pick you up bridal style. He does so hastily, barely a second passing before he’s plopping you onto the fluffy mattress. “Finally,” he pants, hands fumbling with his belt buckle. There’s a prominent bulge in his trousers, and although you’ve seen it plenty, you are always in awe at how thick and big he is. While he’s busy removing his clothes, you are practically drooling at the sight of his bare cock, full, heavy, and dripping precome.

“Harry?”

He looks back down at you with his emerald green eyes, simultaneously dropping his recently-removed shirt on the floor. “Can I ride you?” The look he gives you is indescribable, a mixture of need, lust, cockiness, and beauty all rolled up into one.

“Whatever y’want puppy,” His hands scoop under your ass, and he lifts you up and switches your positions. Now it’s your turn to undress, and Harry makes himself busy by running his hands up and down your torso. “So gorgeous, y’know that?” You nod quickly then pull your shirt off of your head. “Most beautiful girl in the world I reckon.” You blush at the compliment, butterflies being added to the many sensations occuring in your body. You straddle his thighs, wrapping your hand around his length and tugging a few times. A loud groan rumbles through his throat, and you smile knowing you’re the one who made him feel like that. “Thought- thought yeh said y’wanted to ride me pup.”

“I do.” You keep your hand on his cock, sitting up on your knees and lining him up with your weeping cunt. All at once, your body is put at ease as his cock fills you up perfectly. He bottoms out inside of you, both of you moaning and groaning while you adjust. “So big-” Your words come out in choppy pants, the syllables being cut off by your heaves. You suck in one deep breath and move upwards, sinking back down onto him quickly. His large hands hold a tight grip on your waist, guiding you up and down his member. His lips attach to your neck, suckling on the supple skin just enough so that it doesn’t bruise.

“What a dirty little puppy you are,” he growls, eyes focusing heavily on where your bodies connect, watching himself disappear inside of you as you bounce up and down on his cock.

“Feel so full-” Tingles ricochet down every part of your body, and your legs are becoming weaker with each movement. Harry can feel your movement faltering, so his hips thrust upwards to meet yours, fucking you from underneath. “Harry!”

“I know pup, I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek and he leans in for another kiss, devouring your plump lips and swirling his tongue around yours. “So fuckin tight,” The words tumble from his mouth in a low growl, which sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. His cock twitches inside of you, encouraging you to muster all your energy and finish both of you off. Adrenaline kicks in and your strength returns, riding him faster and harder than before. “Let go f’me Y/N.” It only takes a few more thrusts for you to come undone, Harry’s orgasm following suit. The waves of pleasure roll through your body, and you throw your head back in ecstasy as you allow the feeling to overcome your body. Spurts of his hot cum cover your velvety walls and you ride out your orgasms together, resting your foreheads against one another.

You end up sleeping at his house, feeling safe knowing that Ella is staying with her mom today. It’s normal for you to sleep at his place, seeing as both of you are usually so tired that you pass out before you can leave. What isn’t normal is for you to be woken up in the morning by Harry’s phone ringing. Harry is a deep sleeper, and you laugh at the sight of him conked out while his ringtone blares on the nightstand just a few inches away. Carefully, you reach over his sleeping body and grab the phone, planning on hanging it up and going back to bed. However, when you saw that it was Ella calling, you changed your mind. Making a split second decision, you slide the icon to the right, holding it up to your ear.

“Hello?” Her whiney voice rings through your eardrum and you wince. Not the nicest thing to be woken up to.

“Hello,” you answer, your voice not reflecting the cocky grin that spread across your face.

“Who the hell is this!” she shrieks, and you make a mental note that she must not be a morning person.

“A friend of your dads.” Your response is once again calm and monotone, trying to stifle the laugh that is bubbling in your throat.

“Ugh! What’s your name?”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N”

[florencwrites]

ignoring is bliss 〚technoblade〛

in which [reader] struggles with her lover's inconsequent affection, and a good talk is unfortunately inevitable; the silent treatment has never worked well with techno.

"I don't know what you want me to say." His back had still been turned towards me at this point, the rake heavy in my hands as I tried using it to steady myself in the muddy stable. He kept loading dirty plucks of hay onto his pitchfork, the thinly lined buttoned shirt he was wearing easily letting his back muscles shine through.

I stood silently behind him, deliberating my words thoroughly. I hated when he acted like this, I absolutely despised him. He was one of the smartest men I'd ever had the pleasure of meeting, however, the second things went sideways conversation-wise he always played it painfully personally. He would start correcting my grammar or suggest synonyms for otherwise satisfactory sentences. "I don't either."

"I guess that marks the end of this conversation." He turned around to dump his gathered muck in the makeshift wheelbarrow Phil had built us. His face was hard, his brows furrowed and his features lax. He seemed indifferent, his attitude scaring me to pieces.

"Tech, please." I tried, putting one of my hands up to gesture for him to stop walking. He was now barely lifting the barrow from the ground, ready to head off to the dump. He huffed, his eyes meeting the floor as he put the wagon down. "You know I hate it when you call me that."

"I'm sorry," I muttered softly.

He ducked to grip his hands around the handles again, lifting it from the ground. His knuckles were white where they held onto the leather-covered grips. "Speak up."

"I want to have a conversation with you, okay? Stop acting so fucking stuck up and talk to me." His shoulder brushed past mine as he exited the stables, my voice was high in emotions, definitely on the verge of breaking with desperation.

He snorted. "I'll listen to whatever you have to say when you've calmed down."

-

"He won't talk to me, Phil." I groaned almost obnoxiously loud, taking a sip of water to wash down both my dinner and my agitation. "You know how he gets."

"All pissy? Tell me about it." He chuckled softly, his forearm shielding his bowl from my sight. He shoveled another spoonful of beef stew into his mouth. Phil and I had never been extraordinarily close, he reckoned Techno and me to be undeserving of each other. A terrible pair. And perhaps we were, at times like this I couldn't help but doubt whether or not we truly were the destined lovers we often thought ourselves to be. "I'll bring him some food later."

I laughed at him, a father at heart. A father to anyone but his actual sons, really. A playful grin on my lips, "You're an enabler, Phil."

-

That night I crawled into an empty bed. One I hadn't even doubted would be just that; empty. He was weak like that, he'd do anything to avoid conflict. Whether that was because he was afraid of what his blinding rage fits would conjure, or whether he was just an impotent coward. Someone who didn't know how to act around uncertainty and immorality and thus resorted to blaming everything on his treacherous temper.

The sheets still smelled of him, I held them to my nose.

There was no reason for us to fight, I hadn't meant to start one. I simply wanted him to realize how different he acted towards me when surrounded by any crowd. He acted so distant it made me doubt not only us, but myself. My heart ached anytime he pulled his hand away from where I tried leaving him a subtle touch. My skin crawled when he no longer referred to me by the mild, but unmissably warm names he had for me.

However, nothing would ever hurt me as much as meeting his eyes in a room of our friends and seeing the love seep from his irises. Physically witnessing his affection turn into nothing short of mere acquaintance.

Everyone knew us. There was no reason for him to act so cold, so distant. Though, I also recognized that perhaps there was an underlying reason. One I simply hadn't thought of, or perhaps one that I couldn't ever imagine. One that he had retained from his troublesome past.

The thing is, it hurt me to think he didn't trust me enough with his reasoning. That he didn't want to tell me about his thoughts. I'd been extremely careful and meticulous with any information he'd granted me, I was sure to never let what he told me change my opinion of him. I vowed to never look at him any different.

So, why could he not promise me the same?

-

There was no point in pushing myself from my sheets the next morning. I knew how long his episodes usually lasted, I wouldn't even have to try talking to him for at least two more days. Normally, I'd try, though. I'd sit in the grass right next to where he was working outside, just talking to him about anything and everything I could think of. Back then I thought for his silence to mean confusion, I thought his swirling mind simply needed a break. That a distraction would do him good.

I sat in the barely-molten grass for hours, never getting a reply.

His smell was constricting my airways slowly, every inhale making it harder and harder to breathe. What if Phil was right, what if he truly didn't love me, or not anymore at least? What if it was all an act to have a warm body to fall asleep next to, to have an extra set of hands around the cottage.

I kicked at the sheets, desperate to get them away from me, to get them from clinging to my sweaty body. I only tangled my legs further into the mess. The bed creaked loudly against the wooden floor of the attic, a gust of wind running through a small gap in the roof.

I shot up, finally being able to rid my body of the sheets. I huffed a few times, the annoyance getting the better of me. I slung my legs over the side of the bed, now just sitting on the wooden frame, letting my eyes wander over the walls. The pictures of us that were tightly tacked to the planks, photos of our favorite pets and our best of friends. Photos of us with Phil and Tommy, and even a stray photo of me and Wilbur, back when we were kids.

My gaze found its way towards the singular window behind our bed, the only one of two walls that weren't entirely slanted. His red robe stood out like a sore thumb in the feeble blanket of slushy snow that had been slowly accumulating over the course of the night. Summer was officially over once again, and the cold would soon make it so we could no longer afford to sleep alone.

He rarely wore his robe outside of special occasions, he usually would simply opt for one of his brown ones. One was trimmed with a thick deer fur, the leather on it sure to keep all frost out. The other one was his summer one, the more dirty one of the two. It was always stained with blood, since it would also be the one he went hunting with. He disliked hunting in the winter, the harsh winds and easily discernible prints made it no fun, according to him. He stacked up during the summer, drying his meats to allow them to be kept safe for months, if not years.

But now he was wearing his red robe, lined with the finest of polar bear fur. The one that had the special compartments for his potions, and the one I had sown a totem into. For good luck. He rarely wore it for any occasion but war.

He pushed himself from the ground, turning around swiftly; the velocity making his cape whisk dramatically up in the wind. His eyes seemed fixated on the ground until they unwarrantedly shot up to the window I was sitting at. Any other day, I would've averted my gaze. Not now. He knew I was staring, and he was allowed to know so. I held my eyes on him until his feet carried him out of sight, into the house. I sighed softly, I felt entirely forlorn without him, without his caring hands and loving eyes. I let myself fall back into the bed, cuddling the sheets once again as I curled away from the entrance. I reckoned he would have to change out of his robe soon, and I didn't want to face him when he did.

-

I heard the front door slam, and as predicted the rungs of the many ladders soon creaked in his hold. The worn, practically ancient, trapdoor was pushed ajar behind me. I couldn't be bothered to turn to meet his eyes. However, instead of quietly changing out of his clothes, I felt the bed dip. He sat on the side of it, much alike to how I had found myself just minutes before.

"I don't like feeling weak." His voice was rougher than usual, it kept its usual monotone aura, but for some reason, it felt more emotional than ever before. He cleared his throat as if to try and mask it, to no avail, "I don't love you any less."

I shifted in the bed, though, he quickly stopped me, "Don't look at me, that just makes it harder."

I obliged. He let out a trembling sigh, taking his sweet time to deliberate his next words, "Sometimes we are outside together and I'm afraid that when they see how much I care about you, they will realize that you make me weak." I stared at the wall, still curled into the blankets. I wanted nothing more than to hold his face, look at him as he spoke. Instead, I had to make do with the pictures of his face plastered on the wood. His pointy, flappy ears and peaked nose. The two sharp-looking fangs set in the corners of his lips, ones that seemed to disappear when he smiled. He didn't like smiling for pictures, I didn't have a single one of the two of us together where he smiled. The only ones that showed his beautiful pearly whites were the ones that had me behind the camera, something I only then realized might've not been a coincidence.

"It scares me to think they could hurt you for loving me, that's why I don't like holding your hand in town." I shot a quick look over my shoulder, his back was slouched over, his head in his hands with his elbows propped on his knees. He wasn't crying, he simply seemed lost."I never realized that what scares me even more is the idea of you not loving me at all."

I slowly crept from under the sheets as his words fell silent. I crawled over towards where he was sat, near the foot-end of the bed. I took one of his hands from where he had rested his face on it and pulled it out of the way.

I snaked my arms around his neck, pulling my body into his. I draped my legs over his lap as I held him. His built arms felt tender against my exposed back, however, he held me tight. He squeezed softly as another quivering breath escaped his lips. We sat in embrace for a while.

"That's all I asked for, Tech." I smiled into his neck. "I just wanted to talk, that wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

"Shut up." He playfully tried pushing me away from his torso, underestimating the power of my cling. "You know I hate it when you call me that."

[chipper-smol]

Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Pale Jester Chain 2

Prompt: PJ finds his way into Lemm’s shop and begins ruminating about all the different relics with surprising accuracy and knowledge (much to Lemm’s annoyance and confusion)

By @werewolforeos

Lemm was alone, as usual. He dusted off the king’s idols so the illustrious stone regained its shine. He froze as the door to his ‘shop’ creaked, and the bell jingled- please don’t be another caffeine-wanting bug, he thought, turning around to greet the customer.

The masked bug was taller than he was, though not by much- most of its height came from its horns, eight tall spikes resembling a crown. Yet despite this regal feature, it dressed in a fool’s clothes- Lemm could almost imagine the bells attached to the cape’s ends, which luckily were absent. And all its clothes shone with a deep crimson.

“How can I help you?” Lemm muttered, eyeing the stranger’s staff. “Oh, mind that shelf, would you?”

“Oh! A friendly face in these caverns! My, my! What an unexpected surprise!” The bug replied with a too-jolly attitude. Lemm decided he did not like this bug. “Why, I was merely exploring this city- it’s quite hectic outside, no?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Lemm replied. “My shop here is safe, at least. It’s quite calm up here. Have you seen those husks?”

“Yes, yes. Quite the sad fate they have been left with- blinded by those unsightly orange lumps, yet stuck in their daily rituals all the same.” The stranger brought up his hands to his face, in a mocking display of shock. “Oh, heavens! We have yet to introduce ourselves to each other!”

Lemm rolled his eyes. “Name’s Lemm. Don’t have much else to say on that matter, but what’s yours, stranger?”

“Ah- they call me Jester, back up there. You have a nice name, Lemm!” A shiver went up Lemm’s spine as Jester spoke his name- he ignored it, it’s probably just the breeze. “So, Lemm! What do you do up here? It’s quite the nice shop~!” said the Jester, picking up a wanderer’s journal.

“Ah- hands off, please. The knowledge stored on these antiques is priceless.” Lemm tapped Jester on the hands. “I buy these relics of this old kingdom, for the sake of history and preservation. I’ve got many journals to decipher- so if you don’t mind, unless you have any relics for me…?”

“Ah, no, I do not have anything you might be interested in. Though,” the Jester mused, “Perhaps I might be able to assist in deciphering the script? It seems familiar to me.”

Lemm scoffed. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Tell you what, if you can decipher a full journal, I might part with it once I’ve copied it down somewhere.” “That sounds like a challenge to me~! Challenge accepted, shopkeep.”

Lemm gave the Jester a journal he’d deciphered already, to test how well he knew the old script of Hallownest. Putting his finger to the script, the Jester seemed lost in thought, as though looking at an old memory. “This is a passage about those blue cocoons, is it not? They call it Lifeblood.” Lemm blinked.

“That is… correct. But, could you translate the whole passage? I’m curious as to what your skills are.”

“The swirling blue liquid relieves pain, but if too much is taken at once, the Lifeblood seems to take over. We must carefully ration the amount given to the hospitals. Signed… Lurien, the Watcher.”

...That was, way too fast. “Hmm. I’m not convinced. Another.” Lemm trades the journal in the Jester’s hands for another.

“The circus was in town today,” the Jester reads aloud, “and I got to see Marissa’s show! Her voice is so soothing- it reminds me of my dreams.” Lemm was silent. This is ridiculous.

“Hm? Did I make a mistake?”

“Oh, no. I was lost in thought about- these signs here,” Lemm lies. “I hadn’t yet translated this passage, and had not seen this combination written as one word yet.”

“Oh! You’re looking at ‘plague’ there, shopkeep.” Cogs whirred as Lemm processed this information- these journals talk about many things, how did this Jester decipher these so quickly? And does he know things Lemm does not?

“These icons next to each other- ‘sick’ and ‘many’. Many sick make a plague, no?”

“Yes, yes. That does make sense. And here…”

“That’s a shopping list,” the Jester waved it away. “Honeydew, boofly meat, it seems as though this one was quite rich. Though it’s not that important,” he claims, “as those letters from the Watcher you’ve got there seem much more interesting to me.”

You’ve got to be kidding me, everything he’s said has been correct. Even the ones I hadn’t yet gotten to. Just who is this bug, exactly?

The Jester strided over to Lemm’s undeciphered journals, focusing on a specific grouping. “I hereby request the addition of a chamber for Lexi, my butler, inside my Spire. He wishes to stay as he works, and…” Jester pauses as he grabs the next passage. “I believe it would be a good idea to have him with me as I prepare for slumber. Hm, a little fruity, aren’t we, Watcher?”

Lemm just stood there, dumbfounded. “Er. I. Okay.” This is a lot more information than I expected to get in five minutes. Ignoring him, the Jester continued to rummage through the relics, stumbling across a stray king’s idol.

“Hey! Those were ordered to date and time!”

“And now they are not. Is there any issue there? If it is, you can always order them again.”

Lemm definitely did not like this bug. “Excuse me? You waltz into my shop, damage my collection, and strut about like you own the place with your knowledge of the signs used in Hallownest’s prime. Who do you think you are?” “That is irrelevant. I do wonder… where did you find this statuette?”

“A wanderer comes by every so often with many relics, and cleans out my geo stash. I mean- that’s irrelevant. Why do you care?”

Holding the idol at an arm’s length, the Jester tilted his head, studying the way it was sculpted. “This one was found in the resting grounds. I can smell the lavender,” he muses. “I’m surprised they had one of these there- the moths didn’t take kindly to that King. I suppose that’s understandable, given what he did to them.”

“Moths?”

“Yes, yes. Quite a long time ago, they lived in the lands Hallownest was built upon. Did you never get an education?”

Lemm blinks. “Well, I had school, but-”

“Shopkeep, this is something all bugs used to know. Did they scrap it out of the history books? ...Of course he would, that King would do anything for validation. I’m sure the guilt is eating him up from the inside.”

“Jester. The king is dead. Has been for a while. Have you not seen the state of decay this kingdom is in?”

“Ah, no. That Wyrm is still alive somewhere- I’m sure of it.” The Jester moved back to the door, holding his staff in one hand, and journals in the other three. “I do wonder,” he muttered under his breath,”why are these so familiar? Ah, Lemm, was it? Would you mind if I took these outside?”

Before Lemm could express indignance, the door opened once more- standing in it a drenched wanderer, who often stopped by to supply Lemm with his many relics. The pale white mask they donned looked up at the crimson Jester, an unreadable expression behind it. The wanderer gripped the handle of their nail- sharpened, coiled, pure. They recognized the Jester, and they did not particularly like him, Lemm thought. At least Lemm wasn’t alone in disliking his clown schtick. That being said, the Jester still held some relics- if a fight broke out, they could get damaged. Lemm quietly pried open the hands of the Jester.

“Ohoho! We meet again, little one! Do tell me about your excursions down here, won’t you?” The Jester was met with silent scorn. The shop was rife with tension, though the Jester seemed oblivious to it.

“Er, pardon me, but mayhaps you two should take this… outside.”

The wanderer stared at the Jester for another moment, before breaking their gaze away, and briskly walking towards Lemm. They rummaged in their pockets, producing another pair of journals, a Hallownest seal, and an arcane egg. The Jester giggled, the wanderer quickly turning their head towards him, and then sprinting back into the endless rain of the City of Tears before Lemm could give the wanderer the geo they were due.

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By @couch-cat

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By @arandoskeleartist

(audio file working on being uploaded)

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By @uncurdled-bean-curd

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By @the-trans-anon

Lemm was going to have a stroke.

He’d been having a perfectly fine day going through his relics without any annoyances running around, when a strange bug he’d never seen before entered his shop. The bug didn’t seem to have any relics to share, saying he was just exploring, and had been about to leave when he noticed one of Lemm’s king idols.

“What’s that?” The bug asked, reaching for the idol.

Lemm quickly yanked it out of his reach, not thrilled with the idea of someone manhandling his relics. “It’s an idol of the Pale King. The King himself was rarely seen so the bugs of Hallownest worshiped these in his stead.”

“Lies!” Before he could blink, the bug had grabbed the idol and jumped back towards the door. He held the idol up above their head, admiring it.

“Clearly it’s a tiny statue of me! Can you not see the resemblance?” He asked, looking towards Lemm and pressing the idol against his mask, eyes alight with mirth.

Lemm was about to snap at the bug to give him back the idol for gods sake it’s a historical artifact not a toy- when he too started to notice the similarities between the idol and the strange bug. Both had similar horns rising up as a crown, though the bug’s horns were much more curved than the King’s, and their masks looked nearly identical save for the black lines running down the bug’s face. The main difference was their clothing, with most of the King’s imagery in white and the bug’s clothes in a bright, fiery red. The more he looked, the more clear their uncanny resemblance became.

“...Are you related to the Pale King?” Lemm asked, feeling a headache start to form.

The bug looked confused, then put down the idol. “ Ah no, I’m afraid I simply jest my friend. Though we have similar names, I have never heard of your “Pale King” before. Though I have to say,” He looked back at the idol “your king was quite the looker.”

“Wait, what do you mean you have similar names? What’s your name?!”  

The bug looked about ready to answer, before he froze and looked up at the ceiling. “Ah, my apologies my friend. It appears the Master is in need of me.”

“The Master??!”

“May we meet again.” The strange bug bowed, and raced out of the shop.

“Wait! You can’t just say something like that and leave who does that!? Come back here!” Lemm ran after the bug, but he was nowhere to be found. “Shit.” He sighed, before deciding to look around for any sign of the bug. That bug had to have some kind of connection with the King, and like hell he was going to pass up a chance to get information about the reclusive Pale King. He needed to talk to that bug.

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By @lesiasmadness

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By @redcynder1234

Lemm angrily grumbled at the tiny hands that dragged him halfway across the kingdom. He had tried to fight the smaller vessel off back in the city of tears. When they had suddenly barged into his little relic shop, seeming urgent as he tried to drag the grumpy old bug out of his shop. Lemm had tried to wave them away, but the smaller bug had quite a lot of determination to show them something then and there, at least no husks dare tread in their path as they traveled. The infection may be gone for sure, but husks of former bugs sometimes still lingered around, it was nerve wracking for sure, but lemm was safe in his shop where he could get lost in his work for hours on end. However now with the little shadow dragging him out of the safety of his home, He was a little on edge.

Finally as it seemed the little ghost had dragged them to their location they pointed upwards. Looking up, lemm grumbled seeing an old rusty chain leading up an old well. “Absolutely not.” He growled out. Even as the small vessel flapped their monarch wings to start and climb the chain. Hearing his response however they stopped and looked down before pulling out something from their cloak. One hand on the chain they waved a king's idol in the air. “Yes you’ve been waving that thing at me through this entire journey! I still don’t understand why you’ve dragged me halfway across hallownest.” He barked angrily. If only the little vessel could speak. He assumed they couldn't speak a few visits back as they sold old trinkets at his shop but lemm never could be sure. It really felt like they were speaking sometimes.

The vessel seemed to wave and point it up desperately before disappearing up the well. “Ey! Little squirt! Come back here!” He barked up the shaft angrily. However when no shadow came to retrieve him he just grumbled angrily. “Stupid, familiar looking…” Lemm mumbled under his breath as he climbed up the chain. If his curiosity about what they wanted wasn't so persistent he would have turned straight back around and headed back to the city of tears. Plus, kings idols were a rare find and he wanted to get his hands on as many as he could.

As he scrambled over the ledge of the well, his old carapace not liking the climb in the slightest, he looked around. He remembered hearing about the town of dirtmouth. By its size alone lemm could tell the town must have been a lively and successful one before the infection's grip controlled and destroyed the place. It was sad, maybe to anyone other than lemm at the moment. Grumpy and tired he saw the cloaked vessel padding towards two pinky almost red tinted tents. “Little pest… just doing to leave me behind!” He barked angrily as he followed after the vessel. Nothing left to do this far into this journey but to follow the little gremlin. Plus, in case there were any more infected lingering about, he rather have another soul that could fight them off then be left to fend them off himself. He only knew how to work with small pliers and knives, not nails and needles.

The vessel seemed to be approaching a small crowd that had formed outside the tents. They had been there before the two entered town, but lemm could already tell from a distance they were all… scared? More weary if anything. As he got closer the little ghost had turned, waving the small king's idol wildly while pointing through the crowd. “Give me that.” He snapped while snatching the king's brand from their hands. “I swear if you really wanted to sell it to me you could have done it in the city of tears, instead of dragging me halfway across the kingdom!” He snapped angrily. Making sure it hadn’t been damaged he fetched a bag of geo from under his cloak and dropped it without even looking at the vessel. “You're lucky I'm not taking half of that for dragging me her- OW.” He barked when ghost suddenly yanked his beard. “I swear-“ he growled as he looked down, wavinging the vessel's hand away from his beard. However the vessel was glaring into his soul and pointing. Angrily he huffed and looked up, before his eyes widened. Huh? That was impossible!?!

Looking down at the idol in his hands he looked up. The normal silver cloak was gone, replaced with red jester clothes. His crown of thorns was bent in such a painful looking way it almost made lemm cringe at the thought; and yet as lemm held up the king's idol he could see the similarities. Far too close similarities to be a coincidence. However there was no way the king of hallownest was some low-life jester doing gags and tricks to please the normal class's eye. Especially to a dead kingdom. Yet thinking this could be the king's brother was almost laughable. The king was a wyrm if the small amount of text he deciphered was true. And wyrms were giant beasts that could kill anything in its path. Then who was this look-a-like in front of them? That must be why the vessel had dragged them here, they may be curious themselves but since lemm was such a history nut he would know more. Could have still told him that before dragging him here.

As the jester bowed and the small crowd nervously clapped. Seeming to be more doing it to please someone then actually liking the show. He paused as the jester disappeared back into the pink tents. He knew the vessel was still standing beside them, watching the relic keeper curiously. Lemm knew he shouldn't enter the tent and ask such a question, but so many questions could be solved about this kingdom if this stupid look-a-like statue was this strange jester. The pale king hidden right under everyone's noses. Yet it still felt wrong in some way but he couldn't figure out why.

Lemm didn't understand what caused him to head towards the menacing face-looking tents; but he headed inside their pink tinted curtains. He didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't the tent to be almost pitch black except for small lanterns hanging up around the place. He expected at least a little of the outside world's lights to cut through the fabric. Sure it wasn't bright already in dirtmouth, but the sheets had looked almost see through before, now they looked like solid walls keeping the relic keeper inside. A shiver ran down his back as he almost instantly regretted his decision. He was a relic seeker, not an explorer that went out and actually found the relics to study. However it was a bit too late to turn back now.

Walking down the hallway he saw another bug standing there. Playing a spooky tone upon the accordion in their hands. Lemm wished he could have just snuck around the bug but they noticed him before he got too close. “Mrmm… Sorry, but the master does not want visitors at the moment...” Lemm gulped softly. “Actually I am uh… here to see your jester I believe. I wanted to praise them for the wonderful show.” The lie came out of his mouth a bit smoother than he intended. Yet it seemed the other paused before nodding forward. “Mrmm… Continue then… but do not linger.” they simply stated. Lemm quickly nodded and passed by, making sure the king's idol was safely out of sight from the other bug's eyes. Once passed he calmed down a bit. The hallway led to a pretty large room, silken ropes hanging from just about everywhere above his head. Somewhere tied together, some were almost touching the ground. They were so long, but lemm had to admit it was a pretty sight. Something white suddenly appeared from above, it was the jester alright, carefully twisted around the silken fabric. Was he dancing? It kinda appeared like it. “H-hello?” lemm wasn't one for conversation but it felt a little awkward just watching the other. The other quickly looked down, a mask upon the other's face made the relic seeker shiver. However the others voice didn't sound nearly as threatening as he expected it to be. “Ah! Greetings down there, what brings you to the grimm kin’s tent.” He called down. Carefully sliding down the silken ropes to hang upside down in front of the relic seeker. Lemm nervously took a step back before stealing himself. “I wanted to ask you a question.” The jester tilted his head curiously. Carefully righting himself and wrapping his legs around the silken ropes to keep himself suspended in mid hair.

“Oh?” He hummed curiously “What question do you have for a little jester like me?” he spoke. Lemm gulped nervously before speaking. “Do… were… I….” how does he just ask someone if they were a king?! “Were you a king before?” He blurted out in her strange panic. The jester seemed to pause before bursting out laughing. Lemm huffed even if he knew how stupid that must of just sounded. “I’m serious!” He barked out, feeling a bit flustered. As the jester calmed he wiped a single tear that had formed in the mask's eye. “A funny joke for sure little bug, but there would be no way that I could be a king. I would probably put buzzsaws and little traps as far as the eye could see.” he snickered to himself as he joked, but lemm just huffed. “I am serious-” he barked again but the jester interrupted him “Then your answer is obviously no my small bug.” he chuckled “I could never be a king of something.” He chuckled. “Either way, I don't think you should be back here. If the master finds out you're here he may be quite mad.” The pale jester said with another chuckle. Lemm huffed angrily. “You look like the ruler that used to rule here--” “--That's enough.” the jester spoke with a huff. “I understand a joke but pushing it makes it unfunny.” the other huffed.

Lemm growled. “I’m not joking! I already said that.” he barked “You look like the king of his land, look-!” He held up the king idol that he had hidden in his cloak. The jester paused. If lemm continued to speak he didn't hear it, He focused on the idol in there hand. It made the jester feel strange, like there was something scratching at the back of their head but just couldn't figure out what was causing it. Like a memory long compressed and lost to time. Maybe it was better that they were suppressed but…. Flashes of memories went through his head. Bright white images with blurred faces. Hissing he took a step back before his head cleaned and something warm brushed his shoulder. Looking up he noticed grimm standing over him, his eyes seemed kind and light hearted but the jester could sense the small bit of anger in them.

The jester watched Grimm calmly lead the other outside the tents. Their words didn't fully register to him however as the two left. The strange symbol still was imprinted in his mind but the memories that had come along with them were gone. Strange, but it may be better for such things to stay hidden in his memory, but the jester was still curious. When grimm appeared beside him again through a burst of red smoke he seemed calm, but his red eyes shined in worry. “Ah yes I'm ok.” he chuckled nervously. “Just got a bit of a headache.” he said “What a strange bug.” he spoke, looking towards the entrance to the tent. Grimm only softly hummed “Indeed… Come, we have plenty still to do while we're here.” The jester paused before nodding, following grimm back into the tent.

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By @darkautodraws 

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By @daikoski​ 

The Pale Jester always had a knack for dancing.

—Or perhaps, certain kinds of it.

He’d discovered one time when indulging on a slower song from Brumm, that he had a knack for ballroom dancing of all things! But such a thing isn’t commonplace for his kind of performance, no, he much prefers storytelling accompanied with a fun little jig of sorts. Ballroom dancing—especially with the audience he tends to have—seems to be something a little too formal and delicate.

Which is why he finds himself taking on the endeavor of trusting seemingly delicate, flowing silks with the entirety of himself. Ahh, yes, that of aerial dancing! He notes them as seemingly delicate, as they’re more than capable of securing far more weight than originally thought, but also... he’s very sharp.

—Of course, he’s not so clumsy now to go and let his claws tear straight through the silk now, nor would he allow the plates of his body to catch on it either. Not like that one time, when he had first been trying to pitch the choreography to this performance...

Now that had been something. The clicking tear of threads being pulled apart and the swoop of his stomach as he plummeted before quickly catching himself with his tail, something of a boisterous, abrupt laugh escaping him.

“You’re not trying to escape from a web, are you? Try not to cut yourself down little Fool!” Divine had jeered affectionately, and he could have easily preened from the spark of laughter that ignited the rest of the Troupe before lowering himself.

(... he also most certainly tries to pad the sharp ridges of his body a little more ever since that incident, but that’s besides the point.)

Ah, but that’s beside the point. Such a joyous thing it is, to inspire such a reaction in others, even if it’s from a

slipup like that. Perhaps it’s even better when it is. (Aer all, the Jester in fact would like to think he uses his foolishness to endear

himself to others, not dolt around.)

The tent is empty as of now, though that’s no concern. The Grimmkin will flood the audience the moment he does so much as enter the stage—no, he’s searching for the more unfamiliar-yet-not guests to come in, if at all. Perhaps the little wanderer, the shadow? Or maybe even one of the town folks bold enough to come by? Oh, or the princess warrior! Though her kind are truly experts in silk, and he finds himself unsure of how she’ll take his performance. (It is due to her influence that he felt himself particularly inclined to this song and dance aer all.)

Ah, he should probably do some last checks on the rigging, make sure they’re steady and all that. That, and check on his costume, too.

“C’mon Jester, don’t tell me your talons are going all stiff on ya!” comes the snicker of a Grimmkin trying to goad him on, and he laughs, before launching into a sprightly comical bow, tail flicking. Actually, he feels as nimble as possible, thank you very much!

“Of course not, dear friend! I’m simply waiting to greet our beloved guests—” and speak and she will come, the familiar rubied-red cloak catches his eye, and he immediately pats and dismisses the ‘kin to greet the spider. “And here one comes now!”

“Hello, hello! Welcome, Little Hornet—” there’s a bit of distaste that shines through her expression at his thoughtless nickname, and he would reel it in had he not

already said it, instead opting to tuck the information away for next time, “—you’re just in time for this next performance! Sit down, sit down, make yourself comfortable!”

She’s ushered to her seat, which is something on the front rows amongst the many grimmkin. Idly he notes that neither of her siblings are attending, though he has no complaints.

This one’s less of a personal performance and more for all the Troupe to see, so he won’t be able to converse with her until aer. She comes here most oen to ask questions, aer all. A no-nonsense type of bug she is, and it’s only customary he’ll allow such aer a performance, and she seems to know the same. Nonetheless, he bites back a bark of amusement at the way she glowers at the chatty Grimmkin, a little bit crowded as it is.

Lights snap on, beaming bright and warm, and the show begins.

Distantly, he can hear the beginning notes of Brumm’s accordion, and ah, what a perfect guide he always is! The familiar haunting call sends a thrill through the Jester, and it’s with that he begins his performance.

He wonders briefly if aerial silk dancing has ever been seen within Hallownest. Perhaps so, perhaps not; he only learned due to the Troupe aer all, and Grimm hadn’t really shared where he had learned such an art either...

The whisper of silk that he coils around his hand is taut, strong and secure the more he loops it. It’s with quick, tight motions and a graceful swoop that he suspends himself right upside down, sharp mandibles pulling back into a pleased smile from behind his mask. That was a satisfying maneuver.

There’s a split second of concern regarding his costume—the fabric of his wings just do not seem to be cooperating this time around, but alas, it simply feels right to have them there!

The more he spends within the air, the more inclined, the more fond he becomes in fitting such an image. It feels even better when the silks are pulled and he’s practically in arms reach to the ceiling.

Though the Jester isn’t quite sure how to describe it; a certain kind of fun exhilaration, a familiar twinge in his chest at being lied to such a height—he’d first noticed it through the use of mere ropes and cranks, to trapezing and other such elevated storytelling (Ha! Perhaps if he finds more joyous stories to share, he could workshop that into a joke to tell Hornet...) to now dancing with aerial silks.

He lets himself be guided and pulled along, to sway and twirl with the call of the music and the warmth of the Heart with practiced ease and elegance. But of course; he’s more than prepared for this, and with each swoop and dip his smile widens more and more.

When the curtains close and all the Grimmkin have seen fit to disappear off to do whatever it is their hearts desire, the Jester remains lingering on the stage. To clean up mainly, but it is to keep a keen eye on the nimble princess as well. He watches as she simply hops up and makes her way down towards him, and he perks up in attention.

There’s some attempt at niceties, just polite, pleasant conversation on his part, to which she kind of shuts down aer a moment.

“Why the new performance?” Ahh, so some curiosity was piqued!

The Jester hums thoughtfully, letting the silks hold his weight up as he rocks too far back on his legs. It brushes whisper-so against him.

“Perhaps for no specific reason in particular, other than to further expand my capabilities as a jester!” He somewhat not-answers.

She doesn’t respond, instead opting to give him a very narrow eyed look, suspicion and more, and he feels compelled to continue.

“Well, perhaps not nothing. Hypothetically... if this old soul noticed a certain spiderling’s interest in acrobatics—and this is hypothetical, of course!” Hands up in the air as if in surrender yet jestful, he laughs, “and wished to, say, partake in something similar in an attempt to perhaps bond with her...?”

A pause and a beat. “Had it been to your liking, young one?”

He lets the words linger in the air, before dropping his hands down to tug at the silks once more. He wishes to be honest, so even though he feels... uncertain, telling her that, he doesn’t regret it.

Hornet’s expression does... something. It’s tiny—miniscule, even, and perhaps had it been anyone else but him, that faint little tell might have gone unseen. but he does see it, and he recognizes it quickly as some sort of conflicted emotion, a tension that he’s brought upon her.

It seems she very much teeters on something colder, fists gripping at the edge of her cloak before she almost quietly ekes out, “It had been fine.”

The Jester brightens up—why, from such a grumpy young princess like her, that could very well be the highest praise!

...Though it’s best he does not push further, nor goad her on either. Enjoyable their dances can be (with such strong, violent intent from her too!) he’s already finished his own performance, and she’s certainly due to rest sometime soon, nor would he want to upset her more in the first place.

And much to his surprise, she continues, “Such as... that part when you had dropped suddenly... I thought you were certain to fall and crack your mask in half.” Something of a surprised chuckle is pulled from him, and he hums. “Where you were supported by only one silk. It looked... dire.”

It’s vague enough that he can’t really pinpoint what part of the act she was talking about, but it brings forth words to his tongue, but just which ones?

Yes, just what was that phrase... right!

“That part! I was practically hanging by a thread, was I not?”

(So, he hadn’t been able to workshop that ‘elevated’ joke in time... but such is the way!)

By the Heart... he could consider this another job well-done, couldn’t he? No snapping, harsh remarks on the little spiderlings end, no such invasive shenanigans from any of the other grimmkin—the mischief they could get up to!

“It most certainly felt as though I had been too. These silks simply do not part when you want them to! I very nearly cocooned myself at one point!” He muses. A quick

recovery he always is, but it is still such a wrenching moment when there’s even the slightest miss of a cue.

“Tell me, I’ve never had the honour to learn or witness the art of silk in action. I can consider my act something akin to it, though it’s quite incomparable to that of a spider, and I find myself curious! Are there ever such... shenanigans like that?”

Perhaps it’s his curiosity as a now-performer, to find enjoyment in the silliness and mistakes along the way; a perfect performance starts from somewhere aer all, and he finds himself wishing to know more. Hornet probably knows what he’s doing—making good use of that ‘bonding attempt’ that he so mentioned earlier, and...

Is it in poor taste to joke around like this? She is one of the few weavers le... he wonders oandedly, when Hornet lets out something that sounds like a scoff-laugh.

“You would be surprised. Although we in particular favoured silk to be used in tapestries and story keeping rather than dance, it wouldn’t be... uncommon for a mishap to happen in a more verbose storytelling. Such as a silk shroud meant to mimic the silhouette of a corpse creeper ending up on the audience rather than the speaker themself...”

She does not specify if the one accidentally tossing a silken hunter on their audience is her, from her early days of practicing weaving, or anyone else... but she does look a little more relaxed, even if by a pinch. (And if he looked ever closer, maybe even a little embarrassed? It’s tiny, and far off, but maybe...)

(For some reason, he has a feeling he would have been too. Just a little bit.)

Hornet is about to speak more, unprompted (much to his delight), when she halts. One beat, two beats, and then looks at him.

“...you’ve never learned?” It's a small enough question that he nearly misses it. So like a whisper, edged with a sharp venomous hiss, and when the Jester is able to recollect himself from the sudden shock, he’s tuned back in only to see her cold regard and the turn of her back, needle gripped tighter, for she never goes anywhere without it.

“So now you’re curious.”

...Pardon?

He doesn’t give the reaction she wants, if the (hurt? angry?) scoff she gives at his bewilderment is not enough of a tell, then it’s the way she rolls her eyes before looking askance.

“...I will be taking my leave now.” She mutters something more about ‘he never learned about the weavers’ ... ‘not even of their culture?’ but the last bits of it are lost as she disappears from sight completely.

...

That... had not gone well? Or did it? It most certainly feels as though it did, but now their conversation has been cut short without him being able to give so much as a farewell. But he lets her leave. Not that he would stop her, especially knowing she’ll stop by sometime again, but he simply... watches.

She had been upset, in the beginning, and then the end. Upset at him. (Isn’t the first time.) (That’s one, aching pain in his chest today.)

...

The curtains have fallen, and as of now it’s time he recuperates for the next performance.

...That, or dust off that lantern of his to go and gather more flames for the Heart. The Troupe Master had allowed him to forgo such responsibilities in favour of honing his aerial dance aer all. Even with permission, he can feel the faint call of the flames, the flicker-spark as they burn deep within the depths of this poor, dilapidated kingdom.

(Or is it the call of the Heart pulling him away from his encounter with Hornet?)

(The enthralling change in attention is enough to jarr him just a little bit out of his thoughts, though he’s unsure if that’s what he wants or not. Distraction or focus?)

Deliberately, he redirects his thoughts to the spiderling, to their interactions.

...As a whole, it seems today has le him with very different emotions.

She had been testy at first, as always, but it seemed like he managed to converse pleasantly for her, even for just an exchange. And then she’s up and gone in not a moment later.

...There was an uncertain edge to her, when he had told her of his reasons for practicing such dance. The faintest scrunch of her fangs, as if trapped between pulling back into a snarling hiss or an uncertain smile. Or that if she did feel hostile, it was as though she was in polite company and couldn’t afford to be as such.

(And he knows very well that she does not quite see him as polite company, so why does she refrain as such other than habit?)

She was never one to hide her distaste towards him, but that had been something... different. What, he isn’t sure, but... odd, for such a small detail to stick out to him like that.

Ah, haha! But of course he recognized such a tell, not when he has the exact same quirk! Conflicted between strict decorum and honesty, where he’d much rather be honest and forthright than needlessly tense, as he’s so oen teased by his beloved—!

—His... beloved? No name follows that, and although it would be a complete term of endearment

as is, it doesn’t... feel complete. His beloved... one who knows him, knows his face despite the mask upon it

now...? His...

...Odd.

(...Here’s another chest pang.)

There’s a harsh little wheeze of a sour note, and the Jester perks up to see Brumm approaching, fiddling with the instrument before kicking into a slower, soer melody. He hadn’t realized he'd been standing there still, center of the stage, still with hands entangled in the silks, still very much not cleaning up or resting.

“Hello there, friend!” He greets, receiving only a nod in response and a curious look.

“Mrmm... Did something happen? Had it not gone well?” Straight to the point as always, too...

“I...” he falters, and for a second he feels terribly improper for such an obvious display of weakness, before continuing, “I do believe it couldn’t have gone any better!”

And it’s true! There isn’t much in his opinion that could be improved other than the few minute details, but of course, he is always striving to grow! Simply, everything had felt so right, he has no current complaints for himself!

Which is why... how odd it is that he feels so... down. This is by far one of his best performances yet, but that encounter with Hornet... it leaves him feeling tense. She had, while not the main reason he wished to learn such a dance, had been an influential part of it at least...

Because he cares for her like a... like a daughter. (Though that feels a touch too much, considering the fact she is the princess-protector of this fallen kingdom, and how terrible it is that she is to bear the responsibilities of the once so revered king...)

...So maybe a niece instead?

(Perhaps niece would work better—he can’t go and become too fond of the come and goers who eventually leave, just as how the Troupe will part from these ruins eventually too. But alongside that, there was an amusing term he had learned a few kingdoms back from a grub who had claimed him as their... ‘cool uncle’ in feeling!)

(Truthfully, he had never really learned the semantics of family lines like that—never needed to anyways. Taking up the mantle as a Jester of no-one but the

Troupe leaves him snapping up little bits of information from the many different places they’ve visited.)

(And here he is, subconsciously trying to claim a familial title for himself when he’s the last person someone would want as family.)

...

“I had believed perhaps this would be a more successful performance than my usual song and dance.” he admits, jovial tone a little lacking, far less overplayed than it usually is.

“Though I haven’t the faintest idea why... I thought perhaps it would make her happier that I do something she could potentially partake in. Aer all, I had never........”

Sharp words echo in his mind. ‘You've never?’

..........He had never what? The same phrase worms itself way into his mind again, this time from his own tongue. The things he has never done, but... what? Why is it that he feels inclined, feels like he needs, with all of his foolish heart, to make up for something he isn't aware of? Of strings le undone, of time he had owed but had never given...

There’s something tugging at him faintly, trying to unmoor itself from the deepest parts of his mind yet shrouded in the familiar, now comforting mist of blazing warmth and flame. He tries to prod at the thought a little further, before the feeling escapes him.

(Or perhaps the flame that so carefully protects his mind, so caringly had swept it up, crisping it with its bright beauty and letting it smolder into ashes so that these vague thoughts may no longer cling to him.)

He had never......

......Well, he’s never done many things! What he does now though is what’s more important than ever, and if he so desires to try and chip at all the ‘nevers’, what better way to do it than travelling with the dear Troupe?

Unconsciously, he tugs at the hanging silks. Something to fiddle with if anything.

(His head feels foggy again, chest tight. That’s three aching pains today. Or more? He can’t tell.)

Then there’s the low voice of his dear friend, and the Jester tunes into what Brumm is saying. “...Have you shown Master your new performance?” He doesn’t see, or rather, he can’t see the solemn looks of the musician, can only hear the little ‘hrmm...’ that vibrates from his voicebox.

The song he’s playing comes to an end, and he draws the last note out, long and mournful.

“Ah, but of course. Though I must say I haven’t performed it for him officially other than in practice—it would do me well to hone my skills further! You don't suppose he's free currently?” Brumm is offering a distraction, he’s aware, but nonetheless, he wouldn’t turn down a moment with the Troupe Master when he’s been nothing but kind during pain days like this.

“He should be. I shall inform him then.” He inclines his head. “...Take care.”

Brumm bids him a gentle farewell, soon disappearing into the depths of the tent and leaving the Jester to his thoughts.

So.

...Thrice. Thrice, that those aching pains have visited him within this same hour, and he frowns. Thrice, and he doesn’t have an inkling as to how and where they could have come and gone, nothing but a lingering phantom sensation in his chest.

(He had talked about it with Brumm one time, when they were both musing over the ambiguity of their characters; life before the Troupe, faded and gone, just as with everyone else. Life with the Troupe, all that they’ve known, but a satisfactory life it is.)

Where little weird memory aches aren’t impossible, or even uncommon, but are well taken care of. Soothed even, by the Heart.

Ah yes, the Heart. It’s taken the entire Troupe under its care, hasn’t it? They’re all here with the gied masks that brands them as one with the Heart, they’re here for a reason.

And the comfort that so fills him is something overwhelming, bright and unrelenting, such is the way of a flame within the dark. It washes over the last of the tugging memory pains, and he lets it. Lets it singe and smolder, lets it drape its curtain of red over his mind, so that the ache in his chest will disappear.

All of the lingering worries, all the doubts are held alo by a bare thread— —and the Heart snips through it with ease, and the Fool is at peace.

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By @cloudcryptid

[zodiyack]

Lacking In Facts

Requested by @ateliefloresdaprimavera​: Y/n’s having a heart to heart with Enola, she finally admits to someone that Sherlock is the love of her life, but she believes he's in love with her cousin, Irene Adler. She says she knows this because he still has Irene’s picture in his study, and he used to mix up their names. BUT, Sherlock is behind the door, listening to everything, and she couldn't be more wrong! She thinks he married her out of pity, but the truth is that he was never very good at expressing emotion, and he thought she was just shy. So, when they go back home that day, Sherlock tells his wife everything he's feeling, and they finally made up (and maybe, some kids in the future)

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, me not proof-reading oops

Words: 1,185

Summary: (See Request)

Taglist: @matth1w​, @redspaceace-writes​, @fandom-puff​, @darling-i-read-it​, @simonsbluee​, @thewarriorprincessxo​, @maan24​, @beckster07890​, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow​

Masterlist | Henry Cavill Masterlist

Y/n was in the office, arms behind her resting atop the smooth wood of the desk she leaned against. Enola, sitting in her brother’s chair like a little doll in a child’s seat, listened with furrowed brows as her sister-in-law spoke. Her detective skills were put to use throughout their conversation. Every now and then, the Holmes girl’s face would morph in thought but her words were saved in a little pouch until Y/n would wait for her opinion.

“Why would you think that?” Her tone held genuine curiosity but the question also helped in getting more context.

“Look at the desk, Enola. The photos. They...see for yourself.”

Enol nodded and leaned forward, inspecting the variety of framed pictures her brother had placed on the surface. One of their family, one of him and Y/n, and then- Her eyes doubled in size, the small gasp telling Y/n she’d seen it.

“My cousin. Now, why would my husband keep pictures of Irene on his desk?”

“Perhaps they’re just really good...friends?” Enola couldn’t even believe the words that left her mouth. The disbelief put her at a loss for words, which was rare for Enola and her genius brother. The greater feeling was disappointment. Disappointment in her older brother for...whatever this situation was. “What else leads you to such a conclusion?”

“The fact that he couldn’t remember the difference in our names until only recently.”

“Explain, please.”

“Behind closed doors, he’d call me Irene or Adler, despite our names being different. In public, he’d refer to me as wife or something sweet, but when we were alone it was always the wrong name.”

This one had an explanation...if Enola’s theory was correct. She hoped with a strong passion that her brother only confused the two for reasons such as similarities in their faces. Then again, Y/n and Irene didn’t look as similar as siblings would.

“Does he still tend to mix your names?”

“No...not really...”

‘That’s a relief’, thought Enola. “Are you sure he wasn’t just confused?”

“By who he’s married to? Then yeah, he’s confused. Otherwise, he’s not. I...Do you think he married me out of pity?”

Enola choked on the air she’d inhaled, looking towards her sister in law with wide eyes once again. This time, Y/n had turned to face the girl, deep hurt sprawled across her features. Her brows were knitted and her eyes looked glossy- as if she would cry any moment. The tone of her question seemed to hold just as much sorrow as her e/c orbs, her voice even breaking near the end of her words.

“Y/n...”

“Enola. I’m...I’m serious. I don’t see why he would willingly marry me if he’s in love with my cousin. I want him to be happy but in order to do that, it would require me to be unhappy.”

“Are you happy? Like, truly happy?”

Y/n hesitated with her answer. “Somewhat.”

“Could you expand on that?”

“I’m happy with him...he’s the man of my dreams yet knowing he doesn’t belong to me only brings a cloud of hurt to my heart. I can’t live with a man who doesn’t truly love me.”

“Do you love him?” Enola already knew the answer. She’d seen the way Y/n looked at Sherlock, and the way Sherlock returned the look- however, her brother was a harder person to read. Perhaps she’d misread her older brother?

“Honestly? Yes. With all my heart. I’d die for him if it came to that,” she chuckled softly and thanked Enola for the handkerchief she’d passed after the first few tears spilt, “but what kind of wife would I be to hold him back from happiness?”

Unbeknownst to the two, who continued the debate, the man of the topic was standing behind the door. He sighed deeply and held a look of regret as he walked away.

“Darling?” His voice rang throughout the home. It echoed in silence for a moment before the sound of steps rushing down a staircase responded. “There you are. When did you get home?”

“About an hour ago... I took a bath whilst waiting for you.”

“About that...” He frowned. There was no way she was actually waiting for him. If she truly felt insecure about her role as his wife, she did an amazing job hiding it. A flaw and gift all the same. “We need to talk.”

Y/n’s posture adjusted, the smile upon her lips, undoubtedly forced, falling.��“Is something wrong?”

“Please, Y/n. This can no longer be avoided.” He tilted his head towards the sofa and held his hand out to direct her. As they relocated from the spot beside the stairs to the cushions, Sherlock thought over the words he’d say. She watched her husband with furrowed brows laced with concern.

“Sherlock, what’s bothering you?”

Sherlock almost laughed. “Nothing. The question is, what’s bothering you, Y/n?” Her head moved from the confused tilt back to it’s natural upright position. Brows unfurrowing and body suddenly still, he knew he asked the right question.

“Whatever do you mean by that? I’m fine...”

“No, you’re not. You tell me that over and over...” he scoffed, “I’ve never thought about how good of an actress you are.”

“Thank you?”

“Tell me, Y/n. Why won’t you tell me? You’ll tell Enola but when I ask, you act like nothing in the world could bother you. As much as it warms my heart seeing you happy, knowing that it’s all an act is like a stab in it and its faux joy.”

She couldn’t tell if he was hurt or upset. The smile he held, full of astonishment and disbelief, did nothing to help her reading. No words came to her for a defense but he spared her wordlessness as he continued.

“I would’ve told you, Y/n.” He grabbed her hands, causing her to lift her eyes to his. “I would’ve told you the truth if you’d just asked.”

“What truth? That you’re in love with-”

“No. I’m not in love with her. That would be a lie. The truth is that I’m horrible at expressing emotion. The truth is that I thought you were shy. The truth is that I’m in love with you, but in fear that I’d drive you away, I chose to keep it to myself. The truth is that I had just as hard of a time admitting it to myself as you did unto yourself.”

Y/n’s bottom lip quivered with the threat to spill more liquified sadness from her eyes. The confession had certainly caught her off-guard. Sherlock’s palms met her cheeks softly, forcing her to meet his eyes again before he slowly leaned in. Their lips met and with that single kiss, they’d reconciled.

“So...you aren’t in love with her?” Y/n asked after they’d pulled away.

Sherlock let out a hearty chuckle as he shook his head. “No, Y/n, you just simply had a lack of proper facts.” Y/n began to giggle along.

“Perhaps I should leave the detective-ing to you and Enola.”

“Who’s to say our children won’t become detectives? They could use some of your acting as well.”

“So they could.”

[h2bakugou]

Can I have bakugo x reader who acts a lot like kenma? You can do gendernetural!

Please hydrate!

a/n: of course!! i do be using the wiki to find out his personality cuz half the time i forget, i haven't seen haikyuu in a minute, i might rewatch the first two seasons-

summary: quiet, composed, analytical. the three words most students in your class use to describe you. despite your reserved nature and awkward aura, bakugou decides to approach you.

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: swearing, fluff

word count: 2.5k

;cut for length;

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It’s a cool autumn day, the cool wind rustling the bright-colored leaves on the trees. With the air getting much colder, it was time to break out your winter costumes when it came to training.

You stood by yourself like usual, listening to instructions. Of course, the exercise today was grouping you in pairs. And despite being possible acquaintances with at least half of your peers, you didn’t really consider them friends.

It wasn’t because you hated them, you were reserved, quiet, and rarely showed any emotions, often having others perceive you as cold and hard to read.

“It’s just a simple team-building skills exercise. You’ll most likely have several occasions in the field where you’re working together with other heroes and agencies, especially on bigger cases. Your pairs have already been chosen for you so when your names are called find your partner.” Aizawa’s look hadn’t changed at all. In fact, you almost wondered if his outfit had changed during the summer or not.

But it seemed like what he wore during the hottest days of June or July was currently fitted on him now. 

Name after name was called, slowly dwindling down the remaining students that could be paired.

“Kirishima, (Y/n).” It wasn’t that much of a surprise to you when you heard your name. Kirishima meandered over to you, shooting you a sharp-teethed smile before glancing back at Kaminari and Sero, who had been paired together.

“Bakugou, Todoroki.” That was a pair you certainly hadn’t expected. Watching as Bakugou’s eye seemed to twitch he teamed up with the half-and-half boy, not very thrilled to do this exercise with him.

The training was fairly simple, you were to rescue a training dummy from a random hazard under thirty minutes.

In your case, your dummy was trapped in a sinking car.

You hadn’t expected to get wet today, and even if your quirk allowed you some help under the water, it was still going to be cold. It didn’t help that Kirishima kept asking you questions.

You were thinking of a strategy as you rushed to the scene. 

“I think the best plan is to try and get the car out of the water.” 

No that is a stupid plan. You can’t lift the car, with water inside of it you’d just sink to the bottom.

You didn’t have a solid plan, but you could finish fairly early if you could break the window and retrieve the dummy.

Using this plan, you’d need Kirishima to harden and break the window.

After reviewing the area where the car had begun to sink, you could feel the cameras on you, your entire class observing you. It was uncomfortable, you frankly wished you’d been paired with someone like Mineta so your fight would hopefully be uninteresting to those who despised the purple-’haired’ boy.

“Harden and break the window when we get to the car. Trying to save the car is just going to slow us down.” You spoke plainly, kicking off your shoes as you stared at the strikingly blue water.

“Break the window, got it!” Kirishima was ready. Jumping into the cold water, you fought the urge to swim back out. Pushing on, you swam to the car, hoping you’d be able to hold your breath long enough to get the dummy out.

Kirishima swam beside you and quickly hardened part of his body, noticing how much harder it was to move underwater.

After a few attempts, the glass hadn’t budged. You needed air. Swimming back up, your heads popped up above the water.

“We need momentum.” Kirishima wasn’t getting anywhere. 

“Use your feet on the window behind the driver's side. I’ll swim through and get the dummy.” You ducked back under, sucking in a breath to keep with you. Kirishima came back down, finding that hardening allowed him to sink faster.

Using your advice, he hardened his feet and lower calves, kicking through the hard glass of the window behind the driver’s side. You kicked out any remaining glass and swam through, quickly navigating for the seatbelt buckle.

It was hard to see, the water made things blurry, but after some searching you found it. 

The dummy was heavy, but with enough force, you were able to pull it out of the seat and bring it into the back seat, handing it off to Kirishima. 

However, as you were preparing to swim through the broken window, your foot got caught in a seatbelt. From the thrashing and moving trying to maneuver the dummy, your legs had gotten tangled.

Yanking your legs did nothing and you were running out of air. Kirishima had taken the dummy back to shore only to realize you hadn’t popped back above water.

Quickly diving back in, he was lucky to find you still moving.

Squeezing through the window, he helped free you from the seatbelts, cutting them free from your legs before helping you back above the water.

Gasping for air, you choked on water that spewed from your mouth and nose, completely unaware of just how long you'd been down there for.

“That was a good plan, next time don’t get stuck!” Kirishima’s cheery voice guided you back to reality as you swam back to shore, resting as soon as your body no longer had to float to hold itself up.

Training was over for you and Kirishima, and you’d passed with three minutes to spare. You were handed a towel and escorted to change out of your wet costume.

However, you had to return after changing into the regular training uniform.

That’s when Bakugou approached you.

“How’d you think of that plan so fast?” Bakugou’s question doesn’t seem like much of a question at all. He’d gone before you so he was done with training as well. You didn’t respond at first, opting to try and seem as invisible as possible, hoping that maybe he was talking to Momo who was within an earshot of your conversation.

“Oi!” 

“It just made sense.” Was all you could conjure up to say, proceeding to move away from Bakugou after answering. However, Bakugou wasn’t pleased with this. He then decided to follow you around like a lost puppy, trying to catch up with you every time you migrated away from him.

“What’s your deal?” Bakugou finally cornered you away from the class, pushing your back against a wall.

“Please stop following me.” You didn’t want to look the blonde in the eyes. Your heart was beating faster than before. This was such a vulnerable position. You couldn’t place your finger on what it was exactly you were feeling, but the thumping of your heart was starting to hurt your head.

“Tch, dumbass.” Bakugou grumbled, his cheeks pink as he walked away, folding his arms over his chest. You didn’t mind standing still for a bit, no one could see you, but you feared you’d get into trouble which would only cause a scene. You slowly added yourself to the back of the class, opting to pay minimal attention to the lesson.

A week later, a similar scenario happened. Bakugou cornered you in the library while you played a hand-held console during lunch. You chose to eat quietly somewhere else and spend the remainder of your time in the library, safe from the noisy cafeteria.

However this time, Bakugou didn’t say anything to you. He took a seat in front of you. He debated on saying a few things to you, but it appeared that as long as he was quiet, you seemed unbothered.

Though you would occasionally catch him staring at you, which caused him to grumble something under his breath.

And then there was the day where he showed up with some sort of snack.

You can’t eat in here.

“I didn’t see you eat lunch. Eat dumbass.” Bakugou passed you the snack bar. You stared at it. 

Is this some sort of peace offering? If so, why in the one place where food isn’t allowed.

You left the snack bar in its spot for the remainder of your time in the library, only reaching for it when it was time to go. Bakugou glared at you as you opened it as soon as you got outside of the library, only to watch you nibble on the bar before throwing it away, conveniently by the sign that says ‘no food or drink in the library.’

This wouldn’t be the last sort of ‘offering’ Bakugou would give to you. You seemed to tolerate him as long as he was quiet, and he was determined to find out why. Which is why he eventually asked to study in your room.

When he walked in, he was surprised to see how different your room looked.

He half expected it to look as normal as possible, similar to Ojiro’s room.

However, your room was decorated to your liking, with a poster or two on the walls, a comfy-looking blanket draped over your bed, a desk, a tv, and other various decorations.

“Why are you so quiet?” Was the first of many questions Bakugou had to ask you during your study session which you had reluctantly said yes to since he’d asked you during breakfast around other students.

It felt weird to be sitting with him privately in your dorm. Your heart was beating fast again and it was weird. You hadn’t been able to get Bakugou out of your head since he had started all these surprise visits.

“Not much to say.” You replied simply, working on your homework swiftly.

“There’s gotta be something you like, you’re not that fuckin’ boring are you?” Bakugou’s words were harsh, but they weren’t meant to be mean.

“I like video games. But you do not.” You lifted your gaze to meet his, his lips parted in awe.

“I do too play fuckin’ games.” Bakugou stood his ground.

“What games do you have?” This was the first question you’d ever asked Bakugou.

“C-cooking Mama.” Bakugou hung his head in defeat.

“They have multiplayer challenges, correct? We could play together after we finish.” You weren’t at all judgmental of his seemingly childish game choice, but it seemed that you had a copy of the game as well.

After work, you sat on your bed alongside Bakugou and the two of you competed against one another in cooking challenges. You won most of them considering you’d completed the game in its entirety and knew the in and out’s of doing the most with your time, how to get perfect dishes, etc.

You decided to let Bakugou win a few times, but it was almost as if he could tell you were letting him win. 

Throwing down his console softly onto your bed, he forced your back against the mattress as he hovered over you.

“Stop going easy on me!’ Bakugou semi-shouted. You stared up at him with a seemingly blank expression, but the heat that burned your face was clear to you. 

Bakugou’s warm features, albeit a bit brash and rough, were gorgeous to look at. His tough crimson eyes and his explosive blonde locks, you were almost sure this feeling you were having was one of affection, not that you knew anything about it though.

Let alone how to act on those feelings. And you had observed that Bakugou struggled to be upfront with his feelings too.

Staring down at you was mind-blowing to Bakugou. He could see your face so clearly, your eyes were wide and full of some sort of emotion even though you acted as if you were simply just observing what was happening.

His eyes couldn’t stand to stare at just your eyes though. They travelled all over your face, finding little details to look at before they found your lips.

An unknown force pulled him closer to you, his lips landing on yours. Moving against them softly, he kissed you. Your eyes widened ever so slightly as you felt his lips on yours.

You couldn’t move. It was electrifying. Yet you were slightly confused.

You didn’t know how to move your lips against his, though you gave it your best effort, now you felt embarrassed as he pulled away staring at you.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked if you-”

“I don’t know how to kiss.” You cut him off, explaining that it wasn’t that you didn’t want to kiss him, but because you didn’t know how too.

Bakugou’s eyes widened as he stared at you. Almost as if he found your statement horrifying. But he began to grin, trying not to laugh.

“If you’re going to laugh about it you can leave.” You knew you shouldn’t have said anything. Bakugou’s serious expression returned.

“Just follow my lead, it’s not rocket science.” Bakugou grumbled, leaning back down to kiss you. You did as he said, closing your eyes, trying to follow what his lips were doing.

You began to move your lips against his, trying to mimic what he was doing, until he swiped his tongue along your bottom lip which drew an embarrassing mewl from you. Pulling away, Bakugou couldn’t help but chuckle at you.

“You- what was...” You were in the middle of catching your breath and trying to ask what he had just done.

“Let’s continue our lesson.”

After half an hour of more kissing, you were completely exhausted. You’d tried to keep up with Bakugou, but every time he felt that you were getting cocky he’d pull some trick, like licking your lower lip. He also ran his hands into yours and raised them above your head, all while his lips attacked yours.

You were in some sort of haze after, completely astonished from it. But one thing was on your mind.

“Are you my boyfriend now?” You asked quietly. Bakugou’s face began to turn red.

“Yeah sure.” Bakugou stared at you for a few seconds as you packed up your things.

You were hard to describe. His peers had labeled you as quiet, composed, and analytical, and while those were true, you were also clearly intelligent along with cute.

Watching you get flustered was adorable, and he couldn’t place a finger on why. Perhaps it was just your innocence or being confused on how to kiss someone, but regardless of the fact, you were dating now.

Keeping it under wraps was easy. Bakugou spent more time with you alone, away from everyone where he learned more about you.

“I have a hard time making friends.” You expressed in his arms. Explaining to Bakugou about why you were quiet, or always by yourself, he began to learn more about you just by listening to you.

But no matter how strange you seemed to make yourself sound, he couldn’t think that it was quite the opposite.

You said you were awkward and dull? You weren’t. You were pleasant to be around, always calming Bakugou down. And you were so nice to look at you, Bakugou honestly thought you were some sort of beautiful angel.

Pulling you in for one more kiss, Bakugou held you in his arms, interrupting your story-telling. You kissed back almost instantly, now educated in the art of kissing someone back.

Pulling away, Bakugou gave you a small smile to continue. You nuzzled into him, resting your head on his chest as you continued to talk about little things.

You’d found someone who understood you, even if you had to explain it to him along the way. You’d also found someone to play cooking mama with.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

[writing-in-lesbian]

Salvation in Disguise

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff / Female reader (platonic) Tags: angst, cursing words, minor assumed violence, mentions of homophobia, legal age gap. Translations: pozhaluysta = please. Synopsis: When Wanda is leaving Westview, all its habitants felt relieved, left to their own devices to rebuild their old lives and to never heard from Wanda again. Except for you. You were left with an important decision. Her spell and control over your family gave you an escape from their control and mistreats towards you. So when she's driving away, you had a few minutes to save your life.

You were at the park having a rare time for yourself. Your parents allowed you to go and walk around before you have to go back for lunch. A rare occasion indeed, since you were 99% of your time with your parents and siblings, despite being legally out of age and with a well-paid job. 

For some reason, that seems normal to all your neighbors, living at your parent's house feels normal, but to you, there’s something else. You can’t explain it but you feel something is not quite right, but since you have so much fun when you’re with them you don’t question the nagging feeling in the back of your head.

With the day off, you decided to take on Agnes' advice and try that coffee shop in front of the park. Has it always been here? You can’t remember seeing it before, but with so many things happening lately and your constant daydreaming you think it might have been renovated and you never noticed.

You ordered the special of the day a “dirty chai” (which is just a chai latte with an espresso shot) and an integral muffin (balance) before going back to the park to do your favorite activity: people watching. 

Choosing your favorite bench in front of the fountain, you enjoy your small snack hoping to see at least from afar your favorite person in the whole town. Wanda Maximoff. 

You don’t remember when they moved here, maybe you never paid any attention to the people around your hood, but when it came to her? It was unavoidable not to. You formed a good relationship after the twins were born, helping her babysit for a few days after Monica went back to her hometown. The boys grew so fast (almost in the blink of an eye) but they were your favorite ones to watch. You even like Vision (was it an odd name? Sure) despite he being the one married to your crush. 

You were so engrossed and lost in your thoughts you don’t notice Wanda running into the park. It’s not until you heard a loud crash you turn your eyes to the sky and see it.

Agnes. 

Floating up there in the sky and throwing what it seems flashes of lights.

And Wanda. Beautiful and innocent Wanda.

Floating as well.

You see a purple light go straight to her.

You drop your muffin and get up from the bench so fast. “WANDA WATCH OUT!”

You’re not sure if she heard you but before you can yell at her again that same light hits you square on the chest, sending you a few meters away and impacting your body against a lamp post. Everything goes black.

… … …

”I’m not a witch. I don’t cast spells. No one taught me magic”

“Your powers exceed that of the Sorcerer Supreme. It’s your destiny to destroy the world” … … …

You hear a lot of commotion, you grunt and try to open your eyes. Everything is dark, a red mist covering the sky. You desperately look around for Wanda. You have a horrible headache, it’s as if something trapped in your mind is trying to get free. You try to get up but your body refuses, managing only to sit up.

You hear Agnes's voice up above you and when you look up at the sky, Wanda is there, surrounded by the red mist. It looks as if it's coming out of her. Her previous red hoodie is now a red top, on her forehead, there’s a tiara.

Standing there open-mouthed you can’t help but appreciate her beauty and strength. Even Agnes (did she call her Agatha?) Is it a weird kind of purple robe? You hear the twins and Monica around you, you even saw a flash of something red and white flaying on the other side of the park but you don’t have eyes for anyone else but Wanda.

A big explosion surrounds you and the park. And then everything goes black again, but you’re conscious this time. You know you should go back home, you’re not sure what’s happening but you’ll probably be safer at home.

There’s this nagging feeling again inside your head. At this point, it might explode from the pain. Migraines are nothing compared to this, but you can’t move. You are glued to your spot. You can’t stop outlook out for Wanda.

Suddenly, the sun comes out again (did it ever went down) and everything is bright. You see Monica in a black and white uniform in front of the twins, Vision s there as well but he’s….red? (You. Might have hit your head harder than you expect it. Westview was known for weird shit happening but this is extreme). 

When you see Wanda again, you see her talking to Agnes, and right before your eyes, her clothes change, her angry and scared voice goes back to being the overly sweet lady you once knew. You stand up and run back home despite your mind screaming not to.

// // //

It’s past midnight when you feel it. You were awakened by this flash of light bringing you back from dreamland gasping for air. 

Your mind is racing 3000 miles a second. Memories of your life coming up to you. 

Being yelled at, hit and slapped, punished by the person’s that should love you no matter what just for loving another girl. 

Been kept against your own will at the house.

The constant verbal and physical abuse. 

The loneliness of being taken far away from your friends and your ex-girlfriend and going to live in the middle of nowhere town when you were 16. A town so small no one would even think about looking out for you here. 

The hopelessness of not being able to run away because your father was a retired high-rank government officer. 

You check your thighs and wrists. The fading scars are there. The ones where you cut to numb the paint make you forget and maybe the final one that takes you out of this realm. 

You remember one day being up in your room crying yourself to sleep when your headaches started. You were no stranger to migraines, but this was worse, so bad you wanted to vomit. 

You ran to your bathroom. Next thing you know, you were having family dinners and going on Sunday family trips. 

And you knew everything was related to Wanda. Things changed when she came to town.

Wanda, the park, Agnes (guess is Agatha know). You suddenly put 2 and 2 together.

Wanda.

You need to see her.

You know you need to run to her. She might be your salvation.

You think you probably have a few hours before everyone is starting to get up and getting their memories, but the noise coming from your parent's rooms tells you it’s not that much.

Throwing a few changes of clothes, the few money you had saved from your babysitting days, you take your bag and slowly and quietly make your way downstairs. If the clock is right is almost 3 am.

You reach the main floor when the door of your parent's rooms cracks. You hold your breath, praying to someone they don’t notice you. The bathroom door closes a few seconds later. You make your way to the living room, only noticing the one picture is there. You stand there, behind your parents and where they used to be your siblings, you see there’s nothing there. It was just part of whatever Wanda created for you.

You take the opportunity and open the living room window and jump through it. The main and back doors are locked at night and only your father has the key. One night when he left you outside all night after getting late 3 minutes after your curfew, you made sure to break the lock on the leaving room window in case of an emergency. They never opened it so never noticed it.

You see the bathroom light is still on. You count to ten before sprinting toward the driveway and towards Wanda’s house, hoping to find her. At this point, you’ll be happy to find Agatha or even Monica.

Before you arrive at her house you stop. You don’t even know if your theory is correct but at this point of your life, you’re ready to risk it. 

You get there and look for her house. All you see is an empty lot.

No house, no construction, not even the reminiscent of anything. You start to panic.

“No, no, no, no”

Your breath gets shallow and your eyes are burning from your tears. You look frantically trying so desperately to find a sign of her. Anything but there’s nothing.

“You shouldn’t be here… Y/N”

Her thick accent makes you turn so fast your neck hurts.

“Wanda” you say with relief in your voice. She’s taken aback, clearly not expecting it. Her eyes are swollen and her red outfit is nowhere to be seen. Instead, she’s wearing a black hoodie.

You take a step towards her but she takes one back. You stop. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I…”

You don’t know. You just wanted to see her. The night air is colder or maybe is just your nerves. You hug yourself in order to get some warmth into your body. Your pj’s aren’t exactly the warmest ones.

She sees this and conjures a thick jacket around you. When you say nothing she continues putting some bags into her car. A black and heavy-looking bag pack at her shoulders. 

“You’re leaving?”

“I don’t think I’m welcoming here anymore Y/N. You should go home”

It’s the panic of not seeing her again, of her leaving you that has you getting closer to her and taking her wrist, stopping whatever task she was doing.

“Take me with you”

“What?” Her voice is barely a whisper but in the silence of the night is so loud she might be well yelling at you.

“Take me whit you Wanda… please”

You don’t beg. Never. Not after learning at a young age it only brought more problems, your father never stopped if you begged, it just enraged him more, so you learn to never beg, for anything.

She sees your hand on her wrist and feels the emotions swilling around you. She dares not to look at your mind but your thoughts are so loud she can’t help to see half of the abuse you have suffered. 

A small gasp leaves her lips.

“Why do you want to go with me? I’m a monster. You saw it yourself”

“You’re not a monster. Not to me”

She’s still watching your hand. Your voice is just a whisper.

“I trapped you here”

“You freed me”

“I controlled your mind!”

“You saved me!”

“You... I… what?” She’s speechless, her nose scrunched in this little way you always thought cute.

“I don’t know the extend of what happened or how it happened, All I know is that my life was hell, literal hell and then you came into Westview and…”

“I should never have done what I did Y/N. You should be afraid of me”

“I’m not”

“Well you should”

You can tell she’s getting exasperated. Her eyes flashing red.

“Wanda… pozhaluysta”

It’s that little world in her native langue that has her seeing you for the first time this night. She sees your eyes and sees all the pain and anguish you have. She sees the same reflected in her eyes.

A plea in your eyes. You don’t see her as a monster or the Scarlet Witch. When you see her, she can see hope in your eyes.

She joined the Avengers and fought at their side to save people. The recent events after Thanos sidetracked her and blinded her. She was grieving and in pain… and did things she never thought of doing. Was she really what Hydra, Ultron, Agatha, and a lot of people said she was? Someone to be afraid of?

But you were here and as much as she just wants to grieve and is suffering, she has the chance again of being a hero. To make the effort and fight for once she once fought, to be worthy again, to make Vision sacrifice worth, to fight for the love she once felt.

“Okey”

The smile you give her is prof enough she can start again.

When Wanda left Westview and all its habitants, they felt relieved, left to their own devices to rebuild their old lives and to never heard from her again. Except for you. 

You were leaving with her, escaping from the real prison you lived before she came into your life and offered you your salvation in disguise.

[kj-1130]

Nothing For Me

Part 2

Main Masterlist

Part 1|Part 3

2012

     You were turning 11 this year. Natasha, as you learned she went by, was always a phone call away if you ever wanted to talk--since your sperm donor was obviously no help. You had recently had to call her due to your period starting, which you weren’t expecting to happen for at least another 2 to 3 years. Needless to say, it freaked you out and regardless of your smarts, nothing could have prepared you for that. 

     Nat took you shopping for what she called, ‘lady items’; bras, pads, tampons, anything a girl could possibly need. She also taught you how to shave if you ever wanted to. She specified that you should never feel forced to do it because ‘people need to normalize women having body hair. It grows there for a reason.’ And you totally agreed with her on that by the way. 

     There were a few times when she’d let you in on minor S.H.I.E.L.D secrets even though it was quite unnecessary seeing as you could hack your way through it all no problem. That’s how you found out about the Avengers Initiative. You couldn’t agree more with what was said about Tony. 

     Through your hacking and research of the initiative, you ‘met’ Clint. It was through a video call. He had invaded your girl-talk with Natasha. The three of you were practically best buds now. You’d go to Nat for advice or just when you needed a sister to talk to. You’d go to Clint when you just wanted to let loose and talk about absolute nonsense. 

-

     It was another lovely night in Stark Tower for you--please note the sarcasm. You were bored out of your mind. Natasha had been on an undercover mission and Clint was busy at the base; something about the Tesseract. You thought they should’ve just left the thing alone; let fate take its course. Some bad things were going to come with them messing with something they had no knowledge about. They’re joining a game without knowing any rules and are pretty much destined to lose. But, hey. What did you know?

     Pepper and Tony were probably in the common area, sucking each other's faces off. Despite how much you disliked Tony, based on your experiences, you couldn’t deny the fact that they’re pining was absolutely annoying, disgusting, and cute all at the same time. You were just glad it was over honestly.

     Pepper was an okay person to you. There was nothing you found super nice or mean about her that was prominent to you. She’d greet you on the quite rare occasion the two of you would cross paths and would start the casual small talk (“how are you?” “I’m fine, what about you” “Good, thanks for asking.”). She probably thought you were a live-in intern or something like that. With how much she tries to doctor Tony’s life, you’d think she would try to fix whatever nonexistent relationship between the pair of you, but nope. That just added to your intern theory. 

     You were reading a book on quantum physics, when your personal AI, M.I.A(miraculous intelligence assistant)--that you did in fact create yourself--notified you that someone had overridden Stark’s systems and gotten into the elevator. Just because you didn’t leave the room doesn’t mean you weren’t nosy. 

     “Who is it, M?”

     “Agent Phil Coulson, from S.H.I.E.L.D.,” M.I.A. spoke in her smooth voice. “Would you like to listen in on what they are saying?”

     “Is that even a question?”

     Jumping out of your beanbag, you went to the center of your room, where M.I.A had pulled up footage of what was happening in the common room. 

     “Security breach,” Tony turns to Pepper. “That’s on you.”

     “Mr. Stark.” 

     “Phil! Come in,” Pepper greeted. Since when were she and Agent Coulson on a first-name basis. You’d have to look into that. 

     “Phil? Uh, his first name is Agent.”

     “Come on in, we’re celebrating,” the red head invites. This was getting more interesting to you by the second!

     “I can’t stay.”

     “Which is why he can’t stay.”

     Phil ignores Tony and starts to hand him a file.

     “He doesn’t like being handed things,” you muttered. 

     “I don't like being handed things.” Called it.

     “That’s alright, ‘cause I love being handed things, So, let’s trade,” Pepper says. She hands Coulson her glass of champagne, takes the file, hands Tony the file, in return taking his drink.

     “Official consulting hours are between eight and five every other Thursday,” the billionaire said. 

     It was quite obvious Phil was over his jokes and that he was here for a much important matter.

     “Is this about the Avengers? Which I...I know nothing about.”

     Both men ignored Pepper. “The Avengers Initiative was scrapped, I thought. And I didn’t even qualify.” 

    That was a nice day. Finding out what they said about Tony had been nothing less than amusing in your opinion.

     “I didn’t know that either,” the CEO said. She sure does have the best cover-ups, doesn’t she? 

     “Yeah, apparently I’m volatile, self-obsessed, don’t play well with others.”

     “That I did know.”

     This whole thing was odd to you. Why were they trying to put together the Avengers when the whole idea was tossed?

     “M, pull up the most recent S.H.I.E.L.D files on the tesseract and the Avengers Initiative.”

     The AI did as told, and you scrolled through all of them. You saw things on Thor, Clint, Natasha, Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers, and lastly your sperm donor. Looking at Thor’s file, you found something about his brother Loki. And looking at his name, you saw his connections to the tesseract and everything had clicked. Loki had the thing and was definitely going to do something evil with it. 

-

     Both adults in the house were gone. Such responsible ones they are. Tony left earlier the next day and you honestly couldn’t remember when Pepper left. Now, here you were in your safe haven, trying to figure out what in the world Loki would want with the tesseract. There’s probably no way for you to figure it out since you weren’t where all the info was, actively investigating. But what you didn’t understand is why would they leave you here when such a threat was hanging in the air. 

     You knew Tony didn’t necessarily care for you, but he couldn’t forget about you, right? Natasha wouldn’t forget about you. Clint wouldn’t forget you. Right?

-

     It’s been two days. Two fucking days, and no one had come in or out of this building. 

     You were currently pacing in your room, while your AI--not even a fucking person--was trying to comfort you. 

     “Does no one answer their fucking phone anymore?”

     “I’m pretty sure there is a reasonable explanation as to why no one is answering.”

     Out of nowhere, you heard commotion from outside. Rushing over to the window and moving the curtains, you saw these alien things coming out of the sky. You ran out of your room and made your way to the nearest set of stairs as quickly as you could. 

     “Ah, the little Stark.”

     His voice sent chills up your spine. It was deep and quite terrifying. 

     “Come over, no need to be scared.”

     You followed his orders, having a feeling that if you didn’t things would end up ten times worse for you. He looked at you before basically yeeting you out of the window. It hurt; it felt like every bone in your body screamed for peace and anything in the background just became white noise. 

     You landed on the roof, writhing in pain and groaning. Everything hurt.

     Attempting to get up was hard and painful, but you knew that you had to leave or you’d die. 

     Looking up, you see that doctor. He was mentioned in the files but everything was just so fuzzy, you couldn’t remember properly. Finally being able to get up after numerous attempts, you limp your way down the stairs and out to the streets in the middle of all the chaos. 

     You were so scared. You knew you probably wouldn’t be able to contact Nat or Clint unless you somehow hacked into their coms system. You continued to walk down the streets, hoping to find some type of shelter, but it felt like you were about to collapse at any second. Sitting down in the nearest alley, you looked around. Looking left, there was a face right in front of yours.

     “Fuck! What the hell man?”

     The other person wasn’t fazed. Looking them over, you saw their frizzy, somewhat curly hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Her brown skin was covered in dirt and a little blood. 

     “Hey, you’re (y/n) Stark, right?” She asked a little breathlessly. 

     “I refuse to be acknowledged as such.”

     “I’m Michelle. But don't call me that or I’ll have to hurt you.”

     “Are you really trying to converse with me in the middle of an alien invasion? And acting like we’re both not hurt?”

     Michelle shrugs her shoulders when you both look over due to some yelling that you heard. 

     “MJ! Michelle where are you? Michelle Jones!”

     MJ looks back over and starts to get up but she trips and falls. You decide to help her up and take her over to the people calling her name. You both struggle but eventually get over to the adults with some time. 

     Before you could get away from the Jones family, the mother gripped your shoulder. 

     “C’mon, stay with us. We’ll find somewhere to lay low.“

     You were too tired and in too much pain to argue, so you let Michelle’s mother help you keep your balance while the young girl’s father did the same for her. 

     It was at least a good ten minutes until the four of you found a decent place to take a break. It looked like a gas station, but you really couldn’t tell due to how much damage there was. You and the Jones’ took cover behind a somewhat stable looking wall and tried to stay as quiet as possible. 

     It was quiet besides the distant screams of people and the yells of the aliens. You wondered if Nat and Clint were okay. You wondered if Tony was okay. You wondered if anyone was safe from this. This seemed like something no one could recover from.  

     “What’s your name, sweetheart?” The older woman asked. 

     “(Y/n).”

     “Where are your parents?”

     “My sperm donor is fighting I guess.”

     To say the adults were appalled by your bluntness  was an understatement. You’ve had a potty mouth for quite a while. There was no one to really correct you on what to and not to say--not that you really needed help with that being a genius and all; well a genius with common sense because your father didn’t have any of that. Without anyone to really monitor what you did,  you kind of just roamed free in a sense. 

- 

     The fight had died down eventually. The aliens were still coming, but a substantial amount of them had been killed. How a group of 6 people/gods/supersoldiers/or whatever amazed you. Maybe you could work behind the scenes one day; even though you already do. Just without anyone knowing. 

     Before you knew it, there was a nuke flying across the sky. ‘Leave it to the government to find an excuse to hurt civilians,’ you thought. But before it could hit anything, you saw a red and gold figure carry it to the portal.  

     You knew who it was. He was going to sacrifice himself for the safety of these people. If he didn’t make it, you would miss him even though there wouldn’t be much to miss. When that portal closed, your heart dropped to your stomach. You would never be able to make amends with him. You would never have a single conversation with him. Yeah he was a total douche bag for forgetting all about you, but you had at least expected to be able to see and maybe talk to him. Sort things out. 

     Without thinking, you ran as fast as you could towards where the newly assembled Avengers were; well at least where you last saw them. You ignored the calls of the Jones family, telling you to come back. Their protests telling you not to go so you can stay safe. You ignored the pain. The aching of your ribs. The dull throbbing in your head and on your lips. There was no doubt that your steps were uneven; limping down the street at your speed probably made you look like a crackhead.

     You kept running; not stopping. Not when your breaths got shorter and turned into wheezes. Not when you heard rattling in your chest. Not when you felt like you were going to collapse. Not when your joints popped and begged for rest. You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Not until you found someone; anyone you knew. 

     You stopped after what felt like hours. It most likely was considering the sun was going down. You heard a little commotion inside a surprisingly intact building which turned out to be a Shawarma. Tony always talked about this place for some reason. 

     When you looked inside, the Avengers were there. At least, you guessed they were still called that. But that didn’t matter. They were relaxing after the battle. They looked quite relaxed considering they had just fought aliens. 

     But that was what kind of hurt. They weren’t worried about you. At all. Of course only 3--well not really 3. Only two really knew you and knew you were in that tower when the attack happened. Sure you weren’t expecting Clint or Nat to be running around the streets of this huge city, but a little effort or at least the thought of it would’ve been nice. You could’ve been dead and they sure as hell didn’t seem super worried about it. Maybe you were overthinking it. Or maybe you were just as forgettable and insignificant as you thought.

-

     You limped away from the establishment, trying to find somewhere to stay seeing as your home--if you could even call it that--was most likely destroyed. And you were in your feelings and nothing was a better cure than isolating yourself even more. You also wanted to see if you could get M.I.A running on a computer or something. Maybe update yourself on what was going on over the world at the moment. Or look up your frizzy-haired friend you met while you were running for your life. 

     You managed to find a computer near a dumpster. You leaned back against the wall and slid down slowly, not wanting to aggravate your injuries too much. You were able to get M.I.A running on the laptop and then looked up any news. The headlines were crazy. All you saw was the fight that just happened and the death count rising and rising…

     You didn’t want to be focused on anything dealing with your father, S.H.I.E.L.D., or any current events, so you decided to give M.I.A. the task of figuring out who Michelle and her family was. It sounded very creepy, but you were her age. What harm could you do with her info. Well you could cause harm to her and her family with any info you found but that was besides the point. The most you were going to do was send them a message or something like that. 

-

     You ended up sleeping in that alley. Deciding that you should head back to your place of residence, you got up and started walking back much to the process of your bones and joints. The tower seemed like it was so far away. Especially with your injuries and supposedly no one around to tend to them.  After what felt like hours, you made it to the entrance of the establishment and, surprise surprise, it’s already being rebuilt. You honestly didn’t know what time it was. You just wanted to get in your bed and sleep forever. 

-

     It had been about a month since the Battle of New York. Your injuries weren’t treated until about a week after the fact. Not because someone noticed you were hurt, but because it was getting hard to breathe and that didn’t seem like a fun way to go to you. 

     You’d been healing nicely so far, but your emotions and mental health were on the opposite side of the spectrum. Every time you close your eyes, you had this dream, vision, whatever it was, that when Loki threw you out the window, there was no balcony or landing area to stop on. You just kept falling, and falling until you hit the ground. Then you woke up.

      You had been isolating yourself as well. There had been plenty of missed calls from the pair, but you just couldn’t find the energy to move and pick up the phone. They were probably just doing it out of obligation anyway. 

       Seeing everyone, especially Nat and Clint, just made you rethink anything you’ve ever done. Were you too clingy when it came to Natasha? Did she really like you or did she just feel bad? You were probably just overreacting, but you can’t help but think these thoughts. 

    Everything was just spiraling out of control for you. And you couldn’t get help; well you at least felt like you couldn’t. If you told Tony--not that you would, but hypothetically-- he’d probably wave you off and laugh. If you tried to get a therapist, someone would probably leak that shit to the press; confidentiality be damned. 

     You felt like you were drowning and you didn’t know how much longer it would be until you fully sank.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

scopaesthesia 👁️ chapter 1

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, mentions of death, murder, violence, stalking, paranoia and other warnings to be added

This is dark!Bucky Barnes with a likelihood off dark!Steve Rogers as well and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Someone’s watching you.

Note: This one’s gonna be a bit creepy as it features a serial killer and stalking and all sorts of creepery. It’ll be about two or three parts!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The bleak headline glared across your screen as bleaker weather fogged the glass of your window. 

'Grisly murder suspected to be connected to previous incident'. 

You shivered as the steam rose from your mug and the smell of roasted bean filled your nose. The city was on edge. Death was not unfamiliar but killings so methodical were. There was a pattern that no one could deny, even if the media left out certain bloody details.

You tapped the porcelain and turned to look at the misty cityscape beyond your building. The city had a pulse; the car horns, the puffing manholes, the endless parade of footsteps on the pavement. The immortal metropolitan was unaffected by its mortal occupants.

You closed the window on your phone as you turned back. You couldn’t finish the article. To think that any human could do that to another; that any should suffer at the hands of another… One could never truly be immune to the helpless despair. It was a chance that set one in the hands of a monster, as much chance kept one from the same fate. 

You finished your coffee and ate a bagel before you readied for another day lost in the sea of people below. Another day at your desk answering phones and staring at a screen between greeting many who acknowledge your existence with impatient disdain. 

The same daily ritual in the mirror; another department store blouse, another grey skirt, another pair of low pumps. You grabbed your pea coat and your leather tote and hurried out to catch your train. Twenty minutes with your favourite podcast before you pulled the cord and ran off into the concrete jungle.

Another coffee at your desk; the watery fare from the staff room machine. You sat and began your work. Fake smiles and a sickly sweet voice for every caller and visitor to the small office. Log this, change this, email that. The mindless toil bearable only for the promise of your box-like apartment and its tiny comforts. 

You never stayed in the office for lunch. Not anymore. It made the days suffocating, even on rainy or snowy days. You went to the park to eat, although sometimes you weren’t hungry. You watched the ducks or the shedding trees or the teens playing hooky and puffing none so subtly near the bushes.

When you returned, you felt at least that your break hadn’t been wasted even if it had only been more sitting. Ring, ring, click, click, tap, tap, cough, cough. The hours wore on in monotony. Nothing unexpected, nothing more than tedium. The most exciting part was when the clock bid you to leave.

You were almost so lost in the endless banality that you didn’t notice the man behind you until you boarded the train. Until you sat and took out your phone. You pretended to be enraptured by the screen as you scrolled through unread emails and peeked up at him. He stood by the door. His eyes avoided yours.

When you stood at your stop, he did not move. Not until the door began to close and you were near the turnstiles. His shadow was a fleck at the edge of your vision. He was definitely following you. You thought of the article, and its precursor the week before; the suggestion that the murderer had already amassed half a dozen victims. You shrugged away the paranoia and climbed the old filthy steps to ground level.

As you turned the corner onto your street you stopped and waited. The man nearly passed you as he came around the bend and you cleared your throat. You gripped your keys in your fist, ready to stab the man with the largest one.

“You following me?” You asked as pedestrians bumped into him and passed by. 

He moved out of their path and stood beside you against the wall. He smiled to himself and scoffed. His blue eyes ran you up and down and you felt as if you’d seen him before. As if you knew him from somewhere. You just couldn’t place it.

“I am.” He confessed. “You’re very… observant.”

“You’re not very subtle,” you countered. 

He lifted his head and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. Capitals ran across the top; S.H.I.E.L.D. and below a name and picture; James Buchanan Barnes. You sighed and crossed your arms. Your spine went rigid. What on earth could he want from you?

“So…” You pushed yourself away from the brick wall, “How exactly can I help a government operative?”

He glanced around and tucked away his wallet. “Is there anywhere private we can talk? You live around here?”

“Private? At least tell me what’s going on?” You huffed.

“For both our safety, you need to wait for that answer,” he hook his thumb in his jean pocket. “But if you don’t give a shit, I can leave you be and see what happens.”

You frowned. You were confused and slightly afraid. You couldn’t guess at what could have brought him to you. A man you’d only ever seen on a screen.

“Fine,” you adjusted your bag on your shoulder, “Across the street.”

He followed you to the curb as the blood swelled in your ears. Your cheeks were hot and a chill gripped your neck. You crossed between the flooded New York traffic, aware of his shadow at your shoulder. His boots barely made a noise on the pavement as your short heels clicked noisily.

You led him into your lobby and fumbled with your keys. You shoved them into the slot and the door clicked open. He grabbed it before you could and waved you inside. You remembered him now. You rarely saw him without another. In your mind, the man didn’t exist exclusive to his old pal, Steve Rogers.

You stopped just inside the door and kept yourself from hitting the elevator button.

“Mr., er, Agent Barnes--” You began.

“Bucky is fine.” He corrected

“How do you even know who I am?” You asked suddenly. “I’m… nobody.”

“As I said, I’d prefer somewhere private,” he urged, “It’s protocol for this type of circumstance.”

“And which type is that?” You challenged as he stepped around you and hit the button.

“The type where you should stop worrying so much about me and more about yourself,” he said as the doors slid open, “Come on.” He stepped inside and turned, “What floor.”

“Third.” You answered as you entered the small box, “I’m in danger?”

He was quiet and his left hand balled into a fist then released as he stared at the numbers. You could hear the strain in the leather glove. 

When the doors opened again, he let you off first and kept a step behind you as you led him down the hall to your door. You paused and looked back at him as you picked out the right key. He was impossible to figure out; stone-faced and staunch. You opened your door and welcomed him in with a flutter of fingers.

He shut the door and locked it behind him. You dropped your bag on the shoe rack and kicked your shoes beneath it. Your arches were sore as you backed up and watched him. He looked at his boots and back at you. You shrugged off your jacket and he sighed before he did the same. He reluctantly knelt to unknot the laces of his boots.

“Should I… get you something? Coffee?”

“This isn’t exactly social,” he uttered, “Can we sit? There’s a lot to… explain.”

“Sure,” you led him to the couch and sat. He lowered himself on the other cushion, on the edge as he kept an eye on you.

“Okay, so you’re first question, how do I know who you are?” 

He leaned against the arm and dug out his phone. He unlocked it and flicked through its content. He turned it towards you and you frowned at the picture of yourself. You behind your desk, the phone to your ear, as you scribbled on your notepad. He dragged it over and another appeared; you at the grocery store. A third, you at the front door of your building.

“What--”

“These were found at a crime scene.” He interjected. He flipped his phone and searched through the images, “Do you know this woman?”

He showed you the screen again and you shook your head. Whoever she was, she was a stranger to you, although you couldn’t say she didn’t look familiar.

“Her?” He brought up another photo and got the same answer. Three more times as the hair stood on your arms. You didn’t know any of them but they all looked alike. They all looked like you.

“What’s going on?” You asked in a brittle voice.

“You read the news?”

“Sometimes.”

“You’ve heard about the murders? Of the women?”

You nodded and gulped. Your eyes rounded as you trembled in disbelief and fear. “Why are you here though? Why not the cops?”

“They are doing their part and we’re doing ours. You see, we found more than just the photos. Due to security protocols and to protect both of all, I can’t divulge all the evidence I can only say that it brings it under S.H.I.E.L.D. jurisdiction.” 

His thumb slid across the screen and revealed another picture. One of the women with a welt across her neck and sloppily down make-up on her face. You blanched and he looked down. He cleared his throat and blackened the screen.

“Sorry,” he put his phone back in his pocket. “You shouldn’t… Look, I know it’s a lot to digest but it’s better you know.”

“But why are you here? I don’t understand… why did he have my picture?”

“From what we can tell, who it is has been following you. These killings seem to be steps on his path to you. He didn’t have anything about the other women. No photos, no writings--”

“Writings?” You gasped.

“Take a breath. Be calm.” He said. “I’m here now. To protect you.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Well, I guess that’s the real bad news.” He said. “I’m gonna be your shadow. Now, since we nearly got this guy and have all his stuff, we know he’s scrambling right now. He’s hiding, waiting to come back to you but we know he’s not dumb enough to do it yet. Which is why I am here at this very moment. When he does return, when he’s watching you, I’ll be watching him.”

“You can’t-- You can’t move me?”

“Scaring him away won’t do anything. You’re safer if we can catch this guy. We can’t let him know that anything’s changed.” Bucky said. 

“So… I’m bait?”

“You’re safe.” He insisted. “You’ll have my number, you can call me anytime. And I won’t be far. Not really. And I don’t work alone. You’ll be protected.”

“Why are you telling me then if you’re just going to let him keep following me?”

“Well, we waited until it was crucial to let you know,” he said, “And given his desperate circumstance, we think you should now.”

“Do you know how long--”

“Months, years, we’re still combing through the evidence. We only know he won’t stop.” He shifted on the couch. “And I’m telling you because there’s a few things I need from you.”

“Like what?” You scoffed.

“A key to this place. Just in case. And we’ll need to keep a close eye on you. That means, you’ll have to wear a bug and we’ll be tracking your location.”

“What?” You shook your head. “That’s… a lot.”

“We need to know if anything happens immediately and we need to be able to get to you. If you do this, it will help us get him sooner and hopefully, that means that you won’t have to do it for long.”

“I’ll have to have the key made,” you said quietly.

“I can take care of that,” he stood and you watched him cross the room. 

He went to the coat rack and reached into your jacket pocket. He took your keys and set his phone on the small round table just beside the shoes. He placed one key on his screen and it made a chirping noise, he turned it over before doing the second key. He dropped them back into your pocket and grabbed his phone.

“This,” he stirred around in his own jacket, “Has a mic and tracker.” He held up the golden chain with the small pink rose ornament. “Wear this and that’s it. That’s all we need. If you take it off, hang it somewhere it won’t be obstructed.”

“Okay,” you got up slowly and took the necklace from him, “Um, thank you, I guess.”

“Look, I know it’s all a bit fucked up but it’s to keep you safe.” He said. “And you are safe, okay? I’ve dealt with much worse than this creep.”

👁️

There was rarely a morning when you were eager to be awake but that morning came crashing down on you with a sense of doom. You rolled over and opened your eyes. The golden necklace hung from your bedside lamp, dangling, calling to you, reminding you of the man who had stalked you back to your apartment. And the other man who loomed in the shadows. A stranger who apparently knew you well.

You sat up and clipped the necklace around your neck so you wouldn’t forget. Was it Bucky listening to you? Was he even listening so early? You stood and ambled across the room with a yawn. Today, the rain left a sheet of frost on the window. Was it winter so soon?

You drank your coffee without tasting it and chewed on a piece of buttered toast. Your phone buzzed. Private number was all it said but you knew who it was.

‘What time do you leave?’ Bucky asked. You typed in the number and nothing more. He already knew which train you took.

You dressed as you did every day. You pulled the necklace over the collar of your shirt and sighed. You felt awkward as if you were living in a simulation; a facsimile of your meek existence.

Ready to face the day and the unknown, you set out as you flicked away another message; ‘You have a break? What time?’ You’d answer him after you got to work. You couldn’t be staring at your phone knowing that someone was undoubtedly watching you.

You stood on the train, too antsy to sit. You waited by the door, ready to bolt off at the slightest sign of trouble. You played with the rose charm without thinking. Your phone buzzed and you quickly drew your fingers away.

Another message from your private caller. 'There's disturbance on the mic. Stop touching.' You almost laughed. It was comical. You'd be an awful spy but you weren't anything close. You were prey.

What would have happened if those pictures had not been discovered? You hated to even think of it. So you pushed away the thought and got off the train.

The streets felt darker even as the grey sky paled. Pedestrians were villains, each one sinister and plotting. When you got to work, you were out of breath as you had nearly broken into a sprint.

You sat and clocked in. You took out your phone and responded to the texts but got nothing back. You hung your jacket on the rack in the corner and went about your usual routine but nothing felt usual. The incessant ringing of the phone and the chatter of the office added to the chaos of your mind. You tried to distract yourself with your work but found yourself fidgety and anxious. Every unfamiliar face that walked through the doors was a potential suspect.

When you took your lunch, you stayed in the office. The break room was empty as you sat and your phone vibed in your blazer pocket. You answered the private number and unwrapped your granola bar.

“You on lunch?” Bucky asked, you confirmed with a mumble. “Are you okay?”

“Am I? What’s going on? Anything?” You stilled the crinkling of the wrapper, suddenly sick to your stomach.

“It’s not going to be that easy or fast. Right now, he’s waiting for us to look away but he could also be in a panic which means he could do something impulsive.” Bucky explained.

“Impulsive? What does that mean?”

“Look, you don’t need to be afraid. I got this. This is nothing compared to what I usually--”

“Nothing?! Well maybe you’re used to this but I’m just a secretary, okay? I don’t know what I’m doing or what to do!” Your voice was shrill as you crushed the granola bar in your hand.

“Take a breath,” he said firmly. “Calm down and proceed as usual. I’m here. I’m watching.”

You sniffed and struggled not to hyperventilate. When you finally got your breathing under control you nodded into the phone and murmured a pathetic ‘okay’.

“Hey, you don’t need to be afraid, okay? Not with me around. So far you’ve been lucky. We figured it out before he got to you and now we’re way ahead of him and he doesn’t even know it.” Bucky coaxed.

“Yeah, I guess,” you deflated and stood from the table; restless. 

You went to the kettle and flicked it on. Shaena was always offering you peppermint tea; you’d take her up on that. Maybe it would help calm you down.

“How about tonight I’ll come buy with a pizza and we can go over protocol?” He offered. “And it’ll be good for you not to be alone.”

“Pizza?” You frowned.

“Well, you know, I’m sitting on surveillance all day, I don’t exactly get to relax,” he explained. “...you can say no but it’d be my treat.”

“I’m sorry I’m panicking. I’m just… scared. I didn’t sleep-- I--” You choked on your voice. “You don’t mind?”

“Do you?” He returned.

You sighed and opened the cupboard to grab a mug. You tapped your fingers on the countertop.

“This must be really boring for you,” you said. “You don’t have to--”

“If I’m being honest with you, it’s supposed to be freezing tonight and I don’t exactly get to hang around in a five star suite. You’d be doing me a favour and have the extra security of some goon with a metal arm.” He chuckled.

“Alright,” you threw your hand up. “But I don’t like pepperoni.”

“Damn…” he uttered, “Well, I guess we all have to make sacrifices.”

👁️

You were slightly less frantic when you left work. Bucky texted you to assure you he was there… somewhere. You took your usual route. He explained it was best not to change your routine. You didn’t want to tip off the creep.

The train ride was slow and jittery. The frigid air of the looming New York winter crept in between the door and you shivered as you got off at your stop. Your heels clicked around you as you gripped your bag and the phone in your pocket. You struggled not to look around and try to search out your stalker.

You unlocked your door and dropped your bag beside the shoe rack. You kicked off your heels and rubbed your legs together to warm up. You hung your jacket and took your phone out as you began to pace your apartment. 

How close was Bucky? How close was the killer?

You kept checking your messages and then slammed your phone on the coffee table. Stop! You were driving yourself crazy. You made yourself sit and flipped on the television. You put on an old sitcom and tried to settle in. You squirmed on the couch and found it difficult to follow the episode.

Your phone lit up suddenly and made you flinch. The sky was already dark through the window as your ringer blared over the television. You reached for your cell; Private Number. You answered clumsily and pressed it to your ear.

“Hello?” You rasped.

Silence. You blinked and repeated your greeting. Still, the line was quiet. You shook your head and hung up. Before you could toss your phone, it shook again and cried out a melody. You answered again.

This time heavy breathing greeted you. It got louder as you listened and a trickle of ice rolled over your spine. You ended the call and stared at your phone. A third call. You slowly hit the green icon and then turned the phone to speaker.

“Don’t you ever hang up on me.” A man snarled in a crackly voice, “Ever.”

“Who… who is this?”

“Shhh, baby girl, I won’t hurt you. I just want to make sure you’re safe.” He said, “That’s all I want.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” You gulped.

Another silence. This one long and exaggerated, pierced only by a metallic whisper. “...You,” he purred darkly, “I want you, baby girl. I want your blood, I want your screams.” You shook as you dropped the phone, his voice muffled but his words clear, “I want that precious little cunt.”

You sobbed and bent to grab the phone again. Your thumb hovered over the red button.

“Baby girl, I told you about hanging up on me. I hope that’s not what you’re thinking of now.”

You said nothing as your eyes burned with frightened tears and you looked down at your necklace. Could Bucky hear? Where was he?

“Soon, I promise, we can be together,” the stranger cooed, “You and me. All alone.” He took a deep breath, “All mine.”

“Please, leave me--”

The line clicked and went dead. You stared at your phone and jumped at the sudden knock on the door. Your fingers curled around your cell and you stood. You crossed to the door. You peeked through the peephole. Bucky stood with a pizza box. You opened the door sharply.

“Where were you?” You snapped.

“What?”

“He just called!” You nearly shouted.

“Keep it down,” he warned as he stepped inside and you retreated. He closed the door and locked it. “He called?”

He went to the kitchen and set the pizza down. “Just now?”

“I thought you were listening? I had him on speaker.”

“I… I’ll have to play it back. I was on my way, I didn’t--”

“You-- you-- The things he said,” you croaked, “You can’t imagine and, and… how did he get my number? You said he would be hiding!”

“Well, these things aren’t exactly cookie cutter--”

“What if he’s watching me right now? Looking in through my window and--” Your voice was shrill as you rung your hands and brushed by Bucky. He followed you to the window as you twisted the blinds shut. “He’s going to kill me like he did all those girls. He’s going to--”

“Come on,” Bucky grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the window, “Just breathe.” He turned you to him and placed his hands on your arms. He rubbed them through your blouse. “In, out…” He began to guide you, “On my count; one, in, two, out…” 

Your eyes rounded and you struggled to calm yourself. You were shaking but managed to measure your breaths in time with his voice. 

“That’s it,” his hands framed your face as he leaned in to look you in the face, “I’m here now and if you need me to, I’ll stay all night.”

You nodded dumbly and grabbed his forearms. His metal thumb stroked your cheek and you slowly pulled his hands away.

“Bucky…” You whispered as he slowly dropped his hands. “Thank you.”

[dennou-translations]

Violet Evergarden Ever After: Chapter 3

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No one would imagine that a single drop could be the start of something so big. However, it would earn itself great meaning after a while passed. Should it continue pouring, it could also summon boundless blessings and curses.

Love was almost like rain.

   The Journey and the Auto-Memories Doll

   That one was a rain of betrayal.

It started with a calm morning, the sky unfolding without any hints of being enshrouded in dark clouds. Regardless, it did not take too long for the capricious rain brought by the heavens to turn into a downpour rarely seen in recent years.

There was no longer any sign of the rain that had started to fall like gentle kisses from paradise on the black hats of gentlemen walking around town, over the backs of cats dozing under the sun or onto the cheeks of children who opened their mouths and burst into laughter. The current season was the end of summer, and it was raining for the first in a long while in Leidenschaftlich, where the skies were constantly clear in summer, but had the god that controlled weather gone crazy? With time, as if a bucket had turned over, the city was hit by a flood.

This story is about an uneventful day, which did nothing but pass, in the lives of people who worked at a certain postal company.

   The rain and wind struck the entire building as if attacking it. The doorbell rang loudly because of this, a man standing in place and staring at it with unease.

Creak-creak, the door moved. Ring-ring, the bell resounded. Since it was ringing despite there being no customers, he had become concerned and found himself coming down from his residence in the top floor.

In the previous year, the building had been shot with rocket artillery, and not only had it earned an enormous hole but a fire had also occurred – however, thanks to the quick skills of workmen, the hole was now closed and the walls had been neatly rebuilt.

The man was a stylish redhead. He was the president of this company, which he had named after himself.

Claudia Hodgins had been left all alone in the empty postal office. Still, it was normal for him to be there, as it was both his home and workplace. However, since he was by himself at a time that would usually still be within business hours, no matter what, he looked like he had been abandoned.

The postal office had been in great turmoil because of the storm. Surely, so had its peers. With the deliveries stagnated, complaints were coming from the clients. Nevertheless, the transportation was not carried out by machines devoid of feelings. It was something done by humans, who had been given birth to by someone and who had families waiting for them when they returned home. In lieu of the unpreceded disaster, as the president, he had notified all employees that business would be closed for today.

To begin with, the customers had stopped coming in the middle of the day. If he had to say so himself, this might be the expected. Deliberately going outside amidst such strong wind and torrential rain was an act of sheer madness.

Curious about what was going on outside, Hodgins had approached the entrance from the side. He felt like attempting to open the large doors just a little. He wanted to see how inundated the ground was. Just when he slow and carefully reached a hand towards it, the door opened with force despite him not doing anything.

“Ow...!”

“Oh, my bad. More importantly, we’re screwed; it’s just impossible, Old Man!”

Hodgins was teary-eyed as his precious nose took a hit. He was lightheaded for an instant due to the pain, but soon regained consciousness. After all, one of his employees had come back dripping-wet. Hodgins pulled him – whole body wrapped in rain gear – by the arm, bringing him inside and closing the door. Although it was only open for a few seconds, the entrance was already drenched.

The visitor took off the hood over his head, allowing his face to be seen. He was a splendidly handsome and fine man of sky-blue eyes and sandy-blond hair.

“Benedict...!”

Benedict Blue. One of the postal company’s postmen, who had been working in it ever since its founding.

“It’s impossible – actually, it’s absurd! Working under this rain is absurd! I look like I’m in the bath already. I wouldn’t have come here if I weren’t soaked... Making the staff pull out was the right choice,” Benedict said as if angry-yelling, shaking his head in the same way that a dog or cat would and splattering water splashes at Hodgins.

This wetted most of Hodgins’s shirt and face, but he was unable to reprimand his employee, who had been doing strenuous effort. He accepted it in resignation, wiping Benedict’s face with the sleeve of his shirt. “Okay, stay put.”

“Uoh, what’s with you? Stop.”

“Welcome home. I was worried. Good thing you’re all right.”

“O-Oh. What, hum... I’m back... You were worried about me?”

“Of course,” Hodgins said, to which Benedict turned away with an obviously embarrassed attitude after a moment of bewilderment.

Outside, vases and planters that may have been at the eaves of people’s houses, as well as shop signs, had been turning into weapons for a while now, dancing around the city along with the wind. Managing to come back unharmed and safely amidst this weather, where one could not know what would come flying their way, was something to be happy about.

“I’m just fine. This job’s easier than running around shooting guns. Anyway, I was left with the letters and packages of a guy who fell from his motorcycle and came back by myself. Was best to do that, right?”

“Aah, so someone got hurt?”

“That newbie, Clark. But he only scrapped his knees. He fell lots of times when he was learning how to ride, but for real, it’s surprisingly depressing when you fall off other than during practice. He was crying, y’see.”

“Aah~.”

Knowing who the person in question was, Hodgins pitied him. He was the youngest postman to join the company as of late. It was difficult to find human resources for postmen as they were quick to quit.

“He’s young, after all...”

“You call him young but... he’s already a grown man. I wonder if he ain’t lying to us about his age... I thought he was a baby or something.”

“You can’t compare him to a city boy fresh from the battlefield like yourself. I’m gonna get you a towel and a change of clothes now, so don’t move from there.”

“Why?”

“You’d wet the floor. Don’t tell me to go around cleaning up where you walked.”

“Clean it up,” he said while laughing, to which Hodgins’s shoulders slumped. He was a reliable companion, but also a young man who knew not how to show respect for his elders.

——Well, guess I’m a so-called doting parent for thinking that’s cute – no, doting boss.

Anyhow, they needed towels, Hodgins thought as he went back to his room. He grabbed a few large towels and held a pair of trousers and shirt that Benedict would apparently fit into under his arm. Then returned to the ground floor. By the time he did so, the number of people had increased.

“Uwah... Amazing, it’s like squeezing a rag.”

There were three more other than Benedict. If they were to be separated by types, one of them had evacuated after receiving a report of work, one had evacuated after finishing work, and one had been ordered to clock out, but all had come back halfway through, as their bodies were about to be blown off by the overwhelming storm.

“Please stop.” There was Violet Evergarden, whose golden hair was in Benedict’s grasp.

“Why? You said your hair was wet.”

“You just want to touch Violet’s hair, Benedict. Isn’t that right?” Lux Sibyl, who had given up on wiping her glasses and was glaring at the empty space.

“That’s not it. Don’t say weird stuff, Lux.”

“You knooow, my hair’s just as long as Violet’s.” And Cattleya Baudelaire, who scowled at Benedict with her arms crossed.

The members who had been there ever since the founding were Violet, Cattleya and Benedict, but Lux, having joined midway, was now a skillful secretary who covered up the schedule of the employees and president and moved them around like chess pieces. As the four people whose ages were close to each other’s came together, the conversation naturally livened up.

“You—You’re that kinda thing. If I touch you in a place like this, it’d be that kinda thing. This is our workplace, so there’s all that kinda thing. Morally speaking, it’s that kinda thing.”

“What do you mean ‘morally speaking’?!”

“I wish you wouldn’t say those things even if you think about them. Right, Violet?”

“‘Public morals’...? Benedict, what am I from your point of view?”

“V, you’re like a little sister to me... Aah, Old Man, gimme another towel.”

It was a terribly joyful thing that the company’s young aces had returned to it safe and sound.

“Everyone, don’t move from that spot no matter what. Hey, Cattleya! Don’t move!”

However, wiping all the water off the bodies of those four turned out to be a bone-breaking work.

   Out of kindness, Hodgins invited the four people who had gathered up at the postal company to his residence in the top floor.

The whole floor was his apartment, thus it was quite large. A family of five could live comfortably in it. The furnishings were arranged in wooden items and serene shades of dark brown and green. It was a relaxed, adult atmosphere, where was nothing particularly funny. It had a faint scent of the perfume that Hodgins always wore.

The invited four let out sighs of relief. The biggest reason for it, although there was also the fact that this was Hodgins’s apartment, was that they were able to escape the horrible situation outdoors. With the exception of Lux, three of them were tough enough to take part in the act of physically crushing other postal companies, but human beings could not win against natural disasters.

“Hey, what do we do? We can’t go home anymore, can we?”

“There’s nothing we can do. We got no choice but stay in Old Man’s place.”

“First time something like this happens, huh. But we’re all together, so... might be imprudent of me to say this, but... it’s a bit fun. Violet, are you worried about your home?”

“Yes, about the flowerbeds.”

“You should say ‘about the people back home’, V.”

“The two went on a trip, so they are away. I promised that I would take care of the flowers in their absence, which is why... I am worried about the flowerbeds. Besides, if that house were to be destroyed by this storm, this place would meet its end much sooner... We have little time left to live.”

“Don’t go from talking about your family to destroying the company, Little Violet. Hey, hey, everyone, you’ll catch a cold so get changed first. Put the towels in the laundry basket. Benedict, don’t throw the towels wherever!”

As told by Hodgins, the employees firstly decided to change their clothes.

Violet and Cattleya had just returned from a work trip of two days and one night, thus they had a change of nightclothes in their bags, but Benedict and Lux did not. Although there was a height difference between them, Hodgins had no issues with lending clothes to Benedict, who was also a man, but there was a need for careful selection when it came to Lux.

“Shirt... shirt, shirt; all I have is shirts.”

“Hum, President, I’m fine with anything.”

“Eeh... that okay?”

As a result, the boy and girl came into the scene wearing baggy clothes. Benedict looked almost the same as when he and Hodgins first met. When he was left to chance completely naked in a desert, he had borrowed a shirt and trousers just as he was doing now. He seemed pleased with it, however...

“Feels kinda naughty...”

...the problem was Lux.

“Benedict’s fine, but maybe it won’t do for Little Lux? Is this okay?” Hodgins asked everyone with a meek face.

They all had at last settled down, each seated in a place of their preference while sipping tea. The employees were relaxing as if they were in their own homes. Contrary to the peaceful state of the situation inside, there was still a sound of rain hitting the windows and a troubled noise of something colliding against the building outside.

“What is ‘okay’ supposed to mean?” Sitting on the sofa, Violet tilted her head. Being comfortably dressed in a dusty-pink nightwear gave her usually disciplined self a slightly soft and gentle air.

“Little Violet.”

“Yes.”

“Your nightgown is cute, huh.”

“The people from the household bought it for me. Well, what is ‘okay’ supposed to mean? Was there any problem?”

“Little Lux’s clothes.”

For whatever reason, they had the person in question standing in the center of the room. With everyone’s eyes on her, she seemed uneasy.

“Hum... why do I have to stand in the middle?”

“Little Lux, stay like that and don’t move.”

“All right.”

“What is wrong with Lux’s look? You mean to say it lacks adornment?”

“Why would that be the case, Little Violet?”

“You are the one who chooses attires for us Dolls and you have particularities regarding the clothing and accessories, so I concluded that you might deem the plain shirt as not enough.”

“No, no.” Hodgins flailed both hands. The things he was saying had a moral value to them, out of fear that her outfit was perhaps vulgar.

Benedict had dealt with it by securing her trousers with a belt, but as Lux had too thin a waist, the outcome was the belt falling off. In short, she was not wearing pants. Inevitably, she was dressed in nothing but a shirt. However, her short stature fortunately made it look like a shirt-dress.

As Hodgins explained his concern, everyone said, “I see.”

Showered with their stares more and more, Lux began to blush.

“It gives off a dangerous feeling when you think she ain’t wearing any, but on second thought, isn’t that the same for skirts? There’s actually an open hole in them, but it’s not visible, so they’re classified as clothes. No big deal, is it?” Benedict had been standing with his back against the wall just a moment ago, yet had suddenly drawn close to her and started examining her fixatedly.

“Don’t say ‘not wearing any’!”

“Well, I mean, you really ain’t wearing any... but that’s okay. No biggie. You’re probably not an option for Old Man, so no worries. Right?”

“That’s rude!”

“I’m saying you don’t need to worry about that kinda thing... Should I take mine off, then? I see; I’m fine with it. I’ll be the same as you. That all right? I’m gonna take it off.”

“Stop, stop, stop!” As Benedict put a hand to his belt while laughing, Lux repeatedly hit his chest with her fists to stop him. Lux was red up to her ears. “I can’t take this anymore! Violet! Take Benedict to over there!”

“Understood.”

“Owowowow, V, ouch, that’s not it; it was the Old Man who said weird stuff first. We’re friends, so I was showing that she doesn’t have to get hung up over something like...”

Caught in Violet’s arms, Benedict obediently sat on the sofa. Perhaps in order not to allow him to escape, she gripped his hands and sat next to him.

Cattleya cut through the silence, “The tea is delicious.” She was scattered over the bed. She must have been tired from returning from the Doll business trip. Her eyes were downcast. She might be sleepy.

“Cattleya, do you not have any comments to make? I want to hear lots of opinions.”

“Eeeh, me?” Cattleya joined the needless debate as if it were a bother. “Hmmm... if someone were making her wear this because it’s their taste, it’d be gross indeed, but there’s no other clothes for her... It’d also be horrible to leave her with just a towel wrap, so I think it’s valid. Speaking of which, President...”

“Hm?”

“You’re saying that even though you pick open-chested clothes for my Doll outfits? And the times you were choosing Doll attires for me, y’knooow, you were never so considerate to say ‘not this, not this either’ when discussing it with the people from the made-to-order store...”

Her manner of speech was somewhat thorny, but Hodgins did not make much out of it. “That’s because they look good on you.” Rather, he said decisively, with an earnest gaze and excessive confidence, “Because they look good on you. Is my judgement wrong?”

“E-Eh?” Being replied to so unapologetically, Cattleya’s reasoning jumbled up, to the point she found herself wondering if she was the one in the wrong.

The Doll outfit that Cattleya usually wore was composed mainly of a crimson dress-coat, so there was no mistaking that one could not wear it unless the person was remarkably stylish. In addition, there was also no doubt that it was lascivious. Whoever looked at her would find their line of sight momentarily going to her chest. Still, whoever looked at her would remember the woman named Cattleya Baudelaire at once.

“No... it’s not like your choices are wrong... but I only forgive you because you’re the boss. I was shocked when you first showed me that outfit! I didn’t use to wear something like that before.”

“Well, but y’see, an hourglass-shaped person looks more slender when the area around their collarbone is exposed, and it’s pretty.”

An evident question mark floated above Violet’s head at the unfamiliar word. Benedict pointed a finger at the tea set arranged on the nearby table. An hourglass used to measure the time it took to steam the tealeaves was lying there. Perhaps finding the similarity between it and a plump chest and dainty hips, Violet nodded as if convinced.

“You’ve got an hourglass-shaped figure with that slim waist, so I gave you a coat-dress that puts this on display. You can adjust it with the ribbon, so it’s not a pain, right? It has a wonderful line in mathematical terms, y’know? Plus, you also have a cheerful character, so it doesn’t look vulgar. That’s important. It means that outfit takes into consideration even the personality of the one wearing it. And the owner of that made-to-order store is famous not just in this country but abroad. The outfits of our Dolls are on a whole different level in comparison to other companies, aren’t they?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“I don’t want to bring this up, but they’re very expensive.”

“Eh, I’m sorry. S-Should I pay you back? Either that or you can dock my salary...”

“No, you’re my Doll, after all. Nobody waters a flower to get money off it, right? It’s fine, Cattleya. Just stay pretty. It’s exactly because I have obsessions over clothes that I don’t want to make a girl look vulgar. And it’s exactly because I like girls that I want to have them shine wonderfully. That’s also why I have a few complaints about Little Lux’s usual plain clothes, though...”

“I don’t know why you decided to run a mail service, President, but I accept that passion of yours. I’ll wear those clothes with care. But, President, I’m doing my best, so I want a new outfit. A cute one.”

Listening to the conversation of the two in silence, perhaps tired of going along with her superior, Lux looked at Violet and Benedict’s direction with a gaze that quietly asked for help. There was a gap on the sofa that seemed enough for one person to sit. Having locked eyes with her, Violet told Benedict to scoot over after a brief moment and patted the open spot. Lux sat next to them, looking happy.

“Violet, what’re you drinking?” Lux peeked at the teacup that Violet was holding.

“I wonder. I took the tealeaves that were in the kitchen. I do not know what type of tea it is.”

“Darjeeling.”

“Benedict, how did you know?”

“‘Cause that guy likes Darjeeling. All the tea cans he has are nothing but that.”

“Guess I’m gonna drink that too; my body got cold from the long time under the rain.”

“Heeey, the three of you who ended the talk before we noticed! Listen to what I have to say.” Hodgins put his hands on his hips, pretending to be angry.

“We were deviating from the main subject. We deemed that it was not a necessary conversation and took action prioritizing Lux’s rest,” Violet expressed with a clear voice tone.

“Besides, this talk’s about bedroom wear, ain’t it?” Benedict added a two-fold retort. The blond, blue-eyed duo that looked like siblings stared at Hodgins with questioning eyes.

“Ugh, I comply with you two no matter what you say when you both look at me at the same time, so cut it out. But I’m not giving up. I think she needs one more article of clothing.”

“Hum... President, I’m okay with this. I’m already thankful that I could borrow your clothes. Besides, when you make such a big fuss about it, things that weren’t lewd in the first place start to seem lewd, so to say,” Lux said, wanting to end this topic as fast as possible.

“The solution has come to me. Wouldn’t it be best if I took the shirt and trousers and had Lux wear this nightgown?”

However, Violet wound up rewinding it.

——Violet!

Lux hit Violet repeatedly in her mind.

“Ah~, that’s right. If that’s the case, I can do it too. But maybe my nightgown is too big? It’s a negligee just like Violet’s. The shoulder length might be the problem for this one...”

“Old Man, you gonna die if you don’t obsess over the stuff we wear? You ain’t. Give up.”

“No way. Days like this one don’t come by. All five of us are trapped in the company and we can’t get out. You’ve got no choice but stay here in my house, right? We’re having the best of parties, a pajama party. I want it to be a good one. But I can’t enjoy it when I’m worrying over Little Lux’s clothes.”

Benedict contemplated a reply to Hodgins’s words for a few seconds, but soon stopped. He was probably tired. He looked Violet’s way and asked, “Hey, you not hungry? I’m gonna take a look at the kitchen.

“Hey, don’t ignore me.” As Benedict stood up, Hodgins chased after him.

“Benedict’s gonna make something? Yay! You guys probably don’t know this, but he’s good at cooking.” Cattleya lined up behind them.

“I didn’t say I was gonna make anything, though... Well, if you’re hungry, I can do it.”

“I shall assist you.” Violet raised her arms, rolling up her sleeves. Her prosthetics made a creaking noise.

“V, you can cook?”

“To some extent. In the military, I used to make preparations for the cooking. Mrs. Evergarden... Lady Tiffany also trained me on it.

“M-Me too... I can peel the potatoes, and stuff.” Lux hastily went after everyone. In a trail, a big move to the kitchen began to take place.

“Lux. You don’t usually cook, do you? I can already tell by just that statement. I’ll teach you.”

“Most things get solved just by peeling the potatoes... Benedict, you’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“Am not, Potato Demigod.”

“Violet, Benedict insulted me!”

“Benedict.”

“Owowow! V—! Don’t poke my sides! A hit from those crazy-ass prosthetics of yours ain’t no cutesy way to poke anyone! It just hurts like it normally would!”

In the end, Hodgins was able to find a light feather-print sweater in his closet and gave it to Lux. As she put it on, with her short stature, its length became the same as that of a long cardigan, which Hodgins was awfully pleased with for how adorable it was.

   The madder-red sky was not visible at dusk, the outside morphing into evening with no changes in the rainy weather.

Benedict made a soup at random with the vegetables available in Hodgins’s kitchen, which had seasonings in abundance, while Violet and Cattleya supplied it with cookies that they had brought back as souvenirs from their ghostwriting business trip. Lux brought over small candy marbles that she kept stored in her desk at the company, and Benedict, instructed by Hodgins, reluctantly took an expensive bottle hidden on the liquor shelf of the latter’s room.

“Hey, let’s rummage through the desks of everyone in the company. There are probably gonna be other ingredients in them.”

“If it’s Mr. Anthony’s desk, I think there’s definitely something in it. Mr. Anthony always gives me sweets... We’re in a state of emergency so I’m sure he’ll forgive us for it.”

“There were sweets in the reception guys’ desks. Would they get mad if we took them?”

“Definitely seem like they would. But this sweet... is one of the tasty ones... I wanna eat it.”

Lux, who was still growing, and Benedict, who had missed lunch and did not have enough with just the vegetable soup, procured more food. The sweets that the hungry thieves sneaked from the company employees’ desks turned out as what could be considered a big catch, and so, the five people trapped inside during a day of usual rain commenced a night party.

The five of different ages, genders and positions were already at a state where they could be deemed as a single family through the many incidents they had overcome and the time they had spent together. They laughed a lot, talked a lot.

“You remember when Violet brought Lux over? She went to negotiate it directly with Old Man with so much might, like, ‘I have picked up a puppy. Please give me permission to raise it here. Now, hurry’. They were holding hands and she wouldn’t let go of Lux, explaining the situation all at length as if to say she wasn’t gonna move until he gave the permission. The way Old Man acted so suspicious back then was a real blast.”

“I remember~! He was like, ‘Eh, “demigod”? Eh, “abduction and confinement”? Have you told the military police about that?’... President was so troubled, walking in circles around the two. It was the funniest thing of that year.”

“Hum... I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologize, Little Lux. You’re our main player now, so you did what you could to get where you are. You really exerted yourself in this unfamiliar land. Work for us forever, ‘kay? Rather, for me. Little Violet does some unbelievable stuff sometimes, but she generally doesn’t do anything wrong, so back then, her first-time deed shook up even someone like me, with plenty of life experience. Saying no didn’t even cross my mind.”

“I knew that President Hodgins would give you a generous treatment. If I had not concluded so, I would not have done such a thing. Thank you very much for that time, President.”

“Little Violet... Little Violet’s all grown up too, huh; you’ve become a wonderful lady...”

“Well, she’s got you as her example of guardian figure, after all.”

“I was raised by both Benedict and President Hodgins. You are my examples.”

“Eh, so I’m Old Man’s son...? Gimme the whole company.”

“No way! Actually, you’re taking a part of the company in the future, so that much should be fine, right?”

“You were serious about that? If you split the company...”

“Yeah, I’ll be the vice-president. V, call me Vice-President Benedict.”

“Benedict will be... the vice-president?”

“Violet, you haven’t been to the company too often because of work, right? I’ll stay as President Hodgins’s secretary, but some of the employees will go to Benedict’s side. That’s gonna be pretty lonely... Still, the company will be built inside the country, so it’ll be close in terms of distance. But it won’t be the same building anymore.”

“Other people... will also be gone.”

“Did I tell you that my role’s gonna change too?”

“I have not heard about that.”

“I’ll be transferred to training the newcomers. Violet, you’ll stay as you are. Well, between you and me, if we were to debate on which one should be the instructor, it’d have to be me. I’m good at looking after others.”

“Cattleya will be... an instructor...”

“I’ll be here like always. The Doll department that Little Violet and the others are in will stay in the main office and you’re largely in charge of the numbers in our Doll department, so your role won’t change.”

“Sounds like I don’t make money when you put it like that.”

“No, it’s not like that... I’ve been keeping the right people in the right places since long ago, right? I asked you to do this because I thought you could be everyone’s big sis. Besides, wasn’t it you, Cattleya, who immediately replied that you’d to it when I said your pay would increase if you became an instructor?”

“Well, that’s because I don’t know how long I could keep on being a Doll. It’s a job you can do even when you get older, but walking up mountains has been hard lately. Probably because of my high heels.”

They truly laughed a lot and talked a lot.

In their feel-at-home looks, they played card games, discussed memories of their trips and laughed holding their stomachs at silly stories. The night went on and on and the heavy rain outside gradually subsided, but no one said, “Let’s go home, then”. Days like these were a rarity. They all knew this much.

“I’m having lots of fun today. It’d be great if it were always like this.” The words that Cattleya muttered with a big smile spoke for everyone’s feelings.

Whenever a fun feast reached its climax, the loneliness towards the fact that it was going to end would cross the corners of people’s heads. That applied not only to this day that God had granted them but also to matters in the long run.

Perhaps the company named CH Postal Company itself could also be considered a feast to the people gathered in it. “May this dream, this fun time go on forever,” they wished.

The dream had begun with Claudia Hodgins. He then picked up Cattleya Baudelaire, Benedict Blue and Violet Evergarden.

“Make sure to just lick it. So, how’s that?”

They had built the company office building in Leidenschaftlich and started it together. As the postal business was a privatized one and the competitors were many, nobody could predict at first for how long this company would continue to exist.

“This stings.”

A local customer then came, earning them a large-scale contract in the delivery business.

“Eh~, you okay, Violet? You’re better off as someone who can’t drink...”

Their Auto-Memories Doll activities began to stand out.

“But everyone is changing.”

“Doesn’t that have nothing to do with drinking alcohol? I drink ‘cause I like it. If you don’t, then stop.”

“That’s right, Violet.”

“No... Major has a taste for drinking during meals, so I had been thinking of learning to do it one day as well. You are all changing one after another whenever I blink. I have started eating with other people quite often at work as well. I, too, shall adapt...”

Along the way, a girl who would later become a brilliant secretary joined them.

“I see... Then I want to try drinking too. I’m a secretary, after all. I have to eat out with other people. What kind of taste is it, if you had to compare?”

Despite the major changes in the personal life of each, all of them had contributed to the development of the company, to the point that they spent every single day being busy.

“Close to that of a perfume. In that it is hard to swallow.”

There would surely be many, many more changes.

“Hey, I can’t approve that opinion. Big Sis here will introduce you to delicious drinks. Rather than being taught by a man, you should learn from me. Lux, you can’t yet.”

Surely, their fates would twist further.

“Eh~?!”

“Benedict, bring another one. And something to crack it open with.”

For people to gather up, an encounter had to have happened. That was what it meant.

“Aight, aight...” Benedict stood up from the sofa. He had been dragged into Cattleya’s scheme, in which she had planned the conspiracy of attempting to make Violet Evergarden consume alcohol, because he himself had complied with it.

“O-Owah. Old Man. You were here?”

“‘Were here,’ you ask... this is my house.”

As they came across each other in the kitchen, Benedict had let out a brash voice without thinking. The reason might be that he perhaps was seen grinning as he walked in. Despite his nihilistic attitude, he was happy to spend time with his friends.

“I-I know. I was thinking you were taking too long in the toilet...”

“Cigar.”

With the kitchen’s small window open, Hodgins was smoking a cigar. All of the women despised the smell, so he rarely ever let them see him smoking. Just when Benedict was thinking about how he had suddenly stood up and disappeared, there he was, smoking in secret.

——He only smokes when he can’t calm down, though.

There was no better day to relax with their companions, and yet.

“Hey, take a look outside. It’s so quiet after the storm... like the wind. Even though it was so loud before.” Perhaps due to him being a little drunk, Hodgins’s face was red.

“True... Hey, need more booze. Ain’t there anything easier to drink?”

“Eh, why? You can’t give it to Little Lux.”

“Cattleya wants to make V drink some. Well, ain’t it okay? I think it’s about time she learns the ropes. Dunno when we’ll get to drink with her again... and it’s better to have people you get along with teaching you this kinda thing, right?”

“Eeh... it’s still too soon. If you insist, isn’t it enough to drip a drop of rum into her tea?”

“Can you even call that a drink? Make it a degree higher.”

Hodgins gave a strained smile. “Hey, hey, her big brother figure shouldn’t be saying this...”

“I say it because I’m her big brother figure. I mean, we’re getting more rookies. She’s the highlight of our Doll department. Eating with people is part of having a big job. Before she gets involved with someone who wants to make her drink...”

“Does this have anything to do with me telling you to be the branch manager?”

Hearing a slightly icy voice coming from the president, Benedict blinked. “No... sorta.”

“She’s still a child, and I’ll definitely always be with her in those kinds of places, so it’s okay. It’s still early to teach her how to drink. Nope, nope.”

“A ‘child’, you say... well, she’s got a childish side, but she ain’t one anymore.”

“She is – you, Cattleya and Little Lux, too, are all kids to me. Because you’re quick to do this kind of thing if I don’t keep an eye on you... My, my,” Hodgins said, blowing out the tobacco smoke. Mismatched as it was for someone with such a mature appearance, Benedict could get a glimpse of childishness in him.

“You’ll keep trying to do that from now on too? That’s impossible; face the reality,” Benedict bit out incidentally.

Silence.

Benedict’s words were not wrong. The CH Postal Company was growing rapidly as a business. The fact that the postal company led by Salvatore Rinaudo had withdrawn from the postal industry in the previous year had a major influence in this. They now reigned at a pivotal position in Leidenschaftlich’s postal service. The CH Postal Company would soon account for nearly all of the commissions from the people living in Leidenschaftlich. Other than being busy with work affairs, there were even discussions about relocating the head office because of problems with waiting areas and break rooms due to securing new employees.

“Like, you and I are gonna get damn busy. The Auto-Memories Doll department is gonna be the main organ of the head office and my place will be ordinary mail, right? We’ll be teaching people how things go, and I’ll be doing deliveries too. You’re the one with the busiest role. Anything and everything’s gonna be relayed to you. Getting to be close to your employees like until now while doing all that is just...”

It was natural for a company that had become bigger to do a corporative split-off and for one of their employees to manage the branch office. Benedict was still young but had the power to bring people together. The task would not be an impossible one if they put a veteran of the head office in charge of taking over it. They could do this, Hodgins had decided, thus he came up with the proposal.

“The regular meetings and other stuff that I take part in happen in the head office... It’s not like we won’t get to see each other.”

“Everyone will have a different post and position. We won’t get to see each other. Same for you, Old Man.”

“If it’s work, I can adjust it. I’ll do my best to administrate everyone so that the employees can get a time every now and then to relax like this...”

“Old Man, even if you do your best, V’s dating that nasty-ass military officer, so won’t they get married someday? Dunno ‘bout it, but... that’s why it’s impossible to always watch over us in the first place...”

Silence.

“Hey, don’t clam up.”

What was being thrust at Hodgins now was something that he did not want to look straight at, despite thinking about and readying himself for it. That was what he was being told.

“Hodgins – hey, Old Man.”

It was something that Benedict Blue had the right to say, exactly because they had been doing everything together from the start.

“Hey, don’t take it in a weird way. I ain’t saying this to be malicious. You left the Auto-Memories Doll department in the head office ‘cause your wish to watch over V is a big deal, right? I get it. She’s special to you.”

“That’s not it; I—”

“But she won’t be a kid forever. She’s different from back when she started working, with you teaching her everything. She’s someone who’s gonna let go of your hand one day. She ain’t your real daughter or your girlfriend. Then, if you had to say what she is, at the end of the day, she’s your employee. You’ll part ways one day. If you don’t get ready for that now, will you manage to get over it if she marries into that bastard’s family and he makes her leave the company?”

“Will you manage to get over it?” The question ruminated in Hodgins’s heart.

Benedict had shot him where it hurt without mercy. He was a gun expert. His aim was precise and the bleeding made Hodgins want to hold his own chest down.

——Will I recover if I ever have to be separated from Violet Evergarden? Hodgins pondered earnestly over the question. ——I don’t know.

He truly did not know.

Bonds were things that could not easily break off once they had connected, yet reality, time and busyness unpityingly caused the existence of “friends” to grow far apart.

——To the point that I don’t know, I...

Surely, a day like this would not happen five years from now. Their place to return to amidst the rain would be somewhere else.

——It’s not just her, but also you and everyone else.

To begin with, they might not even be working in the company itself anymore until then. More of them would fall for someone, nurture their love and move their places to be in life to their “homes”.

Twenty, thirty years from now, it might be hard for them to even work. Or they would not be alive – there was also that possibility.

The one who was more aware of this than anybody else was Hodgins, the oldest of them all.

——I’m the one who’s farthest apart in age.

That was exactly why he did not know.

“I have no idea.”

He did not want to see it. Did not want to think about it.

“I have too many things that matter to me, so I can’t make a move anymore. Y’know, you... you might aught at this, but... rather than when you’re young, getting hurt becomes scarier when you grow older. You start losing the energy to do your best and heal. It’s tiring. Still...”

Hodgins had thought that the youth in front of him, who referred to him as “Old Man” on a daily basis, was probably going to laugh, yet Benedict was expressionless.

“Still...”

He did nothing but listen. His posture of properly listening at times like these somewhat...

——...looks like Little Violet.

“Still, I know I’m the one who has to get moving the most. I’m getting everyone involved in the things I wanna do. That’s why I do what I have to. I also counted on you, because I trust you. I left it in your care. But... that and my feelings for her and you guys...”

“I get it.”

“...are different things, right? Y’know, you’re... mean. I’m like a foster parent to you, and yet... Even if you understand my loneliness...”

While Hodgins spoke as if bursting out, Benedict put a hand to his mouth as though to stop him. “I get it.”

Time halted completely.

Was he supporting the flustered figure of the one who was like a parent to him?

“My bad.”

Before he had noticed, he was carrying a load of things he must protect. Was he doing this due to realizing that he had left Hodgins to chance, thinking, “That’s because it’s him”?

“My bad. That just now was on me.”

Silence.

“I didn’t have to pick today to say this. Isn’t that right?”

“You think I’m being lame right now, don’t you?”

“Nah, you ain’t all that cool in the first place.”

“That’s a lie; I’m a generally-acknowledged beautiful young man... no, beautiful middle-aged man.”

“You might not be cool, but well, that’s what’s good about you. Right?”

Silence.

“The cool thing about my Claudia Hodgins is his uncool side.”

Since Benedict was speaking as if to comfort a child, Hodgins told him to “shut up”, slightly annoyed, yet burst into laughter nevertheless.

   The rain caused all sorts of things to pour. The way that people were drowned by the drops trickling down from the sky inevitably made them think about something.

As dawn broke, Claudia Hodgins sat up, body heavy from not getting much sleep. When he peeked at his room’s bed, Violet and Cattleya were sleeping wrapped in the same blanket. On the sofa, Benedict was scattered about, snoring in a way that made him want to laugh.

Hodgins looked for where Lux Sibyl might be. He went down from the third to the second floor, and then from the second to the first floor. She was nowhere to be found.

While thinking it could not be possible, Hodgins opened the front door, and sure enough, he could see the figure of a girl walking down the street towards him.

The clothes she had put to dry yesterday were surely half-wet. What was it that she wanted to do outside so badly to the point of going this far? He understood when he saw what she had in her arms.

“Ah, President.”

Lux was holding a paper bag with a lot of bread in it. The amount was enough that the small girl’s face could not be seen.

“Little Lux... could it be you went to buy us breakfast?”

Thinking back, this young woman was the kind of person who was always quick to act when she was trying to do something for someone. That was all it took to be a considerate person, but without kindness in their heart, they would not turn out this way. The reason why Hodgins had nominated her his secretary was not just that she could do any sort of work.

“That’s so nice.”

“Yes, the bakery owner is very nice. I woke up a bit too early, and when I went on a walk to see how things were outside, the bakery was just about to open and they were getting ready... I went to take a look ‘cause it seemed so delicious and they told me to come in.”

“Ah, hm...”

“I was so touched when they said they baked bread for people who were hungry early in the morning, so I told them many thanks for selling them and bought lots of it. It’s the bakery from that street around the corner.”

“As expected of my secretary. Did you properly get the receipt?”

At those words, Lux showed him a smile that resembled a blooming flower. “Huhu, of course.”

For Hodgins, who had spent the night deep in thought about all sorts of things, that smile was a soothing one. It was like the water of a lake for someone who was feeling thirsty.

Hodgins wordlessly took the bag from Lux. “Little Lux, I’m seriously glad you came to us.”

“Only in this kind of situation, right?”

“All the time. Always. Little Lux, you’re still young, will probably keep working with us... and you’re such a good secretary... I’m the happiest CEO in Leidenschaftlich.”

“Are you going to hire me for life?”

“Eh?”

“Is that a no?”

“No, I could. But that’d mean working with me for life, y’know?”

“Is that bad? I have nowhere else to go.”

When asked with such an innocent look, Hodgins faltered.

“I won’t say the stuff Benedict does, like wanting the company for me.”

“Well, I might... end up giving it to you if you say that, so don’t ever. Hahah... Of course, keep working for us forever and always at my place. Huh, this is kinda like a marriage vow... Wanna take this opportunity and marry me in the future? Just kidding...” Upon thinking that the jest that came out incidentally was an unsavory one right after saying it, Hodgins looked at Lux’s reaction, only to find her staring back at him blankly. He had made himself into a caricature of an old man bothering a girl. “No, it was a prank! But hey. Little Lux, you might be the only one who can go along with me, so having this kind of small talk is... I-I’m not looking at you with dirty eyes, really! We’re too far apart in age, after all! We’re c-close enough that we can crack this kind of joke to each other, right?”

Lux pretended to think for just a few seconds. “Huhu, I can tell. That it’s a joke, at least. But not happening. We’re not getting married.”

And then, she flat-out rejected him.

“Ah, yes.” Although Hodgins would have been at loss if she had accepted it, his shoulders dropped somewhat.

“But President, I’m prepared to nurse you if you ever become unable to work.”

“Don’t... suddenly thrust such a cruel reality at me.”

“Eh, is it? From my point of view... this is quite a deep form of love. President, you’re the first decent adult who accepted me. I’ll devote my whole life to you.”

“Little Lux, you sure like me a lot. Gonna marry me after all?”

This time, Lux actually grinned and replied, “I’ll take that one home and consider it.”

“Amazing; that answer’s like the business talk at the company.”

“Because you’re teasing me... even though you’re well-aware that I don’t even know love yet.”

“Don’t know love yet”. The destructive power of those words caused Hodgins to regret his lighthearted proposal a little.

“Then, I’ll ask again in about five years. I should be at a nice middle age by then.”

“You say that, President, but you’re going on a trip with some hottie next week. I know it.”

The duo, who somehow seemed like they would or other be hanging together for a long time, returned to the office with bouncing chatter.

   In order to make breakfast for everyone together, Hodgins and Lux stood in the kitchen by themselves.

Besides the already-baked bread, they would need drinks and vegetables. Those were merely simple preliminary preparations, but Hodgins felt that just this was somehow enjoyable, unlike doing the work on his own.

“President, you have yours with one sugar cube and a slice of lemon, right?”

“And for Little Lux, it’s two sugar cubes with milk, yeah? I know it.”

While arranging the bread on a plate, they also poured water over the tealeaves and left them to steam. Perhaps due to the scenery that could be seen from the kitchen’s small window being a blue sky with not a single cloud in it, it was awfully dazzling.

“Good morning.”

The next person who appeared amidst the morning sunlight was Violet. Her soft golden hair was just a bit disheveled. Hodgins’s hand naturally reached out to it.

“Morning... You’ve got a bedhead, Little Violet.”

“Excuse me...” Violet looked back at Hodgins as he caressed her head, seeming a little embarrassed. Her eyes were just slightly red. She might have not been able to sleep very well.

“Morning, Violet. Are Cattleya and Benedict also up?”

“Benedict was awake until a while ago, but when I got up from the bed, he began sleeping again by Cattleya’s side.”

“Morally speaking, it’s that kinda thing. I’ll go give him a warning.”

Hodgins laughed a little, seeing Lux off as she walked away while rotating her tiny shoulders. He then turned his gaze back to Violet. Her bedhead, which he had supposedly fixed with the caressing, had returned. For some reason, both of them being alone like this in a kitchen bathed in morning sunlight struck him as extremely peculiar.

Just the two of them, having such a tender time. How many more opportunities would they have for that?

They were already at it. He should talk about something. That was what Hodgins thought, but the words did not come out of him. Not because he had no topic to discuss. He could come up with as many things to talk about as he wanted, such wanting flowers to decorate the table or that they would surely have many customers today who were unable to come yesterday.

But he did not want to spoil this morning. He felt that it might crumble if he spoke even one sentence.

Violet was there. She had her blue eyes directed his way, looking at him. It was no longer awkward for the two of them to stay silent. That was their relationship.

Perhaps still sleepy, she was in a haze. He wanted to watch her standing amidst this gentle time for a little longer.

As she would usually always seem wide-awake, Hodgins believed that she was laidback to this extent due to being in the presence of people with whom she could be at ease from the bottom of her heart. That he had played a part in this feeling of security of hers.

——Will you forget one day?

One day, the position that Claudia Hodgins occupied in the life of Violet Evergarden would become smaller.

——She only gets bigger on my end, though.

Going to the hospital numerous times. Pushing her wheelchair. Giving her a notebook and teaching her how to write.

——I for sure can’t forget. These moments, days, everything like this with you.

The fact that he had not stopped her from fighting in the war. That he had thought they could use her.

——I can’t forget.

Delivering to Violet an outfit that could hide her prosthetic arms, yet that would also make her look her most beautiful.

——I’m sure I won’t forget about this morning either.

About that quiet morning, which was much like the one from before everyone was caught in the great storm and barged in.

Hodgins touched Violet’s hair again. Although she had told Benedict not to touch it, with Hodgins, she all but slightly left a strand in his hand’s care and let him take it, almost like how a cat would do.

——Aah, I want to hug you.

He was not in love with her. That would never be the case.

However, if she were his real daughter, on days like these, mornings like these, he would have easily said, “Good morning, precious” and embraced her.

“I had a dream, President Hodgins,” Violet whispered out of the blue with a freshly awake, faintly hoarse voice.

“Dream...?”

The stunning young woman, who was no longer a girl, talked about her dream like a child, “Yes; in the dream... you owned a clothing store.”

“Huhu, that so?”

“I cannot make clothes. You told me that you did not need me, President Hodgins, if I could not make clothes...”

“That’s horrible of me, huh.”

“Even when I said I could polish the shoes, clean up or do anything, you did not listen...”

Unlike the real one, the dream version of Hodgins had apparently chosen to part ways with Violet.

“Little Violet, what did you do about that?”

“I asked countless times. However, you rejected it countless times. I thought about standing in front of the shop until you allowed me in, but it started raining like yesterday.”

“Hm. And then?”

“Major Gilbert came to pick me up and told me to come home with him, but...”

“Hm.”

“I waited for President to come out of the store even as the lights went out.”

“Hm.”

“Despite waiting and waiting, President Hodgins did not come out, and at some point, a passerby told me, ‘This shop has moved’.”

“Even though it was open until just a moment ago?”

“It was a dream, after all... And then – and then, I asked where it was and went after it. Benedict and Cattleya also appeared in-between, but they seemed to have other things to do, saying they would come after me later... As for Lux, she was the only one who had been hired by you from the very beginning, so she also asked you to hire me again, but in the end, you said no could do.”

“Hm...” Suddenly, Hodgins felt so pained about everything that it was hard to breathe. “And then, Little Violet, what did you do...?” His hand reached out to Violet.

“I kept looking at the interior of the store beyond the shop window from outside.”

Not towards her head, but towards her eyes, where her golden lashes fluttered like the wings of a fairy.

“Inside it, many people – people that I know and do not know – came and left... showing how lively the shop was.”

A sea had silently formed in them, which dissolved and disappeared once Hodgins’s index finger touched it.

“Major came to pick me up for the nth time and said you had told him that my standing there was causing him problems. But, for whatever reason, I at the very least knew that if I stepped away from there even for a moment, you would never let me in... therefore, I could not comply. But I did not want to trouble you, President, so I was unable to make a decision... I attempted to ask Major for instructions, but he was also gone before I realized.”

The sea – the teardrop – turned into a pearl and slipped down her cheek.

“I... I... ended up crying.” Violet stared at the sky, the look in her eyes seeming almost as if the scene from her dream was there at this very moment. “To think I would cry like that...”

“Hm.”

“That was why President Hodgins would not hire me, I thought... And also why Major had grown tired and left.”

“Hm.”

“Then, without my notice, you came outside. You looked the same as that post-war day when you went to visit me at the hospital. You were very surprised with my appearance, as I was soaked with mud and rain. And so, you said this: ‘Guess we’ll start with how to hold a needle’. You told me that you had not invited me for the new job because it would surely be difficult with these hands of mine, so I was extremely relieved... Then, then...” Violet’s words cut off at once.

Unable to hold himself back, Hodgins pulled her into an embrace as if shoving her little head into his chest.

While being embraced, Violet said with eyes that looked as though she was still dreaming, “...with some effort, I could still be helpful. I was able to confirm this, after all.”

Hearing her let out a relieved sigh in his arms, Hodgins forgot about both his and Violet’s positions, clasping her to his chest very, very firmly. “You sure are helpful... Was there anything about me that made you feel uncertain?” Upon realizing that his voice sounded tearful, Hodgins allowed the tears to overflow at the truth.

——Aah, I’m such an idiot. Got caught up in it and ended up crying too.

As the girl whom he thought of as his own daughter, despite her being an actual adult, had shed tears, he found himself crying along with her. Almost like a child. Even though he was supposed to conduct himself as an elder in this situation.

“I do not know.”

“But, has anything like that ever happened until now...? You had that dream because you were uneasy.”

“‘Uneasy’... That might have been the case. Yesterday night, I came to know that many things were progressing while I was away, so I have the feeling that I was quite agitated.”

“Sorry; we were doing things on our own accord. Even though we’ve been together since the founding.”

“No, I am often absent, and it is only natural for some things to be decided in the meantime. I am an employee. I feel that your judgement is correct. Employees must correspond to the changes of a company. My surroundings are about to change significantly. I am grateful to you, President, for letting me be here like always. However...”

“‘However’...?”

“However, I do not know if I can cope with it. With the matters regarding Major, the ones regarding the company... with the fact that Benedict will be going to a different office building. When I think about these things...”

“It’s okay.”

“When I think about them, I realize that the number of things I should prioritize has increased too much.”

“Little Violet.”

“The order of priorities...”

“It’s all right.”

“I have to deal with situations of every kind as I live, and yet...”

——Surely, Violet Evergarden wouldn’t be alive if she didn’t do that.

Always, at all times.

She had been living through corresponding to her surroundings despite being at loss regarding its circumstances, putting everything she could do to use while looking for a place to belong and an adult who would take care of her. She was not allowed to waver. For beasts, hesitation was death.

Violet did not know unconditional love. She now had at last earned herself this warm place through her efforts, but it was about to suffer a rapid change with the course of time.

After running, running and running, Violet – previously one such beast – was watching the nest she had finally found crumble down. Even when people knew they had to prepare to start running again, there would come a time when they would be short of breath and unable to move.

Violet had gone from wild animal to person.

Her human parts and animal parts co-existed, occasionally revealing themselves. When she was the animal, she simply did not mind how much a place changed as long as she could live in it. However, it was difficult to live while holding something better, more important.

Now that she had become a person through the increasing of her emotions...

“I shall fight. I can always be of use. President Hodgins, please forget this aspect of me that I just showed you.”

...she had turned into just a girl who was a little bit scared of the future.

“Please... forget about it.”

Who had made her this way? Gilbert was likely the first, but the ones who had done the finishing touches were definitely all the people in this place.

“No way, I’m not forgetting.”

At Hodgins’s words, Violet lowered her eyebrows, looking troubled.

“Don’t make a face like that; I’m not teasing. I meant to say that you don’t need to worry about it. You indeed might’ve gotten weak. But is that a bad thing? You had nothing when you met me for the first time. Not even your brooch, right...? But now you have lots of things. You went on a journey for a long time and got more stuff to shoulder while you were at it, so it’s no wonder that you’d end up in a dilemma.” Albeit knowing that Cattleya, Benedict and Lux were looking at them in shock from the shadows at the doorway, Hodgins went on, “You know... life is a journey. Little Violet, you’ll go on this journey, won’t you?”

He had already forgotten about his anxiety. The feeling of frustration at such things and the overwhelming wish to cling to someone were now gone.

“You started your journey with a little less luggage than other people, so you’re staring at your bag now that it’s gotten a bit heavy, wondering what happened to it. You don’t know what to throw away anymore.”

He was able to think, from the depths of his heart, that he had returned to his usual self. While embracing her, who was indeed still young and confused in the middle of her journey, he was finally able to think so.

“You need clothes and money, of course, and good shoes are vital. Right, and an umbrella too. When you look into your bag and realize that you actually have nothing that you can get rid of, it’s indeed a problem. Even though it’s a hassle because it’s so heavy. What do you think you should do?”

He could still be useful.

“Train... my physical strength... No, calibrate my prosthetics...”

He was still needed.

“You’re such a fool... Either leave it in someone’s care and continue the journey or have someone take half of it.”

Even if it were only for a short while.

“Gilbert will probably take half of the luggage. I can take care of the rest that you can’t carry over here. I’ll be in Leidenschaftlich forever, after all. Little Violet, no matter where you go, I’ll stay here and wait for you to come back, and no matter when you come over, I’ll welcome you. I’ll take care of the contents of your bag with pleasure.”

——Even if you only remember me a few times a year someday...

“Listen up: whenever you’re troubled, remember that I’m here. And then you’ll be able to go on a journey again anytime.”

——...I’ll ready myself to welcome you at any time of the year.

“Am I really supposed to leave my luggage here?”

——I’m the kind of man who can do that, and you need it for sure.

“Hm-hm, that’s not it. Y’see, this is about memories. All you have to do is to know. That I’m here. This is the way to make your luggage lighter. Whenever you’re having problems, bam, remember me. If you do that, the worries you have now will definitely decrease a little. Y’know, at the end of the day... people’s place to come home to aren’t places, they’re ‘somebody’. You should know that much. You’d have gone to any battlefield if Gilbert was there, right? Someday, yes, you might quit being an Auto-Memories Doll. You might not come back to Leidenschaftlich.”

——It’ll be great if this “someday” never comes, though.

“But your current memories are with me. I’ll be a representation of them. So that you, my dear... will be able to open your memories anytime. When this moment right now becomes nostalgic to you, come see me. I’ll always be here. Waiting for you. You’re feeling ‘lonely’ right now. But... Little Violet. You have me. You’re not alone.”

——I want you to remember.

“I do not understand very well... However...”

——I’m always protecting you.

“...you have always guided me.”

——Waiting for your return.

“I never doubt your word.”

——I’ll be waiting here.

“But, President Hodgins, I have only one wish.”

——I want you to show up when your journey ends.

Deciding to deal with the sobbing coming from behind the door later, Hodgins opted for staying like this for just a bit longer. Her lover might get angry if he saw it, but he had the right to do it, at least to some extent. After all, she was Claudia Hodgins’s dear employee.

Hodgins asked with a particularly gentle tone, “What would it be, Little Violet?”

Violet blinked and looked up at Hodgins. The last drop spilled from her eyes.

“If, only if... there comes a time when you will quit the postal company and start doing something else...”

“Hm.”

“...please call me. No matter where you are, I will rush to you.”

“Hm.”

“I will definitely be of help... Even if not, should your luggage become too much, please call me when you need someone to carry it for you. I shall hasten to visit you.”

“For real?”

“Yes. I, too, will carry President’s luggage. You should know it. I am strong.”

“Huhu, yep, definitely. One day, you’ll understand what I mean by ‘luggage’. Hey...”

No one would imagine that a single drop could be the start of something so big. However, it would earn itself great meaning after a while passed. Should it continue pouring, it could also summon boundless blessings and curses.

   “Hiya, I’m Hodgins. What’s your name?”

Silence.

“This kid’s such a taciturn.”

“She... doesn’t have a name yet. She’s an orphan with no education. Can’t talk either.”

“That’s so terrible of you. She’s such a beauty. Just give a name worthy of her.”

   “Little Violet, thanks for meeting me.”

Love was almost like rain.

[nejibaby]

Gorgeous

Pairings: Neji x Y/N

Song reference/inspiration: Gorgeous by Taylor Swift

Summary: You hate Neji… or do you?

A/N: I didn’t know what came over me please don’t sue 🤣 Please let me know your thoughts, although I couldn’t really reply since this isn’t my main blog... (I just really like reading your comments & reblogs 🥺)

You always thought the gods above adore you because of how lucky you are. For years of being a shinobi, you’re able to go on missions without that certain someone.

Everyone knows that you dislike Neji. Some might even go far and say you hate him. But no one really knew why you hated him with so much passion.

So when you’ve been assigned on a mission with him for the first time, your friends — with the exception of Hinata —immediately know you’d invite them for drinks to get piss drunk and rant about the Hyuga boy.

When you arrive at the bar, you wasted no time ordering drinks and downing them one by one.

“Woah, slow down Y/N!” Sakura says.

“Let her be, Sakura. You know how she gets when Neji is involved,” Ino tells Sakura, “No words are going to stop her, might as well just look over her.”

Sakura gives her a frown then slips in glasses of water in between the drinks you had lined up.

“Ugh, I hate this! Why do I even have to be assigned with him?” You complain.

Ino sighs, “It was bound to happen anyway, with the shortage of shinobis from the back-to-back attacks here in Konoha, and all that. You’ve been lucky you hadn’t been assigned on missions with him for this long.”

You huff. “The gods hate me so much.”

Ino just rolls her eyes at you.

“Why do you hate Neji so much anyway?” Sakura asks.

You take a shot before answering. “Have you heard how he talks? He’s always talking about destinies and fates and how we can’t change them!”

Sakura and Ino look at each other. Then Sakura says, “I don’t know what year you live in, but Neji has changed ever since he met Naruto.”

“—And besides that,” you continue your rant, “He’s such a know-it-all. And he just always has to explain everything to us like we don’t understand anything.”

“I mean he’s really good at analyzing things and breaking them down for us so we can follow the reasoning behind things,” Sakura says in defense of the poor man.

“Shikamaru is just the same but I don’t see you hating on him,” Ino adds.

You pay no mind to their statements, knowing they’re probably right but you weren’t just going to admit that. “—And he always sounds so bossy! Everyone looks up to him and heeds his words. It’s like he has this magnetic field that attracts people and shit. It’s so fucking annoying!”

Ino and Sakura were both about to say something about your statements but no words came out despite them opening their mouths. You squint at them, a contrast to the way their eyes had widened.

“What?” You ask.

“I think we should talk, you’re being a little too loud,” someone behind you says.

You bite the inside of your cheeks, knowing who that voice belongs to. You feel your face getting hot — from the embarrassment or from the alcohol, you weren’t sure. You clear your throat, look behind you and greet, “Neji.” You try to make your voice sound friendly, but you were so used to saying his name laced with venom that it’s just impossible for you to sound amicable.

He’s taken aback by the hostility in your voice. He’s aware of your hatred towards him so he tries not to bother you with his presence but you’re talking too loudly about him that it was becoming uncomfortable to him. Besides, you two are going to go on a mission together, it’s better to resolve things between the two of you right now, or at least before the mission starts.

Neji knows he hasn’t done anything to wrong you and as far as he’s concerned, both of you never talked to each other yet so he wasn’t really sure why you despised him so much, until now, that is.

He holds his hand out for you to help you stand. How gentlemanly, you wanted to sneer but you stopped yourself. Instead, you clench your fists and glare at him.

When you don’t make a move to stand up, he gently grabs a hold of your hand and tugs you towards the exit of the bar. You’re too shocked by the action that you didn’t get to protest. You know damn well Neji avoids physical contact with everyone, except during training, of course.

By the time you’re both out of the bar, you aim a punch at him. But with your drunkenness, you miss. That, and he easily dodged it.

“What are you doing?!” Neji asks, surprised by your action.

“You should think about the consequence of touching my hand.”

His brows furrow, trying to understand you. He doesn’t want to make things worse so he chooses to apologize instead.

You don’t respond, opting to lean back against the wall and cross your arms instead, considering your abrupt movement made your head feel dizzy. You tried not to wince at the pounding of your head. God forbid you’d let him see any weakness in you.

Then you take a look at Neji who seems to have shifted to a more relaxed stance after your unexpected attack. Seeing this, you try to collect yourself as well. Or at least as much as your drunk mind can.

Neji takes your silence as a signal to talk. “We’ve known each other for so long now because we have the same circle of friends, but we never really got to talk to each other until now,” he starts. “I have seen you interact with everyone except me. At first it did not really bother me, but then I found out you hated me. In order to avoid unnecessary arguments or whatsoever, I let you be and kept my distance. I did not understand why, until I heard you talking a while ago—”

There was something unnerving about his lavender eyes staring at you so intently that must’ve made your mind short circuit, so you cut him off and blurt out, “You should take that as a compliment.”

To say that Neji is confused is an understatement. The creases on his forehead deepen at your declaration. “What do you mean?”

You close your eyes and just shrug. Your mind wasn’t cooperating with you so you’d rather just not talk. You keep silent for a whole minute meanwhile Neji waits until you speak again. When the minute passes and he still hasn’t said a word, you ask, “Why don’t you just go back to Tenten or something?”

That sounded wrong.

Frankly, that wasn’t what you plan on saying, but your inebriated mind couldn’t comprehend what you just said and its possible implication.

If other people were to listen to your conversation right now, they would probably assume that you were jealous, or maybe even insecure with Tenten, but Neji was different from other people. Luckily for you, you both share a similar way of thinking. He knows you’re trying to deflect.

“Tenten’s your girlfriend, right?” You couldn’t stop your mouth from blabbering anymore.

“No. She’s a friend.”

This was news to you. You always assumed they were together since they spend a huge amount of time with each other.

“So you’re single?”

“Yes.”

“Ugh, that’s honestly worse,” you thought. Or at least you intended it to be just a thought but you ended up saying it out loud.

Neji doesn’t know if he should be offended by your statement or not. Was it worse because no one’s going to keep him in line? Shouldn’t you be glad no one’s going to suffer the fate of being his girlfriend? Those were definitely something you’d say. But he’s uncertain, so he pushed those thoughts aside, knowing full well you weren’t going to answer him properly if he asked the meaning behind your words.

Since you’re so keen on changing the subject regarding your hatred for him when he’s obviously trying hard to make amends with you, he decides to just drop it and talk to you when you’re completely sober. “Is Kiba going to come get you?”

“Why should he?” It was your turn to furrow your brows.

“You’re drunk and he’s your boyfriend.”

You snort. If he said you were seeing Kiba then you definitely wouldn’t deny it and you’d shut your mouth. You aren’t in a relationship with him, or maybe you are, if friends-with-benefits is considered a relationship. So Kiba is in no way your boyfriend — that label entails commitment and of course, love. However, your setup with Kiba was more of an agreement rather than a commitment and instead of romantic love, there was only love for a friend.

To correct him you say, “He’s not really my boyfriend.”

Neji was never one to assume unless there’s a basis. He knows this about himself. So when you deny your relationship with Kiba, he was skeptical, and a smaller part of him was ashamed that he reached such a conclusion without asking first.

It only goes to show that you both have wrong preconceptions about each other, and that you both have a lot to learn about one another.

“Ah, sorry. I thought—”

“It’s fine,” you wave him off.

Neji’s eye twitches. You cut him off twice now and he doesn’t appreciate it at all. He’s a very patient man and it takes a lot to get a rise out of him or maybe even get a reaction. But you had him shift from being apologetic to confused to ashamed and then to being annoyed in a matter of minutes.

Surely this wasn’t normal, right? What kind of power do you hold that you could make him easily shift moods? For a moment, he considers the possibility of you casting a genjutsu on him but quickly dismisses the thought when he senses that your chakra flow is normal.

You quickly notice his annoyance and you immediately feel bad for your actions. “‘M sorry,” you mumble with a pout, looking down on your feet.

The apology softens the Hyuga boy immediately. He’s never really heard you address him so sincerely and without malice all throughout this conversation, or ever. But he’s seen you do this with your other friends; he’s seen you readily set aside your pride for them. Your friends admittedly claimed that this was one of your traits that makes you so special whenever they tried coaxing him to talk to you and befriend you.

Unexpectedly, Neji smiles. It was truly a rare sight, and it was directed to you. You feel your heart flutter.

“I-I should, uhm, head home,” you internally cringe at the way you stuttered the words.

“What about Ino and Sakura?”

“Ah, I’m pretty sure they’ve gone ahead when I left.”

“And Kiba won’t pick you up?”

“Nope. He’s somewhere doing god knows what.”

Neji gives a contemplative stare.

“Anyway, I think you already know that we won’t be able to talk properly since I’m drunk, so I’ll go now. Let’s talk some other time, I guess. Bye!” You say a little too fast.

“Wait! Let me walk you home.”

You huff. “Do whatever you want.”

Silence follows after that. You’re particularly happy that the walk to your home is quick since you aren’t sure how to act around Neji.

He walks you until the door and you quickly mumble a thanks and shut the door.

As soon as the door is shut, you immediately slump to the floor, dropping your facade along the way.

The fact of the matter is that you don’t hate Neji. It’s quite the opposite actually. You just don’t know how to express your feelings properly.

For a moment you wish you could be like Hinata who’s content at watching Naruto from the sidelines. You, however, instead of feeling content, you’re furious. Because there’s nothing you hate more than what you can’t have. And this is what your face chooses to express whenever Neji is around, which is why you couldn’t blame your friends or other people for that matter when they assumed you hated him. You just went along with them, to save face.

The white lie was furthered by their observation that you don’t talk to him. To your defense, it’s not that you don’t want to talk to him, it’s just that you can’t. Your mind literally goes haywire.

Just like in your conversation earlier. When you first cut him off, and blurted out the first thing on your mind.

You should take that as a compliment.

What your mind wanted to say is: You should take that as a compliment because even when I’m drunk, it’s you I keep on thinking about.

Not to mention how embarrassing it was when you asked if he’s single and thought that that was so much worse than being in a relationship. Because how can he be allowed to be single when he’s just so gorgeous it actually hurts?

You bang your head against the door a couple of times in frustration.

Unbeknownst to you, Neji is still standing on the other side of the door, dumbfounded by how fast you shut it in front of his face. Just as he’s about to walk away, he hears a whack on the door. His mind immediately assumes you got hurt. As he raises his hand to knock on your door, he stills at the sound of your voice.

“Stupid Neji and his stupidly gorgeous face, ruining my life by not being mine.”

[chaoticpuff17]

Something Wicked

part 11

masterlist

warnings: yandere behavior, description of medical procedure, non con medical procedure 

Hello, darlings! second update of the night! Who knows what I’ll work on next though. it’s a toss up between the next chapter of SW and the next chapter of SWGD. Love you all! thank you for being so patient with my lack of updates!---chaotic puff

The closer the day got, the more excited Jin seemed to be, but Y/N seemed to shrivel away. The wedding wasn’t even a day away anymore. She would be officially tied to the devil himself in less than twenty four hours. It was something out of her worst nightmares, but to Jin it was a fairy tale. Everything was falling into place just as he wanted it. Everything was perfect. How could it not be when it was planned by him, when he’d put so much time and effort into the match? And he couldn’t have been more pleased with his bride to be.

Y/N had spent the past week as a living doll. She finalized flowers. She looked over menus. She checked over guest lists, all under the watchful eye of her future husband. Despite the stream of people that seemed to go in and out of the penthouse these days, she never said a word about her situation. Jin had threatened her within an inch of her life if she tried anything. She had the bruises to match as well. Any act of defiance, or at least perceived act, was met with what Jin referred to as a “correction”. It had drilled a Pavlovian response into her. Jin raised his voice or raised his hand, and she fell into submission. At least Pavlov’s dog had gotten a reward for its training. She was only getting a lifetime more of this hell.

“Darling.” Jin greeted joining her in the bedroom where she had retreated for a moment to try to collect herself.

It was almost unbearable to sit there pretending to be his perfect fiancée when his touch made her want to vomit, when his bruises were hidden under careful layers of makeup and long sleeves so that no one would suspect a thing. Most of his bruises were left in places that wouldn’t be easily seen though, and the seamstress that had worked on her dress and her trousseau had known better than to question the marks. Her assistants hadn’t either. Jin paid well enough and was an esteemed enough customer that no one ever questioned why his fiancée was marked up or why she never seemed to leave the house.

“Yes, Jin?” She asked unable to stop the way she tensed as he approached.

“I wish you would call me ‘dear’.” He pouted wrapping his arms around her middle ignoring the way she flinched as he brushed against one of her bruises. He’d done easier on her in the past couple days letting her marks fade before the wedding. He needed her to look perfect after all. “We’ll be married tomorrow, darling.”

“I’m not much for pet names.” She murmured, hollow eyes staring down at her engagement ring.

Jin sighed pulling away and turning her head so that she was facing him. “What have I said about the mumbling?” He cooed dragging his thumb across her lower lip.

“I’m sorry, Jin.” She lowered her eyes proud of the way she was able to keep from shaking under his stare.

“It’s all right, darling.” He cooed smiling down at her. “You have a doctor’s appointment.”

That caught her attention immediately. “What?”  Her eyes were wide and searching as they flew to his.

‘The doctor will be here soon.” He laughed smiling down at her as though she was a child with her head in the clouds. “We have to get that pesky little IUD out.”

All the blood drained from her face as she tried to back away, but Jin kept her pressed firmly to his chest as he began to place teasing kisses against her neck and trailing them up towards her jaw.

“I-I thought we were waiting until after the wedding.” She whimpered pressing against his chest lightly in an attempt to make him release her. If she used any more force, he’d take it as an act of defiance, of rejection, and Jin did not respond well to rejection.

“I changed my mind.” He grinned against her neck, playfully nipping at the delicate flesh there. “We don’t have to have a baby right away.” He assured her feeling the way her pulse sped up under his touch. “But if it happens, it happens, and wouldn’t a baby be such a blessing, darling? Our own little family?” She didn’t respond, but that didn’t seem to matter to Jin. He just kept on talking. “A little boy, a son. Maybe he’ll have those lovely eyes of yours, but he’ll be world-wide handsome, just like his father.” He laughed pulling away to smile down at her almost patronizingly. “Wouldn’t that be nice, darling?”

She pasted on a brittle smile to appease him. “Of course, Jin.”

“Then you’ll be a good girl and let the doctor do what he has to do.” Jin nodded herding her back towards the bed. “I want to make sure that you’re in perfect health before the honeymoon.”

Perfect. She was coming to hate that word. What even was perfect? It certainly wasn’t the life she had here with Jin. She wondered not for the first time how her life had come to this. How could the world be so fooled by him? How did no one see the monster behind the carefully constructed mask? Maybe there were those who did, but even she had to admit that he wasn’t an ordinary man. The Kim family had an enormous amount of influence. Even if someone knew, would they have said anything? Would they even have been able to say anything?

She’d done her best to stay calm as she and Jin waited for the doctor to arrive, but the longer she waited the more antsy she became. Jin’s quite excitement wasn’t helping anything either. He was far too pleased by the idea of accidentally knocking her up on their honeymoon, a prospect that filled her with dread. By the time the doctor actually arrived, she was ready to run for the hills, and she did.

It might not have been the wisest idea, but hearing the doorbell sent Y/N into a panic dashing away only to have Jin’s arm loop around her waist pulling her back into his chest.

He sighed disappointedly hauling her up and dropping her onto the bed as he straddled her reaching for the cuffs that had not left the headboard in some time. With movements that had become practiced over the past weeks, Jin strapped her down leaving her helpless as he stood back up again.

“I thought you knew better by now, darling.” He tutted shaking his head before leaning down and placing a swift kiss on her lips. “Ah, well. I’ll let the doctor in. Don’t move, darling.” He teased and infuriating smirk pulling at his features.

“Jin.” She whimpered pleading with him to listen to her even though she knew that the chances of that were slim. “Please, Jin. I don’t want to have it removed yet. I don’t even know this doctor.”

Jin placed a hand on her hair smoothing back some strands that had escaped from her updo. “There’s nothing to worry about, darling. Dr. Jung is one of the best in the business. He’s not a gynecologist, but his family has been working with mine for years. He’ll take excellent care of you, and he’s a dear friend of mine.”

“He’s not even a gynecologist?” Her voice rose an octave as she struggled against her bonds.

“He’ll take very good care of you.” Perhaps he was trying to be reassuring, but Jin was rarely reassuring when it came to her. She very much doubted that anything would be reassuring again, not when Jin had his claws in her.

“Can’t we wait?” She called out as he started for the door, her words coming out in a rush. “Please. Can’t we wait? I could see my doctor.” She offered in a desperate attempt to stop this madness, but Jin was having none of it.

“There’s nothing to consider, my love.” He scoffed turning back to her with a patronizing smile. “I know nothing about your doctor. They could be wholly unsuitable. It’s much better that you use the family doctor. I’ll only tolerate the best when it comes to you, darling. Now be a good girl and wait here while I get Dr. Jung.”  

Y/N could do nothing but sit and tremble on the mattress as she waited for Jin to return with the doctor. Jin would get his way one way or another. Her agreement was of little consequence to him. Why would it be? She was more of a doll than a person to him, a perfect little ornament to be added to the Kim family tree.

The doctor and Jin came up only a few minutes later, and she was shocked to see just how young the doctor was. He had to be somewhere between her own age and Jin’s, but perhaps that shouldn’t have been so surprising since Jin had said that the doctor was a friend of his.

The man didn’t seem phased at all that she was tied down to the bed trembling like a frightened animal, and that was perhaps the most disturbing thing of all. She was used to Jin acting as if all of this was common place, but it was a new level of disheartening to see someone else treat it as normal.

“You told me she was lovely, but I didn’t expect her to be so beautiful.” The young doctor smiled sunnily striding into the room with Jin by his side. “She’s absolutely gorgeous, Jin.”

“Thank you, Hosoek.” Jin beamed with pride as he settled himself beside her on the bed as the doctor began to set up his tools from the large bag that he carried.

“Are you excited for the big day, Y/N?” The doctor asked grinning at her as he pulled out and set up a pair of stirrups from his case adjusting them so that they rested comfortably on the ottoman that rested at the foot of the bed. “Jin, I’ll need her to be moved to the end of the bed.” He explained completely unbothered by her lack of reply as he laid out a towel on the very end of the bed. “I’ll also need her undergarments removed, but I think you’d prefer to do that instead of me.”

She hated the way the two of them grinned. It sent a shiver of disgust down her spine as Jin adjusted her chains so that he could manhandle her into position so that her bottom hung the slightest bit off the end of the bed. Her legs weren’t in the stirrups yet though. She had to be stripped before that.

Jin took great pleasure in trailing his fingers up her thigh as he lifted her skirt up above her waist before he slowly pulled her panties down and off her legs. At least the doctor had had the decency to look away even if he was going to see it all in just a moment. Small mercies she supposed.

“Let’s take a look, shall we?” The doctor asked as he positioned her feet up into the stirrups, and Jin resumed his place by her side.

Y/N stiffened as she felt the gloved fingers of the doctor prodding at her folds before he inserted a finger into her feeling around before pulling them out again. Unlike her previous doctor, this one did not bother to explain what he was doing. He simply went about his work as though she was a nonentity in it all.

She couldn’t suppress the yelp that left her as he inserted the speculum. She had always hated this part of the exam. Even when she knew it was coming, she found it terribly uncomfortable. It was worse when she didn’t know. The stretch of the device burned, and the way that Jin cooed at her didn’t help her discomfort at all.

“We’re removing an IUD, yes?” Hoseok looked up from between her legs, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Jin only confirming her suspicion that she was a nonentity in all of this.

“Yes.” Jin confirmed placing a hand on her cheek and brushing his thumb across the soft skin there as the doctor took a long cotton swab and brushed it against her cervix to get a sample. “Y/N and I are thinking of starting a family soon.”

“An heir for the Kim line.” Hoseok hummed taking a long pair of tweezers and inserting them into her. “How many do you think you’ll have?”

“Two. Two boys.” Jin grinned continuing to absent mindedly brush his thumb back and forth across her cheek.

“That’s on you then, Jin.” The doctor chuckled his tweezers grabbing hold of the string of her IUD and gently pulling on it. “The woman doesn’t determine the sex of the baby.”

“Kim’s have always had boys.” He scoffed his thumb stilling in its movement.

Having the little device inserted had hurt like a bitch, but having it taken out didn’t hurt nearly as badly even if it was still uncomfortable. The burning humiliation of the whole process was so much worse. She didn’t even feel like a person anymore. It was a small mercy that the entire procedure was quick.  

“There.” The doctor grinned straightening up and removing the speculum. “All done.”

“See?” Jin cooed pushing her skirt back down as Hoseok took her feet out of the stirrups. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it, darling?”

She wanted so badly to scream, to yell at him, but what good would it do? He never listened to her anyway.

“She had an appointment with her regular doctor a few months ago, but I took another sample just to be safe.” The doctor explained packing all his thing back up again. “I’ll be seeing you both at the wedding.”

“I’ll see you out.” Jin nodded standing up to escort the doctor out and leaving her tied down and humiliated on the bed.

It wasn’t long before Jin returned again beaming down at her as cleaned up the gel from between her legs and uncuffed her from the bed.

“I wish you wouldn’t make things so hard on yourself, darling.” He sighed helping her to sit up again seeming almost pleased with the way she curled in on herself as though she could keep herself from falling apart if she held herself tight enough. “Life could be so much easier.” She didn’t respond, but that didn’t matter to Jin.

“We have no time for sulking, darling. We have dinner with my parents tonight. I need you to get ready.”

“What?” her head shot up staring her eyes wide and frightened at the prospect of facing his parents.

“My parents wanted to have dinner with us before the wedding tomorrow. Isn’t that nice, darling?” She trembled even more as Jin leaned in nuzzling against her throat pressing his lips against the skin there so he could feel her racing pulse. “You’ll be good for me won’t you, darling?” He asked reveling in the way she allowed him to man handle her. “After all,” he chuckled darkly. “I’d hate to add onto your punishment. You’ve already been such a bad girl today.”

part 12

[wincore]

sour tangerine | huang renjun

pairing: keyboardist!renjun x songwriter!reader

words: 15.3k

summary:  ‘i gave up on that sort of music,’ he’d said. but not like this. not when you’re there to grab his wrist and drag him into your ridiculous notions about music that make him want to tear all his hair out. huang renjun falls in love with two words that escape your lips, and now he has to pretend his cheeks aren’t caked in a blush as red as donghyuck’s guitar. maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to joining this band of idiots just for an incredibly cute songwriter.

themes: rock band!au, fluff, (mostly existential) angst, comedy-ish

warnings: making out, alcohol, college kids being college kids

song recs: hello sunshine - wetter // how to love - day6 // today - nell // rooftop - n.flying // what can i do - day6 // red - the rose // i loved you - day6 // leave it - n.flying // baby - the rose

a/n: nct dream 00 line rock band. that’s it. who wants to join my renjun cover literally any song by day6 agenda. if you think this is like a kdrama compressed into a fic i am so sorry but you are correct hsdksh also i do not know what it’s like to major in music or make music so... please bear with me.

special thanks to @insomni-writing​ for beta reading this ilysm!! and @cinanamon​ because your support made me actually finish this ily dude <3

With hair dyed blond and a stream of colourful words ready at the tip of his tongue, no one assumes Huang Renjun majors in classical music. Not when he’s threatening Lee Donghyuck by the vending machine, not when he’s pulling an arrogant half-smile by the semester-end results and certainly not when he’s hardly ever seen near an instrument as elegant as the grand piano.

If they heard him play it just once, they’d forget the rest.

He strikes the keys gently, and then all at once in a motion so very unique to him—and you know this, not because you were stalking him, but because you happened to get a very rare ticket to the national level performing arts concert (which you didn’t scam out of someone that time, you swear). Looking pristine in a clean tuxedo and with then dark hair swept to the side, Huang Renjun looked very much like an alien, like the words leaving his mouth and the things he’d do would be so unpredictable. 

You were right. 

Huang Renjun plays the piano like he’s not of this world. 

He plays soft rock tunes even better—which, this time, you know because you were, in fact, stalking him while he spent extra hours in the practice room. From the lazy smile on his face to the way he let himself loose (for once) in a hot pink hoodie he kept trying to cover with his bag all day, you knew he was perfect.

Out of all the miserably planned (and timed) situations you’ve pulled yourself into, this might just hit top 3. 

You’re going to convince Renjun to join your band.

Which is easier said than done, because Renjun is just as stubborn as you are, if not more. You’ve never wanted to smack someone so bad and neither have you ever contemplated the outcome of spontaneous fistfights as much. But as frustrated as he leaves you, you know you need him, or your picture-perfect plan will fall apart before you’ve even started to paint.

The first time you’d nudged him in class, he’d sent you a glare as soon as the question left your lips. You’d fought a pout, the warmth on your cheeks popping like firecrackers. But you’re not easily discouraged, no, not really, not ever. 

The second time, you’d spread your arms in front of him to get him to stop walking off, looking more of a lunatic than a college student (sometimes, what’s the difference?) and Renjun had pursed his lips and furrowed his brows in an expression more than annoyed. 

“Please!” you yelled, catching the attention of fellow students.

Renjun eyed your palms flat against each other, elbows raised in a most comical prayer and announced a “No” just as loudly before briskly walking away.

The third time, you’d sent Donghyuck, your lead guitarist, who you really shouldn’t have expected to perform better than you did. You know they’re friends, so that should have worked better, right? Wrong. Renjun had returned a pouting Donghyuck, complaining nonstop for two whole days afterwards and with a message from Renjun to “in the best of words, fuck off”.

You sigh, glancing at the time on your watch. This is your last time to book him for your ragtag rock band (still unnamed) and you’re going to leave him with no choice. You can do this. 

You tiptoe from one side of the corridor to the other, the large windows drenching you in an uncomfortable amount of sunlight. But you are quiet—you know how to be sneaky and you’d be lying if you said you’re not at least a little bit proud of it. Renjun stays at the senior practice room well into late afternoon and if the door was closed fully, you’d be hearing nothing of it.

The old model of electronic keyboards in the practice room, which made you wonder if electric instruments ever rust, now plays ringing clear. It’s not just the fondness with which your school’s beloved pianist plays it but the added charm of his structure, straightened enough to focus but relaxed just as much.

A few minutes pass by in quiet contemplation, as you run through your plan again. First, approach him with a friendly gesture, offer him your strawberry milk or something. Second, block every exit he might seek once you’ve cornered him. Third, spew that long speech you prepared—a pretty pile of words ought to move him. Right? If all else fails, you’re going to call in Jaemin as your secret weapon. The boy can charm a rock, and you hate to be doing that to anyone (even Renjun), but drastic situations call for drastic measures. You take a sharp breath.

Oh, he’s singing now?

You misstep over the marble flooring and the door creaks open a little too loud.

Shit.

The music stops. You take a good second to swear at yourself, well and full, before breathing in and entering the practice room with as much confidence as you can gather.

“Renjun!” you say, grinning wide and arms stretched as if you’re there to welcome him.

Renjun looks at you, surprise smeared across his face. He quickly picks up his bag, shaking his head at you as he makes his way towards the door.

“You- “

Instead of all your brilliant planning, you resort to pulling a disgruntled Renjun into a lonesome corner before he can leave. It would seem more of a threat than an invitation to join, you’ll admit, but right now, you need Renjun to not glare at you with a scowl so obvious. It’s not that his face makes you nervous, it’s the outcome of today’s attempt. The bright afternoon sun reaches his hair and the left side of his face, a warm hue over eyes that look at you with more than just mild annoyance. He wears a grungy dark jacket over his lightly coloured T-shirt and has the audacity to claim he doesn’t do rock.

“Are you trying to kidnap me or something?” he asks, adjusting the strap of his bag.

You quickly smack the wall so your arm blocks his way, though the impact of it makes you wince.

“Join me,” you say, looking at him, determination across your face though the sentence comes off more cult-ish than you’d want. 

Renjun takes a step back to look up and take a sharp breath.

“I already told you,” he says, raising his voice, “I don’t do that sort of music anymore.”

“Anymore?”

Renjun groans, lips shaped in perfect annoyance. “Just how long are you going to keep this up?”

He tries to escape you but you take a hasty step closer, his back hitting the wall with a thud. It’s not all that fun, getting people to join your band. It’s even less fun when Renjun’s cologne is a tad too minty for your tastes.

“I’ll do anything!” you say, pressing your lips tight as the pleading grows in your eyes.

“Anything?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes!” You jolt up straighter.

“Then leave me alone forever for the rest of my life.”

Renjun crosses his arms and you frown, a sigh lacing your lips till you bring yourself to look him in the eye again. It’s not yet time to pull out Jaemin, you’re not even sure if that will work, but you might just have something else. 

“Lee Chaerim!” you suddenly yell. “You like her, don’t you?”

It’s a long shot but if it works… 

Renjun’s cheeks dust pink and he takes a step back, furrowing his eyebrows at you. Bullseye. You fight a snort before he can catch you. Gods, he’s so obvious.

“Wh-what gave you that idea?” he retorts, pitch shooting higher before he recomposes himself. “She’s a classmate, idiot. And don’t yell her name!”

“Star pianist Lee Chaerim,” you wave your hand about. “Who wouldn’t have a crush on her? I mean you’re a close second though.”

Renjun raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “It’s really not…”

“I’ll score you a date with her!” you declare, grinning like a maniac. “If you join my band.”

Renjun sighs, shoulders sagging. “You’re really not going to drop this, are you?”

“Nope.” You shrug, popping the ‘p’ in a helplessly obnoxious manner. 

Renjun leans back against the wall, head tilting to look you in the eye as the frown grows prominent over his lips.

“And you think scoring me a date will make me want to join your…band?” Renjun snorts.

You shift your eyes awkwardly. “Well, I didn’t really paint you as the Romeo type either but hey, I don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“(name)?”

“Yes?”

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“Oh. That’s actually the sweetest thing I’ve heard from you,” you muse before quickly returning to the subject at hand. “Ah, come on. Just give it a chance, please? 

“I major in classical music.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk crawling over your lips. “And yet you’re more than decent at Queen on the keys.”

Renjun straightens, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. “You’re stalking me?!”

“No, I’m scouting you. All the big companies hire people to do that.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Er, it’s called extraordinary.”

“Extraordinarily annoying.”

“Stop arguing with me!” You stomp your foot.

Renjun mimics you in a rather aggressive tone, the tip of his nose almost touching yours. You pull a face, throwing a soft punch at his shoulder to which he responds with a sharp cry and a glare. 

“Fine!” Renjun says, massaging his shoulder. “I’ll give you one week to prove to me this band’s worth my time.”

You feel something akin to surprise before his words register. Worth his time? He's just about as arrogant as you expected. 

“Deal,” you say, shooting him a forced smile.

From the light periwinkle of his T-shirt to the blond strands astray against his forehead, there’s a sort of halo surrounding him. You press your lips together before you can laugh at his supposed angelic qualities, before he somehow starts to look as pretty as your friends describe. 

“Starting today, I’m your lyricist and composer!” you grin, extending your hand towards him.

“I...You…” 

Renjun hesitates before taking your hand in a firm shake, but not before pursing his lips in doubt. Perhaps you could have warned him before grabbing his wrist and so unceremoniously dragging him here. 

“I didn’t even join,” he mutters.

“I’m giving you the full trial!” you defend.

Renjun stays quiet before suddenly clearing his throat. “You can- You can let go of the wall now.”

Your eyes trail to your hand and you immediately retract it with an “ah”. There’s barely any distance between your chests, and you suppose you were successful in cornering him—a little too effectively. Renjun shakes his head, quickly walking past you with no gesture of goodbye.

“You’re going to be disappointed, (name),” he says quietly before leaving.

You blink in confusion at his disappearing figure. 

Whatever. When have you ever paid attention to words of warning? You glance at the back of Renjun’s head from the second floor’s handrail as he rushes down the stairs, albeit a sort of grace to his movement, and sigh. 

Donghyuck owes you twenty. You’re going to be rubbing it in his smug face that you’ve recruited, er, almost recruited the unreachable Huang Renjun. And for a date? He must be far more romantic than you thought. You don’t think you’ll ever understand him.

You take a slow, deep breath reaching all the way to your belly. 

Your plan is working out. It’s going to work out—soon you can be writing songs to a rhythm and melody of your choice, for people who can hear the words and dance to it. The world’s gonna sing along to your songs, to the chorus to your ambitions. 

“Renjun?!”

Between Donghyuck’s agape mouth and Renjun’s defensive stance, you really don’t know who to approach first. This place was apparently the only room in all of Seoul a bunch of college kids could rent out and while all of you dished out a remarkable chunk from your earnings, it was worth every penny. From the ugly orange wallpaper to the stinky couch, you wouldn’t trade a thing in this room, except for maybe Jeno’s withering plant in exchange for a new one. Poor thing’s been dead for as long as you can remember (courtesy of Jaemin).

“(name) actually convinced you?” Donghyuck asks, exaggerated surprise in his voice before he drops it lower. “You can tell me if you were threatened or something, promise I’ll get you out of this.”

Renjun rolls his eyes, a smile making on to his face anyway. “It’s just for a w—mph!”

You slap a hand over Renjun’s mouth, stepping in to grin victoriously at Donghyuck. “See, Hyuck? I told you I’d make it work. Now, pay up.”

“You bet on this?” 

The curtains are drawn shut but the room lights are bright in a strange sort of way, like someone in the sixteenth century discovered electricity early and decided to reinvent candlelight out of it. Late afternoon isn’t as gentle as it is in winter, but you’d rather have patches of sunlight decorating the room instead of the garish yellow lights. The lavender air freshener you sprayed a few minutes ago has already settled in, the previous scent of instant noodles, though delicious, finally gone. You should’ve brought the coffee mix, you think with regret. A productive day needs a productive start, as you’ve always been told. (You might have messed up, but it’s never too late, right?)

You think you should have anticipated a little adjustment trouble after all.

Jeno walks headfirst into the mess—with Renjun choking Donghyuck under his arm while you try to not drop the pile of records from the small coffee table and onto the Dorito dust-covered wooden floor. The recorder is safe, a good few feet away from your mayhem.

“Oh, hey Renjun, didn’t know you’re a part of this,” Jeno says, raising an eyebrow at the boy.

“Yeah, I didn’t either,” Renjun mutters in response, loosing up on Donghyuck.

You narrow your eyes. “Wait, you guys know each other?”

“Yeah, we’re in the same dorm,” Jeno answers, shrugging before he drops his bag onto the couch. 

You gasp. “You could’ve just asked him all this time?!”

“Uh,” Jeno drawls out before coughing forcefully. There’s a slight change of air, and your inability to read situations, for the first time, is a major help.

“Hello, trouble children,” Jaemin announces as he enters, his bag thrown in Jeno’s direction, who seems relieved for the interruption.

“Oh, hi Renjun!” 

“You know him too?” You’re almost offended at this point. 

Jaemin stares blankly in confusion. “Yeah, we’re…all…in the same dorm.”

You throw up your head in exasperation, an annoyed huff leaving your parted lips. “And none of you thought of asking him to join?!”

“We didn’t think he’d ever agree,” Jaemin says, glancing at Renjun discreetly. 

Renjun stays quiet, shrugging before he plops down on the couch. “Anyone wanna tell me what we’re supposed to do today? Apart from killing Donghyuck?”

“It’s not my fault you’re so bad at rock, paper, scissors,” Donghyuck retorts quietly. 

“You cheated!” Renjun sits up straight, glaring.

You raise your palms like the peaceful negotiator you are, and honestly, all they had to do was decide the lead vocal for the new song, which Renjun vehemently rejected. 

Donghyuck gasps. “Renjun isn’t half as innocent as he looks. Watch out (name)—oof.”

Renjun elbows him in the stomach, the resulting expression on Donghyuck making you wonder just how much strength Renjun really has.

“Renjun, Donghyuck. You’re both lead,” you say, finalizing.

“What?!” 

The two of them look at you, one with betrayal and the other with an emotion very close to murder. It wasn’t easy coming to the decision, sure, but for this song, you’ll be needing Renjun a little bit more. Is it treacherous of you to have picked out the song most suited to him? You have your reasons, however. You’re not letting Renjun leave without experiencing the wonders of performing at a local pub, and in general, you’re a little iffy about letting him leave at all. You need the keys and you need a chance. You have something to prove.

“Just this song, Hyuck,” you sigh. “You know we switch up things every time.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “The show's coming Saturday, right?”

You nod when Renjun interrupts.

“Show?!” he blurts.

“We’re performing,” you answer, shrugging. “You know Odd Fruit? In Hongdae?”

Renjun wrinkles his nose, shifting back. “No? Isn’t that a dive bar?”

“Best place for us,” Jaemin grins, resting his elbows against the headrest beside Renjun. “Saturdays are for rock.”

Renjun sighs. “I don’t- I don’t sing rock.”

Jeno raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t peeping or anything but wasn’t that you in the shower? What were you singing again—”

“Okay, okay!” Renjun sits up straight, heaving a sigh, his shoulders moving with it. “I sing Disney songs in the shower, it doesn’t mean anything…”

“We can do that sort of music too.” You grin, tilting your head. “We can do any music!”

“Yeah,” Jeno encourages thoughtfully, “Even idol music!”

“No,” everyone says in unison. 

Jeno mutters something under his breath, sulking as he sinks into the couch and crosses his arms after adjusting his bright red baseball cap.

Renjun shakes his head, recomposing himself. “You want me to perform next Saturday?! That wasn’t in the deal!”

You furrow your brows. “I told you it’s a full trial!”

“That’s over a week!” He throws up his hands in exasperation.

“The trial week ends on Friday and Saturday’s just a bonus,” you reason, crossing your arms. 

You don't break the gaze just in case it determines your stand. It’s probably a full minute of glaring at each other before your humble audience intervenes, Donghyuck bursting into laughter and the other two following. You share a puzzled look with Renjun, looking around for an explanation.

“We’re gonna have a blast this Saturday,” Donghyuck says, wiping a tear from his eye. “I can’t wait.”

“We’ll get to practise,” Jaemin says, resting his palm on Renjun’s shoulder reassuringly. “You’re gonna have fun, trust me.”

“I hope so,” Renjun mutters.

That’s all you need to hear.

Renjun isn’t half as disagreeable when he’s focused. His brow line is straight, lips parted gently and eyes almost hazed over as if his fingers over the keys have eyes of their own. 

Renjun is also fantastic at perfecting your notes. You always thought he’d be too prissy to work with you, but he doesn’t seem to care about that anymore. With flushed knuckles and long fingers, part of hands that were meant to play the piano—you’d say Renun lives up to the musical prodigy title. The short demo you’d played for him somehow swirled and twined into music so him and yet still you, rock undertones with light blues. You haven’t met anyone who can play with melody like that, besides Donghyuck.

Rock means hope. Undone to be done.

And maybe, part of you is a little disappointed at how well he handles the pre-performance stress. You would love to see a hint of jitters in him for once. Saturday wastes no time in creeping up and while you wish you could say you feel what your band looks like, you don’t. The pre-performance stress is very, very different for you. 

Let’s say, you’re not too sure about reviving rock music in Seoul. It’s not very popular and still considered underground, but hey, at least it’s easy on the ears and it is honest, if nothing else. And an honest sound wins, right?

You lock eyes with Renjun, before they're ushered to the centre. There's not much to be said. You smile with a determined nod, holding up both of your thumbs to the boys. This will work out. It will.

And at the very least, you're getting two shots of whiskey on the house.

The place is shabby, but not too shabby for a dive bar. There’s a giant mural… thing of what seems to be the hybrid of a peach, apricot and dragonfruit. You’re not too sure, actually. Just as crowded as you expected, the lights glow dim and the smell of musk and lime keep in check the other foul smells that could possibly emanate from the human body. Lovely. Your fingers play against your lips as they stretch into a smile. It’s the perfect place to play your song, but maybe the jitters have a purpose after all.

There are foreign faces around, quite literally, and it makes you nervous. You settle by the bar, your last words of encouragement drifted off further from you to whatever that excuse of a stage is. 

Renjun looks calm as ever. The confidence in him is not what you'd expected, though a bubbling feeling in you suggests it's even better this way.

“You finally got someone on the keys,” a familiar voice calls from behind the countertop.

You turn your head to find Doyoung, arms resting on the table and holding what seems to be a bottle of vodka so tenderly, you’d think it was either his child or an explosive.

“Huang Renjun,” you respond, smiling. “Like the best pianist in our year. Or maybe second best.”

Doyoung laughs. “You kids could be as good as us some day. Need more practice.”

“Hey, old man, it’s not your time anymore,” you say, raising an eyebrow with a cheeky grin. “Maybe you were the best keyboardist back then but…”

You lean in to emphasize as you point at a Renjun furrowing his brows at all the wiring. “That guy’s going to outsing you. It’s the new era now. Etcetera, etcetera.”

“You talk like I’m from a different generation.” Doyoung scoffs, though the corner of his lips twitch. “Still dreaming of making your boyband? Do you guys even have a name?”

You pout. “It’s not a boyband! Okay… technically, it is a boyband. And no, we don’t have a name.”

You sulk for a moment or two at the way Doyoung had called your life’s work a boyband in that uninterested tone. Nothing’s wrong with a boyband. You sigh.

“At least we’re getting free alcohol, eh?” you nudge Doyoung, him being the reason you’re getting to play here anyway. What does a graduated music performance major do in his free time? Bartending, apparently. You haven’t ever really questioned his life choices and you’re not going to start now. Never question your seniors.

“I’m not serving you kids alcohol,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows in disbelief.

“We’re legal,” you argue, crossing your arms.

“Hard to believe.”

You see the smile lines crease on Doyoung’s face and before you can retort, a hum of strings resounds through the place, loud enough for the two of you to catch.

“Sorry,” Donghyuck mouths sheepishly to the two of you, Doyoung responding with an eye roll.

“I didn’t know that demon could get nervous,” he mutters and you laugh at the comedic duo the two of them make. 

Donghyuck clears his throat into the mic and you cringe, but not before holding back your laughter at the terror in his eyes. Right then, the keys are struck, and suddenly, music is into motion.

You absentmindedly hum along, smiling to yourself before it strikes you to monitor the crowd. You gulp, a crease in your brows as you look around with the determination of a child at a pet shop scanning for a puppy to adopt.

You give up after a minute or so, the feeling weighing heavy. Reading facial expressions has never really been your thing, especially under lights that don’t acknowledge the purpose of their existence. (You’re not saying this because you have bad eyesight.) Fun varies. Everyone in this place is in a crowd of their own, and if not a crowd, in a dream. Some nod along, some smile but you, you know the song better than anyone else in this room. It has to be worth something.

You sigh. Your desperation gets a notch crueler each drawing year, and yet, the questions still arise. Do you have to be someone? A smiling face at a dive bar is more than enough to be, you think.

You mouth the lyrics, nodding your head along to the baseline you helped make. You think Doyoung chuckles beside you, something about taking self-love too seriously but you can’t hear him over the sound of the band. 

Bass. Drums. Keys.

Suddenly, in the moment between heartbeats, your eyes meet Renjun’s.

He sings into the mic full of self-assurance, teeth occasionally making an appearance in a chaotic smile. It's always the little things that make the person. Eyes peering down at the keys, barely keeping open at certain parts and yet you think you see a hint of exhilaration in them. 

The riff of the second song starts out loud. This is Donghyuck’s song and this time, it turns heads. You’re not sure in a good way or bad, but it wouldn’t be the first time people have wanted to beat him up in a bar. You snicker to yourself but just then, two guys cheer from the crowd, a red-faced Donghyuck flashing them a grin.

“Ah, Jaehyun and Taeil are here too,” Doyoung notes. You’ve never actually met the two but you’ve heard of them so many times you think you could replace Doyoung as their lead singer. 

The song is called Cheers and for good reason.

Donghyuck smiles into the mic, and with a highly anticipated breath, you realize, Renjun is smiling too. Little by little, the night grows more optimistic and into the palms of your youth. Even in this tiny, crowded place. Even in a room full of people you can’t read.

The song ends in time, but not enough for Donghyuck to actually convince Doyoung to give him drinks. It’s not a Saturday night without their fights, and despite that, the atmosphere is warm with spoken words. You think you catch Renjun beam at Doyoung’s compliment, suppressing your own smile at the two..

Clink, splash, clink.

“You know, for someone as excited about whiskey, I thought you’d be better with liquor,” Renjun says, sighing as his hesitant finger pokes you in the forehead.

Your eyes open so suddenly, Renjun flinches and you ease into a smile. “I’m not that drunk. The next shot, maybe.”

That’s not entirely true because you’re sure the previous one just needs a little more time to settle into your gut. Renjun, on the other hand, seems to be better at dealing with alcohol. The peach hue across his cheeks make you want to pinch them and you’ll give it twenty minutes before you lose control and actually do.

The two songs were only three and a half minutes each but they seemed to stretch long enough for you to be pleased with them. You’re not sure about the rest.

“I almost messed up the beat there,” Jeno mutters, resting his head against the bar table. Jaemin shrugs beside him, taking another shot. The two of them can hold their liquor, at least. Donghyuck cannot.

“Was it that bad?” Donghyuck asks, adjusting the red bomber jacket he was so sure made him look cool. “I don’t think it was bad. I mean, we all do embarrassing things once in a while—”

“Does he not shut up?” Renjun wails before looking at you accusingly. “Don’t end up like that.” 

“I don’t mope, Renjun,” you snap, your finger unsteady as it points at him. “You better remember that about me.”

Renjun rolls his eyes. “And you’re gone too.”

“Tell me,” you say, your lips tugged into a lazy smile, “you enjoyed it, didn’t you? I saw you smiling.”

Even under the wash of blue light, you can see his cheeks tinge with colour. Is Huang Renjun purple now? Not the crystal clear jewel you’d expected, but these hues are so much nicer on him. He doesn’t always have to be under golden spotlight—he can just bask in the mulberry shades of a nearly sketchy club once in a while.

“Renjun,” a loud whine erupts from beside you, Donghyuck immediately wobbling up. “I can’t believe you actually agreed to play with us. C’mere, let me give you a smooch.”

Renjun curls his lips, desperately trying to fight off Donghyuck clinging onto him for life, and you hear a grunt of pain from Renjun in a pitch you didn’t think was humanly possible. You laugh, clutching your stomach and hear a few strained words from Renjun about how no one ever helps him. Who would help him when he’s providing you the funniest event of the weekend?

Jeno is the knight in shining armour tonight, pulling Donghyuck off but not before the boy lands a kiss on Renjun’s neck, in turn getting smacked in the lips a little too hard. Donghyuck places his hand over his mouth, keeling over with eyes shut in pain and Renjun mutters about how he deserved that. He fits in just fine, you think.

“You wanna… not do that?” 

Renjun pulls the shot glass away from you, and you frown at him.

“So tell me,” he says, leaning in a little closer to be heard over the song. “Why did you want me to join your band so desperately you forgot your own dignity? I’m not saying you had any to begin with but…”

“Look, Renjun, I don’t give away embarrassing secrets when I’m drunk,” you warn, poking him right between the ribs. “Even if it’s not embarrassing. Or a secret.”

“Right. You’d do that sober,” he sighs, arms a polite distance from you when you try to stand up.

“Now you tell me—”

“You didn’t even answer me.”

“—did you have fun?”

Renjun pauses, taking a moment or two as he scans your face. The light dances across his features, gentle eyes and parted lips, across the dark jacket over a white shirt that has turned fluorescent under the lighting. You forgot how fun this place got beyond midnight, when they play beats to dance to for a crowd that seeks nothing more than fun.

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

Renjun might be trying very hard to stop the smile over his lips but you can see it in his eyes. And perhaps, people are only seen when they are true to themselves.

“Huang Renjun!” you yell all of a sudden, voice still drowned out in the delicate discordance. 

Unfortunately for Renjun, you yell directly into his ear and he responds with a violent recoil, hand flying to his ear involuntarily. He probably cries out too but the music is deafening, something you enjoy rightly so. Or is it the alcohol? Should you have stayed sober for Renjun’s sake? Right now, you don’t even mind the strong minty scent wafting from Renjun—in fact, it’s welcoming, even.

You wobble onto his chest before tentatively pushing yourself away. You curse at yourself. You weren’t supposed to get hammered. How much did you drink? You can’t even bear to look at the bill right now.

“You know what? I’m not having fun right now,” Renjun speaks into your ear and you jump. There’s a hint of a smile on his face. 

You sit back down on the bar stool, pouting at the fuzz blooming inside your head. No more words for tonight. In all honesty, why doesn’t anyone ever let you dance?

“Oh no, you don’t.” Doyoung pulls the bottle of whatever-alcoholic-beverage out of your reach. “Do you even know how expensive that is? You’re going to have to pay.”

You think you sober up a little, sitting straight. “Oh no. I don’t have money. I’m not cleaning the place again.”

A sort of unspoken arrangement passes between Doyoung and Renjun, who you’re sure have never met before. You know Jaemin’s dragged Donghyuck home, the same way you’d drag your pet cat away from the kitchen and Jeno is the only one with a driver’s license and Doyoung’s trust (hence, designated driver). Which leaves the two of you. 

Renjun heaves a sigh, pulling you up by the shoulders. “You’re going home. Or whatever dumpster you came from.”

He proceeds to mutter something about Jeno being late but in the moment, you flash him a grin, walking perfectly away (at least, you think you do) and out into the night. Renjun follows, flustered by your absolute lack of restraint as he somehow manages to stop you from tripping over the sidewalk.

“You didn’t dance,” you complain, looking at him. 

“You didn’t let me,” he retorts. “Look at you. You’re as bad as Donghyuck. Babysitting him is difficult enough.”

You grumble before agreeing. “Okay, fair. Next time, no drinking. Unless it’s free.”

What college student would have the audacity to turn down free drinks? Huang Renjun should not have been this good at holding his liquor. Needlessly, your thoughts are incoherent—not too good for a songwriter, right?

Huang Renjun has a lighter touch than you thought. He has a polite hold over your shoulder, in a way friends do most often, and you might feel like you could have been friends with him forever, but you can never tell what he thinks. Sometimes, Renjun really is extraterrestrial. In the way he talks, in the way he looks at things and in the way you almost believe he’s going to do something unspeakably outrageous someday. 

You feel a certain sprout of warmth in your chest as he sits quietly beside you in the noisy car Jeno loves to drive. Must be the alcohol, of course. Of course.

And sometimes, you come up with words fit for a song. To fall asleep in last night’s clothes and wake up with tomorrow’s dreams—all part of the grand plan, part of the crusades of youth, nothing more and nothing less. That sounds like something you’d love telling your family when you’re old and grey. You laugh to yourself, pulling the covers over your head, not knowing how you even ended up here. 

It smells minty. 

With that one fleeting thought, you doze off in your unwashed bed sheets and faintly lemon-scented pillows, shades of plums and oranges and cherries of the night twisting into midnight black.

Playing at Odd Fruit is now a thing. Your thing. The band’s thing.  

As if you needed any more reasons to stay over at the bandroom, now that Donghyuck and Renjun bickering keeps everyone up all night. You’re not blaming them, of course, when you join in the fun too. The day Renjun’s nostrils stop flaring and his eyebrows don’t furrow into an oddly adorable expression will be the day he’s finally set free from your ‘ill-treatment’.

Tap, scratch, tap.

Donghyuck fiddles with the strings of his guitar, while the rest lay slumped in any clean bit of space they could find, like runners after a marathon. Which is funny, really, considering you were the one running errands and cleaning up the damn place and it’s yet still somehow trashed. You could be having a little more energy, you always could. 

However, the lengthened nights have left you in a state you’re rather afraid to be in. Your eyes don’t grow any more determined when it’s time for end semester tests, you don’t grow any happier at the thought of graduating. There are so many tunes to find, so many words to scribble—just how will you catch up?

Fun is a perfectly valid reason to do things but it’s only so long before the rest of your feelings each grip you by the limbs. 

“We need to do something more,” you say, pacing the room. “Something that’s a little more eye-catching, you know?”

There’s a pause.

“Make Jeno play the drums shirtless,” Donghyuck suggests.

Jeno sighs, still not having figured out how to respond every time a scandalizing proposition escapes the boy’s mouth. At this point, most of you have considered duct taping him over the mouth but it’d never work. Renjun’s tried.

“Why do we even need it?” Renjun asks, eyes on the ceiling as he lies back on the couch.

“To improve!” you say, shoulders hunching.

“I don’t need improving,” he mutters, neck angled to the side in contemplation.

“Yeah, you should see Renjun at the dorms,” Donghyuck snorts. “I don’t think he can get any better.”

Renjun furrows his brows. “What?”

“You play the keys in your sleep, Renjun,” Donghyuck says, almost distastefully. “You keep tapping and tapping against the study desk. How the hell do you not wake yourself up?”

“And you snore,” Renjun mumbles, glaring at him. “How the hell do you not wake yourself up?”

“Guys,” you interrupt. Your lack of sleep throughout the exam season has not left you any better than this. “More important matters at hand.”

“Why are we so stressed anyway?” Renjun sighs.

There’s another pause in the quiet afternoon. You’d think it’s comforting even to have the same fear lingering beneath each of your noses, that same existential grasp ready to pounce—all within the comfort of the same room you share. All those late nights sharing ramen have meaning after all, as do the utter messes all of you make on Friday evenings as the boys try to practise, as does every Saturday night performance and every Sunday afternoon spent trying to watch the same movie on a tiny phone screen.

“How about we each look for inspiration?” Jaemin pipes up, eyes still a little lost.

Everyone turns to him and he straightens ever so slightly. “Me and Jeno can come up with a beat, (name) and Renjun can look for a melody and Donghyuck—”

“Can fuck off?” Renjun suggests helpfully.

Donghyuck pouts, crossing his arms. “Hey I’m—”

“Yeah, maybe Donghyuck can fuck off,” Jaemin says, fighting a smile. You raise an eyebrow, wondering which one of Donghyuck’s antics finally got on Jaemin’s nerves.

“This is harassment,” Donghyuck mutters before sinking into the couch beside Renjun. “Well, good for me! I get a day off—”

“No, you don’t,” Jaemin disproves. “You’re cleaning up this place.” 

Donghyuck lets out a gasp. “All by myself?”

“Well, you trashed the place all by yourself,” Jeno reasons.

You tune out the bickering for a few moments. There are important matters at hand and no one seems to be listening to you. You play with your fingers absentmindedly when the thought arrives that maybe you should declare your secret little project. The song you wrote with Renjun in mind, that is. You should admit that it’s really just a nicer way of saying you wrote a song for him. 

Astounding, isn’t it? This should be the part where you feel your pulse quicken. It’s just a song and the nights spent with him on the keyboards, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes has given you a head full of rhythm and song. It’s just a song.

You’d do anything for a good song.

But first, you need your audio converter fixed. The damn thing’s been generating noise all on its own, when it’s clearly your job.

“I need to go to Yongsan,” you say, picking up your bag. “We can find inspiration along the way, can’t we Renjun?”

“Why do we need to go—”

“Oh, get me some replacement strings for my guitar,” Donghyuck chirps.

“And a new pair of drumsticks,” Jeno says, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. You sigh. He really needs to stop breaking those. Where do drummers get such unparalleled rage on a drum set?

You walk over to the door before turning back and sending a pointed look at Renjun.

“I… have to?” he asks, and the look in his eyes almost makes you pity him. If anything, he’s having it worse than the rest of you are, with balancing the weekly gigs and practising for his piano recitals, though he never studies like the rest. You feel sorry but clearly, not enough.

“Yes,” you reply hurriedly. “Quick, get up, come on, we’re wasting time.”

“Okay, okay! Don’t pull my shirt!”

It’s so easy to get Renjun to do things these days. You bite back a smile as he fixes his collar, features still disgruntled by your (over)enthusiasm. His bag is cuter than you thought for someone who dresses punk (“It’s not punk,” he’d snapped, after re-dyeing his hair yet again.), with three different moomin keychains hanging against a baby blue hue. 

You should know better than to let yourself think about someone so much.

The subway is absolutely lovable when it isn’t rush hour.

Skyscrapers nearly aren’t as looming as they are on rainy days, but you make your way through a still busy city, the heart of it beating like a snare drum with each passing moment.  A little rain cannot stop Seoul. 

Renjun walks beside you explaining how you should really look into this new underground artist you’ve already listened to three times this week because of him. He never seems to understand that you are, in fact, capable of remembering the things he says.

“I wrote a song about you,” you say abruptly.

Very smooth.

Renjun raises an eyebrow. “Like as a gift? A fan song? I’m so flatter—”

“No, stupid,” you interrupt, shifting your eyes upon irrelevant surrounding details. “It’s not about you. I just thought you’d like it.”

You pause.

“Yeah, it’s a little bit about you. A gift for joining. You can sing it to yourself in the shower or something.”

“You know, I feel really offended when you call me stupid.”

You glare at him. His ears are tinged red but right now, you’re a little more than done with his insults. Sure, you make mistakes—like dropping a full open can of soda on your own lap or submitting the wrong assignment to the wrong professor—but at least you’re not cynical Huang Renjun, incapable of making mistakes at all. It would be much more infuriating if you hadn’t seen Renjun drooling in his sleep or vigorously wipe at his nose after having snacks too spicy for his own good. You suppress a retort.

You reach the subway entrance taking slower steps than usual; but time is not a constraint here.

“It’s not a diss track, is it?” Renjun asks, suddenly doubtful. 

You can’t help your laugh (and horrifically, snorts), in turn evoking a smile in Renjun.

“No, it isn’t,” you assure, before grabbing his wrist and skipping down the steps, Renjun’s panicked voice yelling at you to slow down. 

“Can you not do that?” he complains, massaging his wrist at the subway platform.

“You made it through without tripping,” you reason, sticking your tongue out at him.

He reaches out to flick your forehead but you cover it just in time, a grin blooming across both your faces at this childish playfight. The train arrives with an almost soundless screech and you hop on slowly with anticipation in your footsteps.

“So what is it about?” Renjun asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows against his knees.

“You,” you respond, nonchalant.

“Very informative.”

The noise of the trains keeps the moment engaged, chuffing throughout as busy as they are.

Renjun lets out a barely audible gasp. “It’s not a- It’s not a love song, is it?”

You laugh, amused.

“Renjun, I knew you were arrogant but not this arrogant,” you tease.

He flushes hotly, and there’s that feeling again—that maybe you’re wrong. Maybe you don’t have anything else to hang on to and music is the only ledge left. 

You wrinkle your nose before shaking yourself off the feeling. Rainy days always do this.

“Besides,” you say, “I’m still going to score you that hot date with star pianist number one, aren’t I?”

“Not number one,” he begins before hesitating. “That’s… not necessary but thanks.”

You punch him swiftly and he responds with an oof, clutching the ball of his shoulder.

“Don’t be shy,” you complain. “That’s not fun.”

“Well, I’m not fun,” he retorts. “I don’t need to be. I like having a working brain.”

You send him an exaggerated hurt look, hand reaching to pull at his cheek before it gets swatted away. Somehow, in this exact moment, you find a new tune and it doesn’t seem to be the end of your search. You contemplate saving it in your voice memos but you figure a noisy subway train is the last place to record. Besides, you don’t want to lose the look in Renjun’s eyes when he’s talking about how impressive the new relocated concert hall is.

“It’s called Not Feeling Spring,” you say when the train doors open to your station.

Renjun raises an eyebrow, somewhat disbelieving, although you’re not sure of what. 

“You’ve definitely packed some insults in there,” he accuses.

You look at him, defeated. “Trust me.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

Step, step, splash. 

“Ew,” Renjun says, shaking his foot after landing on a particularly damp part of the sidewalk. They really should have evened out the path when laying the pavement. But unfortunately for Renjun, he’s already stepped onto rainwater in bright yellow converse.

It’s not just his shoes that look like daisies could bloom over them either—there’s paint over his denim jacket in pictures you’re aware that Renjun himself painted. A nice little touch, but not a very smart choice for a garment. How unlike him, you think to yourself when you hear him sigh and complain about the weather.

“So this is your famous shop?” Renjun asks, eyeing the discoloured walls of the store by the shop.

“You’re doing your thing again,” you reply, face souring.

He looks baffled. “What thing?”

“Your thing. The one where you act all cynical.”

“I’m not cynical.” He crosses his arms.

“Great, you’re even cynical about being cynical.”

Inside is, of course, as warm as ever. The walls are vibrant red, in stark contrast with the exterior and you think you see Renjun’s face grow pinkish. You smile at the man behind the counter, in his late fifties and smile still somehow as bright as yours.

“What’s the problem, dear?” he asks, glancing at your laptop. “You know I can’t help with software issues.”

“I know,” you say, “But I’ve tried every guide on the internet and there’s still unnecessary noise.”

He clicks around your screen for a few seconds.

“Have you tried getting a better mic?”

“Uh.”

Renjun snickers beside you before promptly apologizing at the two pairs of eyes on him. You didn’t bring him here just to embarrass yourself in front of him. Your cheeks flush as you tell the man you’ll come another day with your mic, before heading to the supplements aisle. Renjun follows you quietly, silent laughter yet still etched over his face and he looks away when you glare at him.

“Are you sure you wanna buy the wooden drumsticks?” Renjun asks, picking up the carbon fibre ones instead.

“Jeno loves the wooden ones,” you defend. “And you really think those are within my budget?”

Renjun shrugs, keeping them back in place. 

“Feels like I’m shopping for babies,” he mutters.

There’s a second’s pause before he straightens, a particular discomfort in his being. “Not- Not like my babies or something. I- I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” you say, trying very hard to hold in your laughter. 

“I don’t like that face you’re making.”

“You don’t always have to explain yourself,” you smile before heading to the counter.

The scent of rain makes you nostalgic. You step outside with Renjun and into the sound of rain against pavement. It’s wet and damp, and your hair clings to your skin in that horrific discomfort of humidity, truly one of the worst cruelties of rain. You make a face but an idea strikes you smack across the forehead.

You gasp.

“This can be our stage!” you declare, spreading your arms.

Renjun pulls your arms down. “Don’t block the sidewalk!”

“Sorry.”

You shove your bag onto Renjun, bewildering him even further. The sleeves of the jacket he rolled up, fall into place again as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“This,” you say, waving your arms about, “Should be a stage.”

“Huh?”

Renjun looks unconvinced at your flailing and you sigh. 

“The rain!” you say, trying to sound as enthusiastic as you can. “Isn’t it romantic? You’ve never thought what it would be like playing in the rain?”

“Uh, inconvenient?”

You groan. “Come on! Picture it for a second.”

You give it a moment before showing him what you mean. Renjun bursts into laughter at your air guitar performance, suddenly unaware of the pit-a-pat. 

“It would be nice,” he says, his teeth poking against his lips. He places the bags under the shaded entrance of the store before stepping into the drizzle.

Pitter, patter.

Renjun flashes you a goofy smile, shaking the water out of his hair only for the rain to come in stronger. With raindrops caught on eyelashes, you can only think of the soft, rising melodies that come in movie scenes like these, except it’s a lot more uncomfortable than they show it to be. You smoothen your hair, getting slightly frizzy due to the raindrops. You’ve always wanted to do things out of line and out of regularity and it’s not just because of the price sticker spelling ‘youth’ that clings to your back—but now, is it selfish to just want to stay under the rain? 

In a way it feels just the same as ever; like singing barefoot on an asphalt road, cooling rains and people around, without a care each. You tell Renjun about the time you were stranded by the bus stop under heavy downpour for so long, you decided to walk home with pneumonia a step behind you and he tells you that you’re an idiot. It’s nothing unusual but it makes you smile when he laughs at you. 

The rain slows again before you can start to shiver, chest rising and falling with each breath that fills your lungs. 

“I have a song!” you declare, eyes shining. “A love song. We’ve never done a love song.”

“A love song?” Renjun asks, laughing almost. “You want to write a radio love song? Why?”

“Because, Huang Renjun, there’s not a thing in the world that isn’t made for love.”

Renjun pauses before wrinkling his nose. “Don’t preach me.”

The clap of thunder startles the two of you out of calm. It’s not so much the screams that left your mouths simultaneously as the looks you get from passersby. Renjun looks at you the same time as you look at him, his ears red and eyes nervous.

“Lightning doesn’t- Lightning doesn’t strike in the middle of the city, does it?” Renjun asks, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted, like a hare stranded in the middle of a busy road.

“I don’t know!” You respond, pulling him by the sleeve to the nearest cover. “I don’t want to know.”

Renjun grabs your hand and you realize with a thump in your heart the effect of it. He pulls you to the side, saving your jeans from the fate of getting splashed by muddy water courtesy of an oncoming car.

“Ooh, quick reflex,” you say, despite the clanging of cymbals inside your ribcage.

He shrugs, picking up the bags and shoving yours to your chest.

“Ow?”

“Don’t look at me like that. You know why.”

“You know, you’re not as grumpy as I thought you were. You’re still petty, though.”

“Thanks.”

When you’re back to the bandroom, you find Donghyuck snoring on the couch with an even more worn out Jaemin sitting cross legged on the floor and his head against Donghyuck's knee. Jeno looks like he’s in a world of his own, tapping away at his phone in a game he seems to be losing at.

“Why are you guys wet?” Jaemin asks, cracking an eye open. “Had some life-changing experience?”

“Not really.” You shrug. “Why do you guys look dead?”

“I am dead,” Donghyuck mumbles in his sleep to which Jaemin shakes his head.

“He didn’t even do the entire cleaning…”

You hope the skip in your steps isn’t too obvious. You have a song and this time, it feels pure in a way that you haven’t made before.

“I hope you guys came up with a beat,” you call.

“Uh, about that—”

“I have a new song!” you announce bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Your declaration is met with a bunch of smiles. Soon enough, everyone in the room is up and to their positions in a matter of minutes. 

Music isn’t about being eye-catching, considering the eyes have nothing to do with it anyway. You signal Renjun who in turn, clears his throat.

A strum of guitar string. Four notes on the keys. Bass. A beat on the drums.

“One. Two. Ah, one, two, three, four!”

The cafeteria is jam packed at three a.m so it’s a good thing you brought Renjun here an hour early. So, your top secret, full resistance, avant-garde mission? Your new song and the one for Renjun, of course. 

“So this is top secret,” you whisper when he sits down from across you.

“I’m sure it is,” he snickers.

You pass your notebook to him, scribbles neater than usual. (That’s only because you rewrote the song in a new page.) You start your laptop, waiting for the screen to load as Renjun goes over the lines.

“My dreams and I don’t get along,” Renjun reads aloud before furrowing his brows.

Ah, I hate people.

I hate my friends too.

And I love saying that which isn’t true.

“Oh, very funny, (name),” Renjun scorns, crossing his arms. “Is that what you think of me?”

You chuckle to yourself. Maybe it was a little petty, but you love the look on Renjun’s face when he’s annoyed, nerves a second away from being completely fried. Just for fun. This was just for fun. 

Somewhere along, however, you can’t deny the essence of him you’d so hopelessly wanted to capture in the melody, in rhythm and timbre, orchestral almost. It’s each note of the piano he plays to himself late at night in the bandroom, each featherlight hit on the cymbal and the song you hum to yourself on the bus ride to classes every morning.

It’s a love song. 

You break into a sudden coughing fit at the thought, Renjun flinching before offering you his bottle of water. Somehow, the gentle hand on your back trying to ease you gives you yet another reason to support your unwanted epiphany. That’s just ridiculous. It’s something natural between friends, isn’t it? Yet, you’d gag at the idea of writing Donghyuck into a song. 

You calm down and meet Renjun’s eyes, the glint of something familiar making you pause. 

“Water?” he offers, and you straighten.

“I had the stupidest thought,” you say, trying to laugh it off.

You can’t do it. You can’t make light of it with him.

“When do you not?” he says, a soft smile on his face.

You smile awkwardly in response, avoiding his eyes as you rub circles on the soft flesh between your thumb and forefinger. 

It’s quiet, much more than not, distant buzzing of the 3 a.m. university cafeteria crowds drifting through the space between you and him.

“Do you ever- Do you ever think about doing it?” Renjun asks.

You blink before feeling warmth on your cheeks. 

“Doing what, Renjun? That’s a little too private to ask. I mean, I could answer, of c—”

It doesn’t take long for him to burn bright vermillion at the cheeks. 

“I- I didn’t say that,” he defends, stuttering over the words. “I was talking about making music. Do you ever think about it or do you just do it?”

“Oh,” you respond intelligently, the embarrassment making you flush harder. Funny, you used to laugh the loudest at these sorts of mistakes. “I don’t- I don’t know. I think about it after I’ve… made it?”

You scratch the back of your head awkwardly. 

“You… do like it, don’t you?” he asks, something akin to worry in his eyes. 

You hum, smiling. “Of course I like it, Renjun.”

No. The truth is, you don’t even know how it makes you feel. The truth is, you do feel sick listening to your own song over and over again. Have you run far enough? Do you have to be running for this?

You seem scared. Is that what he wanted to tell you? You can’t be that easy to see through, you resist. When he held your hand earlier, could he feel it shake?

You’re so afraid that all of this is for naught that you can’t feel it anymore. You hardly make music for yourself, for no one else to hear. Is that what you wanted? When you wrote Not Feeling Spring, were you searching for something you desperately wanted or something you lost? You’re only twenty and you’re aging.

You snap yourself out of the whirlpool of questions to a drowsy Renjun playing with the bracelet around his wrist, lost in his own circle of thoughts. 

“I wanted to give up on this,” he whispers suddenly. “I wanted to give up on music.”

You hold your breath till he looks at you, a strange sense of vulnerability that makes you want to reach over the table and share some of the warmth your palm offers.

You’ve already drawn the conclusion.

“You’re not alone,” you say, leaning in with the widest grin. 

Renjun rolls his eyes. “Are you saying that to comfort me? It barely has any effect. Thanks, th—”

You shake your head, standing up abruptly and scrambling onto the tabletop. It’s the perfect time to be a little ridiculous. Renjun looks around, alarmed, tugging at you to get down which, unfortunately, draws even more attention. 

“Raise your hand if you’ve ever wanted to give up on music!”

There’s a moment of pause before laughter erupts, followed by a few cheers and almost as many raised hands as you’d expected. Some of them tell you to get back to your date, or focus on completing overdue assignments—friends and friends of friends. They are music students, after all.

Renjun looks around the place, rosy hued in the face, though he isn’t as angry as you thought he’d be.

“I almost never started,” you say, giggling as you resume in your seat. “Giving up came so much later.”

Renjun laughs. You don’t even have to make music out of it.

“I tried to give up the piano,” he admits, still flushed. “But I couldn’t break the habit of playing against my desk. Even then.”

You smile, resting your chin against your palm. “That sounds just like you. Now tell me, when did you discover flumpool?”

Renjun frowns and you feel an uncharacteristic thump in your chest. You want to draw your finger against his cheeks and the space between his brows, against the strained lines—the thought of it much more scandalous than the action itself.

“I didn’t- My parents didn’t- ugh.” He hesitates. “Look, everyone hated my style of music. My parents, the neighbours, their dogs. 

Your eyes soften as you sit up. “I’m sure they didn’t hate it—”

“No, trust me on this one.”

Suddenly the honey tint of his voice is dripping a dangerously low baritone. It doesn’t sound like him and it sends a shiver down your spine, a certain coldness you never thought would seep into you. It is the loneliness of curbed dreams, after all.  

“I thought I should’ve given up on music altogether. Became, what, a doctor? A lawyer?” Renjun sighs. “Whatever I do, it shouldn’t be music, right?”

He heaves a sigh in sync with you. There’s a passing moment in between where you can clearly see the apple of his eye, shining a daunting amber and a warmth you can only feel over coffee tables in university cafeterias at midnight. 

“But you’re here now because this is the closest you can be to music?” you offer, your smile sheepish.

Renjun laughs, your eyebrows furrowing as he tries to stop. “No. No, classical music was the last option on their list—but it was on the list.”

You smile, although it is small and gentle. And—unlike anything you’ve felt since you jumped onto the adulthood train.

“They like it now, though,” he beams, shoulders relaxing as if rid of a burden.“I mean- They said- They said they’re proud of me.”

When someone decides to confide their happiness to you, it is just as precious.

You look up, eyes bright as you finally get to ruffle his hair. “Well, I’m proud of you too!”

Renjun coughs indiscreetly, shaking his head before facing you. “Th-Thanks. It’s… good to hear.”

“Say it back,” you demand, making Renjun laugh.

“I’m… proud of you,” he says with rose-tinted cheeks.

The midnight chatter grows louder when the two of you pause. A symphony of voices through the area, higher pitches and lower, baritones and trebles. You wonder what people talk about most when you are quiet. You have friends—it’s not like you’re alone, per se. But everyone seems to be running, away from something or towards something. Your bones feel heavy for a second as you stir the coffee. Is it selfish to just want to get to know someone? Neither of you moving a muscle, with laughter that isn’t carried away by the wind.

“I didn’t think I’d be good at anything apart from classical,” he says, reluctance in his mouth. “Sorry about all that ruckus I caused when you asked me to join.”

You raise an eyebrow, nose wrinkling at the apology. “Renjun. It sucks when you apologize.”

He groans. “You’re really annoying, you know that? I was being nice.”

“I know,” you say, grinning. “It was all forgiven a long time ago. Can’t believe you had to say it out loud.”

“Oh, pardon me,” he says, voice rising. “I was taking into consideration your below average understanding of social cues.”

“You’re going to get smacked.”

That night, when you leave Renjun at the intersection to your respective dorms, you have yet another unwanted epiphany. He waves you goodbye with a smile, pale blue T-shirt hanging loose on his shoulders and you wave back as ardently as you can against your prominent heartbeat. Huang Renjun has the kindest eyes you’ve ever seen.

Some days, you take the bus together to and from classes. It’s not like the dorms are far but walks are considerably less fun when you’ve barely rubbed the sleep dust out of your eyes and class started ten minutes ago. Besides, you’re not letting the student bus pass go to waste.

Rattle. Rattle. Woosh.

You yawn and it quickly spreads to Renjun beside you. Classes are over and there’s no practice today. You can hear a popular song play through his earphones and tilt your head to look at him, a suppressed smile on your face. Renjun does a double take when he notices you, a little flustered as he quietly offers the other earbud and you put it on with a short word of thanks.

It is a track by one of Seoul’s favourite bands and you’re not going to lie, say you haven’t fallen prey to its charms. A catchy baseline, engaging drums and attractive vocals—you stop yourself. When was the last time you enjoyed a song without deconstructing it piece by piece? You sigh and Renjun shifts beside you, though no words part from his lips.

Absentmindedly, you find your head drawing nearer to his till they bump once and you startle away, only to laugh at each other. Is this another useless epiphany of yours? That Renjun has a lovely laugh—these are getting out of hand.

You look out the window instead, skyscrapers shiny and metallic as always and with little to offer. Unwittingly, a pout climbs onto your face at the prospect of feelings bubbling up right when you’re setting Renjun up on a date. He doesn’t know, of course. It’s meant to be a surprise and somehow, the little voice in your head won’t stop yelling at maximum volume inside your head about how wrong this is. Is it selfish? To an extent—nothing ever is purely selfless and you haven’t lived long enough to question. So why are you even bothering with this whole surprise?

Because you don’t want to think about the feelings. As if they’re things to be thought about. As if you can throw them away into the trash bin like a crumpled piece of paper.

An elderly couple boards the bus, sharing a large shopping bag as they take slow, careful steps over the aisle. Renjun responds almost at the same time you do, getting up so quickly Renjun has to hold on to the strap so as to not trip over you. The couple thanks you and you nod politely, trying not to bring attention to the earphones tangled around your necks.

You take a step closer in an attempt to separate the wires but it only makes you lose balance, Renjun clutching the cloth at your back so you don’t faceplant right into him. The other hand hangs overhead on the strap, grasping so tight his skin has turned red. 

He glances at the old couple once, blood rushing to his cheeks at something and he turns his focus back to you. 

“The- The wires- We should—”

Young love isn’t what this is. How silly. There’s enough of that all around.

“That’s what I was trying,” you interrupt. “Wait.”

You use your hands to pull the bud from your ear, trying to figure out how the loop even coiled this way. Renjun’s hand pushes against your waist at the sudden jerk, your soul almost leaving your body at the unexpected feeling of falling down. You breathe out, cheeks getting warmer. This isn’t quite uncomfortable, though.

When you look up to meet Renjun’s eyes, you feel something faint, a hint of something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“There,” you say, the wires all out of their miserable twining. 

Renjun barely nods, the music still blasting loud and clear through the buds. His hand still holds the strap for balance, and the other still holds you, for reasons private. 

There’s a warm flush over his face when he mumbles about crowded buses and the afternoon heat, eyes averted to every corner but you.

You laugh. Renjun is adorable when he least expects to be. And when you least expect him to be, he’s even terribly attractive. You swear by the way he’s looking at you, if you leaned in a little further, he’d let you kiss him. 

Wait, what?

You sober up quickly, in a moment of clarity you do not wish to have. You’ve never felt the weight of the feelings this intense. Yours isn’t the name he should be calling out so affectionately. Her. Anyone else. You were so sure of it. Huang Renjun’s fleeting interest in romance doesn’t involve you—cannot involve you.

That’s why you’re doing him (and yourself) a favour. Besides, you promised it anyway, didn’t you? 

You gulp. 

When did you start explaining yourself for everything you do?

Step, screech, step.

“Where the fuck are you even  taking me?” Renjun complains from behind you, light on his foot. “You said it’s not too far away.”

“It’s a surprise!” You stop walking to cross your arms.

“I hate it when you say that.”

How would he react? You think he’ll get a little angry, maybe scowl at you or even yell a little. You haven’t been able to look him in the eye longer than two seconds for about a week now. 

“Ta-da!” 

You stretch your arms to point towards the new cafe in town. Renjun looks at you and then the cafe and back again.

“You’re taking me on a coffee date?”

You choke on air, coughing before you can clear your throat and clarify.

“Not- Not me. Remember I promised you a date with—”

“No.”

“Yes! Wait, is that disbelieving no or are you saying you’re not going to go?”

Renjun closes his eyes and sighs, as if dealing with a toddler. “I’m not going. Why didn’t you say anything? I’m not prepared or anything!”

Something takes a tumble and falls inside your chest. You smile at him nevertheless.

“Don’t be shy now. She’s waiting, come on.”

Renjun shifts his weight from foot to foot, but it seems equally uncomfortable on each. He peers intently at you, looking up and down your face before pressing his lips together.

“Have fun,” you wish.

You push Renjun towards the door and he hesitates, some part of you expecting a little more resistance. He shrugs, although he seems to be holding back a smile. This isn’t the time, you tell yourself.

You turn on your heel before you lose your final excuse to be able to say that you are not completely enamored with Huang Renjun.

The afternoon would be more peaceful if it weren’t for Donghyuck and Renjun yelling at each other. This time, you’re not to blame.

“That’s not how you tie a bow tie!” Donghyuck complains, though Renjun won’t let him anywhere near.

“I know you’re trying to get back at me for drawing on your face last Saturday,” Renjun yells back. “But this is the pre-annual concert. You’re not fucking anything up.”

Donghyuck grumbles before settling down. Four music performance majors and yet none of them know how to do a bow tie—if it weren’t for you, Renjun might have ended up with his usual askew one. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking, and you’d just rather not look at him too long anyway. 

Formal white shirt, a much debated black bow tie and polished black dress shoes on Renjun aren’t strange to look at—in fact, they quite suit him when, despite its striking colour, his hair is parted neatly to the side. But they’re all so out of place in the bandroom, monochrome against messes, that you start to wonder if you simply think too much about him. That all of his colours and melodies are just there for you to notice.

It’s not true, of course.

But when did you become a cynic? 

“I’m going out,” Donghyuck says, huffing, “Why are they taking so long to buy ramen?”

Oh no. No, no, no. You try to mask your panic. Is one person enough to check up on Jaemin and Jeno? Would it be weird if you left too? Before you can answer those questions, you and Renjun are the only ones left in the room. You stand awkwardly by the couch, Renjun a few feet away, smoothing out the creases on his shirt.

You clear your throat, bringing his attention to you.

Nice going.

“So how was your date?”

You had to ask that, didn’t you?

The voice in your head has never been so loud before. When your question goes unanswered, you look up from the highly interesting floorboards to Renjun trying very hard to fight a snort.

“We talked about the recitals, extra lessons. Joked about you being an idiot.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“Chaerim’s not interested in guys.” Renjun laughs. “I thought you knew!”

There’s a pause.

“Wait, you were serious about setting me up with her?”

You stare a little too intensely at the space between your feet. Why would you choose now of all times to be coy? You keep yourself from swearing out loud.

“I- I didn’t know, okay?”

You feel the heat over your cheeks, the sound of everything other than your own heartbeat drowning out. A few more seconds pass and you worry more. 

“Don’t set me up on dates,” Renjun says, a sigh leaving his lips. “It’ll never work out.”

“What? Why?”

Renjun falters only to cover it up. “I- I… Why do you keep avoiding me?”

You can’t answer that.

“Setting me up on a date, never looking at me when you talk to me—are you going by the book or something?”

You hold your breath. He’s not misunderstanding and it only makes matters worse.

“All that because you don’t want to be in love with me?”

“Renjun, that’s not—”

“So what is it?”

You look up from your restless fingers and regret it almost immediately. The way Renjun looks at you, it damn near breaks your heart. His nose is a pale shade of red, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with undecided words.

“Am I- Am I dreaming everything up? Just tell me you don’t like me. I thought I made myself obvious.”

You can feel your pulse against your eardrums, ready to burst open any second.

“Renjun. It’s not about this,” you say, voice strangely low. “It’s about music—It’s always about music. I can’t risk anything.”

“Risk? What risk? You’re afraid you’re going to stop making music when you’re with me?”

“No—”

“You just want your songs on the Billboard charts? 

“And what if I do? I just want to be heard—”

You can barely breathe at the lack of distance between the two of you. Renjun looks straight into your eyes and you remember why your heart has been hammering in the first place.

“So it isn’t about music.”

You fall silent. It’s not wrong to want to succeed. But it’s never been about that. You were preparing yourself for a race while you repeated your love for it that was never there. Music is not a race and so, it is not the race you love.

“I didn’t want to be rich or famous,” Renjun says, voice lower than usual. “I don’t want to be rich or famous.”

But a musician does not want to be forgotten, does he?

For once, Renjun is fearless and you are not.

“There are worse things,” Renjun says, breath against your cheek and a rapid pulsing in your wrists. You look from his eyes to lips before breathing out slowly, eyelids growing heavy despite yourself.

The sudden bang makes the two of you jump away from each other.

Donghyuck kicks the door open, hands occupied with steaming instant ramen cups and Jeno walks in with the sprite. 

“Jaemin’s paying and we forgot our wallets,” Jeno offers an explanation when you raise an eyebrow.

You clear your throat awkwardly as the two scrutinize you with eyes you’re not yet ready to meet. You know you’ll never hear the end of this and better yet, you can pretend it never happened.

“Aren’t you supposed to get going?” Jeno asks, struggling to balance this month’s entire supply of ramen while Donghyuck holds the top of the pile.

Renjun responds with a soft ‘yeah’, eyes glancing at you once before he grabs his coat.

“I’ll see you for practice then.”

With that, the sounds inside your chest draw to a deafening close.

You’d think Doyoung would perform with his own band at his brother’s wedding.

(“I don’t want to work on the day my brother gets married.”

“I thought you work as a bartender?”

“Oh, dear.”)

You’re not complaining, of course. The longer you spend in the bandroom, the more suffocated you feel. You can’t meet Renjun’s eyes and neither can he meet yours. You rejected him, for fuck’s sake. It cannot get any more awkward than that. Any distraction will do.

This might be the first time you’ve been to a wedding on a Thursday night. At the very least, you’re happy about it being an outdoor wedding, the cool night air refreshing you the moment you step into the garden. It’s fairly large and you know Doyoung’s brother is an actor, but it never really struck you how wealthy that meant.

“There’s a chocolate fountain?!” Donghyuck gasps, walking towards it before Jaemin grabs him by the collar.

“Stage. We’re being called.”

Donghyuck massages his neck before he decides to give everyone an unnecessary pep talk.

“Look, Renjun, you better sing like that’s your ex, who you’re still in love with, getting married,” Donghyuck turns to advise a deadpanning Renjun.

“I- what? You should do that yourself.”

You smile at them encouragingly, smacking Donghyuck a little too hard on the back (you need payback for him “borrowing” your lunch on Monday) and stand at the sidelines. Donghyuck’s guitar seems to be the brightest thing in the venue, followed by Renjun’s hair. Unfortunately for Jeno, they couldn’t get the whole drum set in and the puppy dog look on his face when he sees the box-shaped cajón might have affected you some other day. 

They perform as usual, if not more enthusiastic to be in front of a crowd that isn’t drunk or worn out or both. The love songs you wrote came to be useful, after all. The muse of them, however, stands out even now.

This time, your heart skips a beat to meet Renjun’s eyes. And he doesn’t take them off you the entire performance.

The soft vibrato of his voice doesn’t fade easy, the crowd clapping along to the song with encouraging laughter. You move to the drinks table—it’s a good thing the wedding has a no kids rule because there’s alcohol you haven’t heard of at the bar table. Or maybe it isn’t a good thing. You’d love to see the look on Doyoung’s face when some rebellious twelve year-old chugs a shot of vodka. The thought makes you giggle.

You keep your word, even if you were drunk when you’d said it. You didn’t drink at any of the gigs, mostly because Doyoung wouldn’t offer anything for free, but a deal’s a deal. This doesn’t count, does it? 

You take the shot after a few moments of contemplation. You’d ordered it on impulse and whatever dare of whim you have left in you.

Unbeknownst to you, the songs had stopped about five minutes ago, enough time for Renjun and the rest to appear at your side. 

“Doyoung never said there’d be alcohol,” Donghyuck says, not trying very hard to hide the sparkles in his eyes.

Renjun doesn’t say a word, not even at the obvious flush over your cheeks from the drinks.

“I need to go to the washroom,” you say, wobbling as you stand.

“Woah, (name),” Jaemin says, steadying you. “Take someone with you.”

“I’ll go.”

You avoid Renjun’s eyes, even now. Looks like shame isn’t as easy to wash away as it seems.

You can’t hear anything apart from your pulse, a rather disarming thing to have to listen to when it’s for long enough. You walk wordlessly to the building, locating the washroom after a few twists and turns and Renjun waits patiently for you outside.

It’s always bizarre to see yourself in the mirror of a public washroom, especially with alcohol in your system and a flush over your cheeks that you think makes you look cute. You rinse your face and dry it before you exit.

Renjun leans back against the wall, eyes glazed over in thoughts he spills only occasionally. He looks gentle in the fairly lit hallway, under lemon-coloured lights. 

“Renjun,” you call absentmindedly.

He straightens immediately and for the first time in a while, you stare at each other for longer than four seconds.

“I don’t want you to feel awkward around me,” you begin. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean—”

“Cut it out.”

You feel a drop in your heart at the harshness in his tone. Even so, you don’t feel any less drawn to him.

“Don’t be like that,” you say, voice nearing a whine. “You know I’m not any good at this. I… I have so much work to do.”

“Are you so insecure that you can't trust yourself?” he hisses, and somehow the truth of it doesn’t lessen the euphoria of proximity with him.

“You have pretty eyes, Renjun,” you say, but his eyes are not what you’re looking at.

Renjun looks down, sighing out heavily. “Stop this, (name). Don’t play.”

You smile. “This isn’t a drama, you know?”

It really isn’t, but the touch you're craving has been collecting, drip drip drip, and now it’s ready to boil over in a climax befitting any stupid drama. There should be a soundtrack to go with it, right? Renjun’s face so near to yours, lips full and pink, and heartbeat erratic under dim lights. Temptation has never been a sin to you. Then, what are you afraid of?

For a moment, Arctic Monkey’s Snap Out of It loops in your head.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, the last shred of your senses fallen apart.

He falls silent, at a loss for words you don’t want to hear.

You can’t blame the alcohol. It’s not that you wouldn’t do this sober—it’s that you would definitely do this sober, and all would be ruined just like that. So now, while you’re under the thinly veiled excuse of being drunk, you might as well say it.

“I want to kiss you,” you repeat, bolder.

Oh, sudden proximity can make you aware of so many things. For instance, Renjun has changed his cologne, less minty and more citrus. You aren’t even looking at him when you lean closer, pressing your lips softly and yet carelessly against his. You feel returned pressure and for a moment, the wash of numbness.

Renjun pulls you away by the shoulder, eyes wide in panic. 

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Why are you apologizing? God, I hate you. I could listen to you speaking forever.”

You bury your face in Renjun’s neck and breathe in. He gives in almost too soon, a hand gently resting against the back of your head while his arm wraps around your waist.

“Let’s get you home,” he whispers. 

You feel him shift, the rhythm of his pulse loud in his jugular, and somehow it makes you breathe a sigh of relief. The night fades little by little into the chatter of crowds, to the the hum of a car engine and finally, to the inevitable quiet of your own bedroom.

It’s a Friday. They’re supposed to be nice.

Of course, it would be were it not for a list of things. One: your fading hangover. Two: the vague regret of a drunk kiss. Three: your friends you can’t tell a word to. You might just die of shame before the autumnal existential dread settles in.

“Do you guys have any idea whose number this is?” Donghyuck asks, holding the handkerchief open for the rest of you to see. “I don’t want to be accidentally related to Doyoung hyung.”

The night is bleeding into the evening outside as Jaemin stands up to flip the light switches. You stay curled up at one side of the couch, Renjun by the keys as he tries to figure out a tune and a state of calm that would be perfect if you weren’t falling apart inside. The bandroom always made you feel at ease, but it doesn't seem to be working its charm now.

“You drink too much,” Jaemin states. “You would’ve remembered if you didn’t have an entire bottle of soju.”

“I wasn’t the only one,” he defends, sending you a pointed look. You roll your eyes. Donghyuck never did learn to take the blame.

“Didn’t Renjun and (name) leave early?” Jeno asks innocently. “What were you guys doing for so long by the washroom?”

Renjun presses on several of the keys at a force too hard, the haphazard symphony bringing everyone’s attention to him.

He awkwardly clears his throat. “Home—the dorms, er. We went back. Taeil hyung drove us.”

You don’t know about the atmosphere, but you could definitely cut something with a knife right now. Your eyes shift from person to person, nothing unusual about them except for the two of you.

“Does anyone want to come get ramen? I’m hungry,” Jaemin suggests quietly.

Jeno shrugs, getting up.

“I just had a cup of ramen,” Donghyuck begins before breaking into a smile. “Too much ramen can never hurt.”

“I’ll pass,” you say, ready to fall asleep any moment, if it somehow alleviates the messy scribbles in your head.

“Me too,” Renjun says, back to playing out the tunes softly.

Your fingers tap against the armrest of the couch, occasionally scratching it out of boredom. The atmosphere is still just as thick but you can't say much about it hanging there.

“You’re not sleeping,” Renjun says suddenly, more of a statement than a question. “You look tired.”

“Yeah.” It’s all you can manage. 

“Is your hangover gone?”

You cough when you try to answer, getting more nervous with each passing moment.

Renjun slowly walks towards the coffee table, picking up the bottle of water to offer it to you. You utter a short ‘thanks’ and before he can get back, you tug at his sleeve. Your breathing is sharp but you don’t react much when he sits beside you, legs outstretched in front of him.

“Your roots are showing,” you note, hand involuntarily reaching out before you stop yourself.

Renjun sighs. “What’s wrong? You don’t- You don’t have to—”

He clears his throat.

“—You don’t have to pretend around me.”

There’s a rustle of cloth as he shifts to turn to you, eyes concerned when they look over.

“I’m just...sad,” you admit, the feeling weighing down when you do. “What, you never have days like these?”

Everyone does, don’t they? The truth is, sometimes you get a little sick listening to your songs. If you don’t hate it at least once, is it worth it at all?

The monthly breakdowns have taken a hard turn now that you don’t have much to do. No exams, no more weekly gigs due to Odd Fruit’s renovation and most importantly, hardly any inspiration. You don’t know how to do things unless you’re on the run. It’s so stupid.

You speak of dreams and yet, yours feel void.

“I do. A lot, some weeks.”

Renjun hesitates. You know he’s dying to talk about last night, he’s never been the sort to let feelings rot inside his stomach. But how do you tell him that despite knowing life’s full of ups and downs, no one’s bothered to explain to you which is which? You’ve never lived life with clarity. 

Sometimes life hands you tangerines instead of lemons. Sometimes they’re still as sour.

You look back at Renjun, heart churning with feelings you don’t understand. From wide eyes to his full lips, there’s a way you can’t help but stare. It wasn’t the alcohol—you still want to kiss him. Maybe you should start with an apology, maybe those are meant to be said out loud sometimes.

“I’m sorry I… I ‘m sorry I kissed you,” you say, finally. “Without warning.”

You wonder how you turned into this. Head over heels for something that might not even be real. 

“I’m not mad,” he mumbles, “Just don’t go around kissing strangers.”

You let out a short laugh, rubbing your arm. It’s not like you to explain yourself but for him, you’d spill every single thought that crosses your head. Does he know that? You’d never let him but now—you can’t say you mind.

Quiet.

“I- I may not always know what I’m doing, Renjun,” you start. “I want things and I don’t know how to get them. Sometimes I don’t even know what I truly want.”

There’s a short pause when Renjun draws nearer.

“You want to make music,” he says with certainty, gaze trailing over your eyes, then nose, then lips. “You want to have fun…”

Your heartbeat quickens despite everything.

“...And right now, you want to kiss me.”

It’s partly the confidence, and partly the fact that his lips are less than three inches from yours, that you close the gap without hesitation. 

It’s different—of course, it’s different this time. There’s no goddamn alcohol and the amount of clarity you can taste with your mouths pressed together is more than you’ve ever had. All the sounds in the world fall silent, replaced by the rhythm of your lips moving against his. Renjun’s hair is soft and he hums when you run your fingers through them, not song enough but still full of melody.

You pull apart after a few minutes, breathing heavily before you push your lips against him again, rising to keep your leg on either side of him. For a moment, there’s a sinking feeling and then a soaring one, and it evens out to the mellow drumming of your heart against your chest as Renjun holds your waist with the same delicate desire as ever. 

The second time you pull apart, Renjun breaks into the widest smile you’ve ever seen on him. You can’t help but reciprocate, burying your head against his shoulder.

“I think you should get off me.”

You pull back, frowning severely. 

“Oh, that’s very romantic,” you huff, eyebrows furrowed as you move to sit beside him, crossing your arms. 

“Hey.”

You look at him and he takes your hand in his, thumb rubbing over the back. Somehow, the gesture calms a part of you down, a part that hasn’t been calm for a very long time. You smile without realizing, leaning in for another kiss when the door slams open.

You yelp, clutching Renjun’s hand harder with just about the same force he does. 

“Jeno.”

You turn around to see Jaemin glaring at Jeno on his knee, Donghyuck fallen over his leg and both of their faces scrunched in pain. Jaemin shoots the two of you an embarrassed smile, scratching the back of his head.

“Did you guys know this room isn’t all that soundproof? I can’t believe the neighbours didn’t complain.”

The tip of Renjun’s ears flare red, and he points an accusing finger at the three of them.

“You were spying on us!”

Jaemin clears his throat but Donghyuck snorts before he can say anything.

“You’re still holding hands, lover boy.”

The statement flusters Renjun further but he doesn’t let go.

“Look, did the two of you think we’re stupid?” Donghyuck continues. “God, we thought your pining romance would, like, break up our band or something.”

You flush deeper, averting your eyes. 

“You cry at romantic comedies,” Renjun provokes.

Donghyuck stutters something incomprehensive before crossing his arms indignantly.

“We’re glad you’re dating now!” Jaemin butts in. “Ah, I can’t wait for all the love songs. The two of you do great on those!”

Renjun turns a brighter shade of red. You’re not going to be the one to tell Jaemin that he’s not helping at all but you sigh instead, resting your forehead against Renjun’s shoulder. 

“Ugh,” Donghyuck makes a gagging sound. “Does this mean you’re going to be all heart eyes in here? Right in front of my innocent eyes?” 

He shuts up when he receives four glares all at once, the air turning dry.

“I’m guessing you guys didn’t buy any ramen,” Renjun says, sighing.

“Shall we go?” you ask, looking at him.

He nods, smiling at you.

“You guys don’t mind us crashing your date, do you?” Jaemin says, wrapping an arm each around the two of you.

“I’m not complaining.” You shrug.

“I heard there’s a new flavour. Tastes like crap apparently,” Renjun says.

There’s collective laughter and Renjun beams, walking over to the door with you in tow. Every once in a while, you don’t mind peeling off the layers of a tangerine, especially since winter is near. 

You were right, Renjun did change his perfume to something more citrus-y. It’s the little things that build up in simplicity and it’s the little things that give everything flavour, from songs to journeys. 

Crackle. Shrrk. Rustle. 

“Dream,” you say, the noodles slipping through the chopsticks. 

The others look at you quizzically, as if you’d suggested the most ridiculous thing ever.

“That’s the name. Our band!” 

Under the convenience store lights, it somehow makes sense—and that’s one of the only moments of clarity you need.

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

18. Skeleton

Buddy and Sammy find the “goldfish room” as the latter calls it, AKA the closet where Joey keeps his skeletons, literally. And in the process, Buddy learns about a few of the skeletons in Sammy’s metaphorical closet. (Set during ink hell, pre loop, post Buddy befriending the lost ones/searchers.)

The Prophet was a strange ally.

It was weird to work alongside someone who worships the guy who tore you in half and is the biggest reason why you’re stuck in a nightmarish, inescapable studio, especially when it wasn’t the nicest or friendliest person before getting claimed by the ink. (Although, as he thought back on it, had he ever met Sammy before it was claimed by the Ink?)

But ANY ally was better than an enemy, especially when that ally knows the studio better than anyone else down here. Besides, it seemed like the Ink man was either unaware of their past or didn’t even know who they used to be, and even if it did, it wasn’t angry about their past issues.

At the same time, working on scavenging trips with the former musician was a nightmare; it was way too tranquil about the situation, and there were too many weird murderous monsters that the wolf and gofer were aware of.

“I do not need to run, little wolf. I can evade these creatures without issue through my Lord’s gift.” The Prophet calmly stated as Buddy gestured confusion about why it didn’t run when the pair heard something that sounded suspiciously like the projectionist’s screams. “Besides, running through these halls is risky, I would be heard by those… more unsavory denizens of this studio and get ambushed by them.”

He wished his typewriter was quieter in instances like this, being able to type out ‘But what if you get caught by your lord?’ and other messages to hand to him without risking alerting the Ink Demon would be great. Or just having his voice back in general.

“If my Lord decides to send me back to the puddles, then it is his right to do so to prove I have changed.” He answered the unspoken question. “But it does mean that I have to work harder to get him to notice how much I have improved, get him to notice me…” 

‘Please don’t read my mind unless I give you the “go for it” gesture. It’s creepy otherwise.’

“My apologies, little wolf, while your thoughts come in quieter than everybody else’s… they’re still noticeable, especially when it’s just the two of us.”

Buddy hesitantly nodded and just tried to lead the Prophet out of the ransacked room to look for more stray supplies.

A few more hours of searching lead the pair to a locked room, something that experience told him meant that either it was another dead end or a hidden treasure trove of supplies, and not wanting to go back to the safe house empty handed, he was ready to roll those dice.

Buddy gestured for the Prophet to stand guard as he picked the door’s lock, and as the door slowly creaked open, he was thankful that he couldn’t speak because the scream that came out from his mouth would’ve been loud enough to alert every monster in the studio.

The former gofer felt sick to his stomach when he saw them. Piles upon piles of rotting, mangled, corpses. Human Corpses, not toony corpses like the other Borises or the butchered up members of the Butcher gang. Most of them were unrecognizable, partly because he had never seen most of these people in his life, and partly because they had decayed so much that what remained was hard to figure out who was who and what. The oldest corpses were nothing but skeletons and clothes, and the freshest one looked like…

...Like his own body.

“The goldfish room...” The prophet muttered loud enough for Buddy to hear, startling the poor pup out of his skin as he didn’t hear him enter behind him.

The wolf shuddered and continued to scour the room for anything worth the hassle of all of this. Boris wanted to take a few of the bones, which Buddy unenthusiastically obliged.

“Don’t eat those!” The Prophet interjected so loudly and harshly that it startled both the former gofer and the wolf toon. The ink creature’s anger was so much scarier with how rare it was to see now. “Especially not him! He’s my-” The Prophet stopped itself by covering its ‘mouth’ with its hands as if it was about to reveal a big secret and just took the skeletal arm out of Buddy’s hands and put it back where he found it. Its voice went back to it’s normal calm tone that reminded him of someone who was on the verge of falling asleep, but Buddy heard somberness in the musician’s pitch. “...they’re unclean...”

‘Prophet?’ Buddy gave him the “go ahead, read my mind” gesture. ‘Prophet, what is this place? Who are these people?’

“...You’ve seen your own corpse among them, correct?”

Buddy nodded.

“I know you’ve met Joey, but tell me; ...Has he ever called you ‘Henry’ before?”

‘Yes he has, but what does that have to do with…’ he gestured at the bodies on the floor ‘this?!’

“Henry’s been gone for a long time now.” The prophet stated, but there was a hint of recollection in his tone that weakened the calmness, and the more he talked, the more broken (for lack of a better term) his voice became. “Do you think that you were Joey’s first replacement goldfish? That after Henry left the studio, you were Joey’s only other other Henry?”

Buddy’s ears began ringing and he heard music; it was loud, distorted, fast-paced, and all over the place, the type of music that makes your heart pound out of your chest and makes your hackles stand up, the type of music that tells you to run, but doesn’t clue you in to where or why. The prophet’s body started to shake and tremble.

“The first Other-Henry was actually named Henry as well. And like his predecessor, was an excellent artist who really connected with the characters...”

‘Sammy? What’s going on? do you hear this too?!’

“But unlike Stein, Ross was a very stubborn person who refused to let anyone push him around, especially by either Joey or myself. Surprisingly, I liked that man, but he didn’t last long...”

Fear kept Buddy’s legs frozen to the ground as he covered his ears in a fruitless attempt to muffle the music, it felt like it was being played directly in his head, and then it clicked when the whispers started up, whispers in their tone, but not in volume, they were loud enough to drown out parts of what the Prophet was saying;

‘Sammy help us!’

“The next one was more like you, a younger, less experienced and more skittish person, his first name was ‘Lawrence’ so everyone called him ‘Larry’ to avoid confusion...”

‘Sammy, where are you?’

“...But he was also too nosy for that poor boy’s own good.”

‘you’re too weak!’

“The one after that was a scatterbrained fellow, very passionate about his work but didn’t focus very much on one topic or another...”

The Prophet’s monologue was completely drowned out by the music and chorus of desperate and angry “Other Henries” at this point. Buddy knew he was still talking because of the musician’s gestures, but didn’t hear a single word out of him. 

‘Saaaaaammyyyyyyy....’ ‘You’re such a spineless coward...’ ‘Sammy please save us..!’ ‘Why did you let Joey kill us?’ ‘The ink... it’s so cold...’ ‘No wonder Susie hates you so much...’ ‘Sammy, please! It hurts!’ ‘Why did you let us die?’ ‘Why won’t you help us?’ ‘You’re no better than Joey.’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘I thought you loved me...’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘You promised me that you’d always be there!’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘They were right about you...’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘Saaaaaammyyyyyyy....’

He knew that the lost ones, searchers and Prophet could hear each others’ thoughts, but didn’t understand what that was like until now that he was hearing Sammy’s thoughts. No wonder most of them were always so depressed and on edge...

‘Sammy?’ the gofer shook Sammy gently, only to hear his own voice join the chorus of other Henries as one of the ones who sounded like he was mad at him. ‘Sammy, snap out of it!’ he shook the Prophet harder, still not waking the Ink creature out of its trance. ‘SAMMY!’ Doing the first thing that came to mind out of desperation, Buddy slapped the mask clean off of it.

The music and voices died as if they were a candle light snuffed out by the wind.

For a few seconds that felt more like hours, Buddy and Sammy stared at each other in silence before Sammy put its mask back on as if nothing happened and led the toon wolf out of the goldfish room, took a key out of its pocket and locked it behind them.

-----

Back in the safe house, Buddy started up a pot of bacon soup, the stuff tasted a little bit better when it was hot while Sammy tuned the banjo in the dining area and Dot tried to stir up conversation.

“So... how did the supply run go?”

“Fine.”

Buddy involuntarily let out a snort as he took the soup off the stove and took out his typewriter.

[It was the scariest one we’ve ever done so far.

While looking around for stuff, we ended up in this place S The Prophet called ‘the Goldfish room’ and it was filled with dead bodies. HUMAN dead bodies. And mine was in the pile! I couldn’t tell if it was haunted or if it was just the prophet’s thoughts going]

“Little wolf, I do not wish to think about that room again...”

[Sorry.]

The wolf sheepishly put the typewriter to the side and poured the soup into bowls. As the toon and lost one ate, the prophet mostly just stared into his bowl as if he was watching something in it.

“...Before my enlightenment, I was not a good person.” The masked musician stated unprompted.

“Huh?”

“I wasn’t an evil person per say, and I wouldn’t go as far as to call the man I used to be a monster.” He sighed and adjusted his mask. “But I was certainly a bad person, an asshole, a coward who hid behind physical strength, and I had more vices than virtues.”

[Prophet, what are you talking about?]

“I’m trying to answer the questions I know you have before either of you two pester them out of me. Maybe when you’re sated my Lord will allow me to forget again.”

[Are you sure? you seemed really upset back ...there.]

“Well look at it this way, maybe getting it off your chest will help you feel better about it?”

“I suppose...” The prophet sighed again.

“So what does you being a crackhead before finding the Ink Demon Religion have to do with a room full of dead bodies?”

“Dorthy!”

“...I’ll just listen before asking anything else.”

“Thank you.” It readjusted its mask. “Now where was I...” it hummed to itself for a bit before speaking again, with venom slowly but surly pooling into its words. “I had more vices than virtues, and Joey could see all of both, using my virtues to his advantage, and using my vices against myself, he did everything he could to keep me from leaving him too, and it worked.”

The prophet took in a deep breath to stabilize itself.

“Every time I tried to leave, he did something else to make me stay; ‘I love you’s turned to gifts, gifts to false promises, false promises to threats, threats to blackmail, blackmail to going through with it, and when he felt me slipping through his fingers he turned to taking advantage of my addictions... That... monster was a parasite in all aspects except physically... And I didn’t even notice until I might as well have been a walking corpse as I was seeing others march to my fate, but I couldn’t even so much as squeak out a warning without Joey swooping in on his behalf. Some Henries, heads of the art department, didn’t need to be warned by me as they found out what would await them and fled. But Joey didn’t like that... When I tried to warn the ones who needed to be warned, it was easy for him to dismiss me as a loon, a drunk, and an addict, until eventually I just gave up. I couldn’t even save myself, let alone anyone else... let alone the other art departments...”

“...I just stopped trying to keep Joey from leading the sheep to the slaughter, maybe they’re right to be angry at me for being such a coward...”

It then turned to face the wolf and put its hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve asked yourself if you’ve ever met me before the Ink had claimed me, as for that, I don’t know, nor do I think it matters, Buddy. I was nothing but a shallow and beaten husk of myself long before I even had tasted the ink. Even if you met me before then, you only met a ghost, not a person.”

The three then stayed in silence for a while before the clicks of Buddy’s typewriter caught the other two’s attention.

[Well, if it helps you any I think you’re not as bad of a person as you tell yourself you used to be.]

“And I don’t need to hear everyone’s thoughts to know that you’ve really stepped up to the plate when it counted. I don’t think a coward would try to do have the stuff you’re doing now.”

“Thanks you two” The Prophet’s voice cracked with emotion. “That... that really means a lot to me.”