#it doesn’t help that I still need more letter beads and those aren’t getting here til tomorrow and Monday

[sluttyten]

gonna be spending my day watching All of Us are Dead and making bracelets to hand out for freebies in Chicago

[stufftippywrote]

5 People Who Interrupted LWJ&WWX, and 1 Who (Kind of) Didn’t

22 from this list! Still open to prompts!

This is decidedly book continuity, and for about seven words Wei Wuxian does pay lip service to his dubcon kink, so if that's a squick for you, skip number 3.

1) Lan Sizhui

It was after curfew and Sizhui shouldn't have been wandering around the buildings at night. That's the explanation Wei Wuxian will go with, if he's called to account for this little misunderstanding. He doubts it will happen, though; Sizhui's far too kind-hearted to go running to the sect leader or Lan Qiren with evidence of what he's seen.

What happened was this: Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had been researching various topics in the library pavillion as the sun went down, and lost track of time. Most notably, Lan Wangji had been exhaustively researching the curve of Wei Wuxian's neck, the jut of his collarbone, and Wei Wuxian was deep in study of the coolness of the floors contrasted with the heat of Lan Wangji's body on his. Lan Wangji had just been shifting his area of focus from neck to jaw to lips when there was a sudden noise by the door. He immediately moved off of Wei Wuxian and stood, but it was too late; Sizhui was already standing in the doorway, his face red.

"I was just -- locking up -- I'll just go -- since you're busy," he stammered, then very carefully pulled the door closed and disappeared.

Lan Wangji looked down at a still very horizontal Wei Wuxian. "We should go back."

"What?" Wei Wuxian whined. "We were in the middle of something."

"If Sizhui's locking up, it's time to go," Lan Wangji repeated, and Wei Wuxian grumpily got to his feet and obeyed.

They got back into it in the Jingshi, but it just wasn’t the same.

2) Lan Qiren

This time is on purpose. And probably justified.

It's very quiet at Cloud Recesses, which (occasionally) irks the hell out of Wei Wuxian. Still, he goes along with it, most of the time, if only because he doesn't want to get kicked out by certain angry uncles. But there are times when it's just plain impossible.

One of those times is when Lan Wangji is sucking on his earlobe, hands under his robes, teasingly brushing over certain places where Wei Wuxian is aching for a firmer touch. Wei Wuxian thinks he's going to go out of his mind with sensation. The only thing he can do is clutch at Lan Wangji's shoulders, try to encourage those too-patient hands, and moan "Lan er-gege, please, more" in a voice unrestrained by the foolish rules of the Lan Clan.

Lan Wangji stiffens at the name, then drowns Wei Wuxian in a kiss so fierce and deep that Wei Wuxian shouts against it, his whole body flooding with want.

A moment later, there are footsteps and a knock on the door.

Lan Wangji has very attuned senses. "It's Uncle," he says, and draws back.

"Uncle? What is your uncle doing here when we're busy!"

As if in answer, outside the doors, the barking voice of Lan Qiren: "Wangji, please remind your guest about the noise restrictions of the Cloud Recesses. Thank you." And that's it, he retreats.

Wei Wuxian laughs and tries to pull Lan Wangji back toward him, but Lan Wangji is still staring at the door, and he won't budge.

"Lan Zhan," he prods, poking at Lan Wangji's arm.

Lan Wangji remains unmoving.

"Lan er-gege." Wei Wuxian crawls toward him and slides a hand up his arm, grinning.

"We should be more careful," Lan Wangji says. His voice is devoid of the roughness that comes when he's being passionate.

"Oh, come on." Wei Wuxian sighs. "You're not in the mood anymore?"

Lan Wangji's ears turn pink. "It was my uncle," he says, as though that explains everything.

"Lan Zhaaaan." Wei Wuxian groans the name. "You said every day, remember?"

"Later," Lan Wangji says. "And quietly."

3) Nie Huaisang

The Discussion Conference that year is held in Qinghe, and while Lan Wangji doesn't tend to show up for these things, Nie Huaisang sends so many letters begging him to attend that he eventually relents. When they arrive, Clan Leader Nie is in a state, begging for their help in this matter and that. Won't they help him figure out how he's to handle a particularly picky sect leader who's unhappy with his room, and how can he avoid seating these two together when they hate each other Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji do their best to be of use, but the minute Nie Huaisang leaves them alone, they hurry down the corridor and out of the building for some much-needed fresh air.

They find themselves in a secluded courtyard, shaded by a pair of gnarled trees. Wei Wuxian collapses against one of the trees. "I didn't realize we'd end up planning half the conference."

"That was ... difficult," Lan Wangji agrees.

Wei Wuxian leans against the tree, folding his arms behind his head. "Well, at least we can have thirty seconds of quiet now ... what's that look for?"

Because Lan Wangji is looking at him with a dropped jaw and pink ears.

"This reminds me," he says, and then stops.

"Hmm?" Wei Wuxian tilts his head.

Lan Wangji takes a step toward him. "Baifeng Mountain," he says in a low voice.

"Baifen... oh." Wei Wuxian grins. "Is this what I looked like? Leaning against the tree?"

Lan Wangji's silence and the tint to the tips of his ears are the only confirmation he needs. His grin widens. "Do you want to try it again? No punching trees this time afterward, but I promise to close my eyes and..." It's the last thing he's able to get out before Lan Wangji is on him, pressing him against the tree and kissing him deeply.

Wei Wuxian grins into the kiss, wraps a hand around Lan Wangji's neck to haul him closer. "Yes, it was like this, wasn't it?" he murmurs when Lan Wangji breaks the kiss for air. "I was so alone and vulnerable in the forest, and you came and held me down and kissed me." Lan Wangji moves to silence him with another kiss, but Wei Wuxian wiggles away and whispers in his ear. "You could have done other things with me too ... I wouldn't resist... well, maybe I'd resist a *little*--" and that's as far as he gets. Lan Wangji thrusts a thigh between his legs and all Wei Wuxian can do is whimper as they kiss again, this time hotter and messier.

"Wei-xiong! Hanguang Jun!"

The voice sounds as if from far away. They aren't about to stop kissing for distant voices, not right now, when the heat is so delicious between them. But then there are footsteps, echoing down the corridor they came from, and Lan Wangji at least has enough presence of mind to step back.

Nie Huaisang appears at the entrance to the courtyard, breathing hard as though he's just run a mile. "Oh, thank goodness I've found you two! I need your help. Sect Leader Han is having an argument with Fan Xun over some business with a night hunt that I can't figure out, and it's making a scene! Please come help me settle them down!" And he grabs both Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji by the sleeve and pulls them, with uncharacteristic strength, down the corridor again.

To his credit, Nie Huaisang doesn't make any mention of what he saw or what they were doing. But they spend the remainder of the conference far, far from Baifeng Mountain.

4) Jin Ling

There's a peculiar sort of monster prowling the woods outside Lanling: a boar spirit, with tusks that can uproot a tree and a taste for travelers who go astray. From all accounts, it doesn't seem to be the smartest of beasts, so the best approach is to lead it into a trap. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji set the trap meticulously, create a trail of meaty temptations to entice it in, and retreat behind a copse of trees to wait.

As they wait, Wei Wuxian's increasingly aware of Lan Wangji's heat and presence next to him. They're both still sweaty from the exertion of setting the trap. A bead of perspiration lingers at the base of Lan Wangji's neck, and Wei Wuxian is compelled to lift a finger and wipe it clean. Lan Wangji shudders, and his hands come forward automatically to grip Wei Wuxian's waist.

"So sensitive today," Wei Wuxian murmurs, and leans in to kiss the spot he'd touched. Lan Wangji's hands tighten on his waist.

All at once this routine night-hunt is instead a thrilling tryst in the midst of danger. Wei Wuxian pushes closer. Lan Wangji captures his lips with a soft sigh. They kiss long and lingering in the quiet woods, the moonlight filtering through the leaves to lay a silver sheen on white skin.

"You could lay me down right here," Wei Wuxian whispers against Lan Wangji's ear. "Have me in the middle of the woods, late at night."

"I'm considering it," Lan Wangji half-growls, and kisses him again.

The kiss tastes stronger than just "considering it." Wei Wuxian goes a little dizzy as Lan Wangji tips him back, as Lan Wangji's hands move to the small of his back, hot and firm. He murmurs encouragement, lets his body go limp so Lan Wangji can lower him down bit by bit onto the forest floor, being kissed into oblivion all the while...

"Oh my god, ewwwww."

They turn. Jin Ling is standing at the other side of the grove, his face twisted. "I mean, I knew it, everybody knows it, but I didn't think I'd ever have to *see* it."

"Jin Ling, what are you doing here?" There's a crisp annoyance in Wei Wuxian's tone as he gets back to his feet, Lan Wangji soundlessly doing the same behind him.

"I was looking for the boar beast, of course!" Jin Ling grips the sheath of his sword like he's ready for combat. "Are you the ones who set the trap? What am I talking about, of course you set the trap. Why aren't you watching it?"

Wei Wuxian can't help a crooked smile. "We figure it'll have something to say when it gets itself trapped," he says. "Are you here with your uncle?"

"No." Jin Ling puffs up proudly. "I don't need my uncle to go night-hunting."

"Good, good." Wei Wuxian moves toward him, smiling entreatingly. "How about we don't tell your uncle what you just saw, okay?"

Jin Ling shivers. "Like I could even say it out loud!"

"You're such a good kid." Wei Wuxian pats him on the shoulder. Jin Ling jerks away. "Isn't he a good kid, Lan Zhan?"

Before Lan Wangji can answer, there's a terrible roar from nearby in the forest. The boar has walked into the trap. Wei Wuxian shoots a plaintive look at Lan Wangji, but that's all he can do -- it's time to get back to business.

5) Jiang Cheng

At Lan Wangji's urging, Wei Wuxian sends Lotus Pier an "informational letter" letting Jiang Cheng know that the two of them plan on visiting Yunmeng for a week in the summer. "We will stay in a local inn," he writes, but when Jiang Cheng sends back a missive to Cloud Recesses, he says, "You might as well stay here." Wei Wuxian can practically *hear* the huff in his voice.

So Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji show up at Lotus Pier at summer's edge, when the flowering shrubs are in the height of their bloom, and an unsmiling Jiang Cheng gives them a cursory bow and leads them to two rooms in a far corner of the compound. "Of course I can't tell you what to do," he says, "but ... still." Not one of the three has any illusions about how many rooms will get used.

Jiang Cheng doesn't smile the whole time, but he at least invites the two of them to meals when they're home, and makes sure they have what they need. Wei Wuxian shrinks a little when he's around, not wanting to start anything that will disturb the fragile peace. But when he's not, Wei Wuxian cheerfully leads Lan Wangji down the outdoor walkways that zigzag toward the river's edge. At the far end is a small pavillion with a place to sit and look out over the water. It's sunset and the water is bright like flame, reflecting the orange bulb of the sun lowering itself behind the faraway trees.

"I used to see sunsets like this every day, all the time," Wei Wuxian says.

"Do you miss them?" Lan Wangji asks, glancing at him.

"No, it's not that I miss them, exactly. And Cloud Recesses is so nice, your thousands of rules notwithstanding, and there's lots of beautiful things up there." Wei Wuxian smiles. "But it's nice to come back and see this once in a while."

"We'll visit often, then." Lan Wangji speaks with sureness.

"I don't know how often Jiang Cheng will let us stay here," Wei Wuxian says, "but we can come to Yunmeng now and then. There are other places to see the sunset."

"But none quite like this one?"

"Exactly." Wei Wuxian sighs.

"We can talk to your brother."

"No, no, it's all right, leave him alone." Wei Wuxian leans on Lan Wangji's shoulder. "I'll just enjoy this now."

And so they sit together and watch the sun dip below the treeline, quietly, aware of the passage of each moment disappearing along with the daylight. When the sun is gone, Wei Wuxian lets out a little sigh. It's not that he's sad, so much. He's just feeling heavy with the knowledge that he might not see the sun from this vantage point for a very long time.

Lan Wangji squeezes his shoulder and lowers his head to brush a kiss against Wei Wuxian's hair. It's just a momentary thing, but somehow it fills Wei Wuxian with happiness. That's right -- it will never be the same as when he was a child, but when he was a child he didn't have *this*. He lifts his chin to face Lan Wangji, to say something, he doesn't know what, but Lan Wangji leans in and kisses him before he can.

Wei Wuxian's eyes flutter closed. He doesn't need a thing other than this, just a soft, lingering kiss like the last rays of sun on the water. He's content to feel the touch of Lan Wangji's lips, the gentle sureness of his hands. For once, he doesn't crave more.

The kiss ends. Wei Wuxian opens his eyes. "Lan Zhan," he says, his voice soft, "I really love you so much."

Lan Wangji's eyes widen, and there's a flash of steel in his gaze. He tugs on the back of Wei Wuxian's neck and pulls him into a very different kind of kiss.

This kiss has purpose, deepening quickly and sending flushes of heat through Wei Wuxian's body. He sits on Lan Wangji's lap, straddling his waist, and they kiss again. Lan Wangji's hands move feverishly on Wei Wuxian's skin, and Wei Wuxian gets the feeling he's about ten seconds away from laying him out on the wooden slats of the pavillion and having him right there. 

"AUGH!"

Wei Wuxian jumps to his feet. Lan Wangji turns. Jiang Cheng is standing on the walkway several feet from the pavillion, and his face is buried in his hands.

"Jiang Cheng...!" Wei Wuxian has no idea what to say.

"I came ... to tell you dinner ... but ... oh, god, my EYES!" And Jiang Cheng turns tail and runs all the way back toward the main buildings.

Lan Wangji looks back at Wei Wuxian. "Dinner?" he says, and there's a touch of amusement in his voice.

"Let's give him a few minutes to calm down first," Wei Wuxian says with a laugh. "Then, yes, dinner."

It's a very awkward dinner.

and 1) Wen Ning

They return to Cloud Recesses a few days later. As they return to the Jingshi, stepping through the gate into the small courtyard, Wei Wuxian snuggles against Lan Wangji's side, full of fondness and a surprising sense of delight at being back home after time away. Yunmeng was wonderful and full of memories, but this is his and Lan Wangji's space, their small palace in the mountains. Here, they can move without restraint; every stepping stone and blade of grass is familiar. It's like a vise on his heart has been loosened.

Lan Wangji looks down at him with gentle affection in his eyes. When Wei Wuxian darts upward to take a soft kiss from those lips, Lan Wangji winds his arms around him and holds him there. They kiss in the low light, shadows falling all around them, keeping them safe.

"We should continue this inside," Wei Wuxian whispers. Lan Wangji responds with a "Mn" and a nod. They turn toward the front stoop of the Jingshi.

"Wei-gongzi."

Wei Wuxian jumps. Wen Ning is just outside the courtyard gate, fingers on the slats. He's smiling.

"Wen Ning, what the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?"

Wen Ning proudly holds up a jade token of passage. "A-Yuan gave it to me."

"Oh." Wei Wuxian heaves a sigh of resignation. "And? What did you come for?"

A corpse can't blush, but between Wen Ning's unsteady pose and the way he gazes at Wei Wuxian through upturned eyes, it's easy to see he's a little nervous. "I know that you and Hanguang-Jun have had trouble getting ... some time alone. So I thought I'd maybe wait outside this gate and keep people away for you. So you can ..." He looks away. "Sorry, maybe this is too much, I'll just go."

"Wait. Wen Ning."

Wei Wuxian is hit by a wave of affection. Wen Ning tries so hard, and he wants so badly to help. Wei Wuxian is a little concerned that he's taken up the habit of following them around again, but they can discuss that another day.

He walks up to the gate. "That would be very helpful, Wen Ning. Thank you." He shoots a look at Lan Wangji, who is carefully holding back a smile. "We'll just go inside, and you can keep watch until you don't feel like it anymore. Okay?"

"Yes!" Wen Ning nods vigorously. "You can count on me." He turns and assumes a pose outside the gate like he's guarding a castle.

Wei Wuxian wanders back to where Lan Wangji waits, biting back his own laughter. "You hear that, Lan Zhan?" he says. "No interruptions, guaranteed."

"It's a very kind offer," Lan Wangji says. "We should take advantage of it."

"I couldn't agree more." Wei Wuxian takes his hand. They step inside and shut the door against the outside world. Tonight, they won't stop for anything.

[whirlybirdwhat]

Prompt: ASL give Dadan a father's day card. (She threatens to kill them but she keeps the card)

hehehehe this is late BUT HERE WE GOOOOOO

bear hag tiger bandit dad mom

read on ao3 here

“Hey guys.” Ace started out of nowhere, as he and his brothers laid down, staring at the sky from their usual cliffside spot. “What even… is Dadan.”

A beat of quiet.

“A hag!” Luffy said delightedly, giggling as he rolled over to stare at Ace. “An ugly one! Or even a bear! Oh she’s a bear-hag! A bear-hag-tiger-bandit!” He then gasped dramatically, stars in his eyes. “DO YOU THINK SHE CAN HAVE CLAWS! AND FANGS!”

“No! Idiot!” Sabo thumped Luffy on the head without even moving from his position on his back. “Dadan isn’t a bear. Or a tiger. She is a hag though.” He nodded, as if he had made an excellent, proper point.

Ace groaned at his brothers. “No! I mean what even is she to like… us. Not anybody else.”

“What do you mean?” Sabo rolled over as well to look at Ace, who was staunchly refusing to look at anyone else and whose face was turning a brilliant shade of red.

“I mean… like she kinda watches over us right? Does that make her kinda like a parent?”

Sabo cocked his head to the side, thinking. “I mean… maybe? She does give us food and medicine sometimes.”

“NO! THAT’S NOT DADAN! THAT’S –“ Luffy was quickly cut off by a hit to the head from Sabo.

“The Mystery Doctor isn’t real, Luffy, its just Dadan in a shitty mustache.”

Luffy looked to the side disgruntled. “Hmph.”

“GUYS! Focus!” Ace finally rolled over to face his brothers, so now they were finally all looking at each other. “What is Dadan? A Parent? A Mom?”

“I never had a mom before! Or a dad! Is Dadan a dad? Or a mom?” Luffy chattered, jumping on the possibility.

“Neither have I. That’s why I’m wondering.” Ace ignored the latter half of Luffy’s comment. Sometimes it was better to allow him to ramble than to try to make sense of it all. “Sabo you had parents right? What were they like?”

“Shitty.”

“Well, duh. No shit. What else?” Ace prompted, Luffy finally having quieted about Dadan being a tiger-bear-dad-mom beside him, and both staring attentively at Sabo.

(Because, well. They were children who never really had a home beside each other. Dadan was the closest thing Ace ever got, Luffy never had more than spare moments when the bar wasn’t busy, and both never knew anyone that could have been called dad, or mom, or anything of the sort – no one who stayed that is.

Ace hated his dad, and loved his mom (and hated himself, for all that he did,) and Luffy simply didn’t think he had any parents to feel anything about.

Still, Ace wondered, and things that his brothers wondered about, Luffy wondered about.)

Sabo placed his hand on his chin as if to think better. “Well. If we’re figuring out what Dadan was closest to, my mom was kind of like… Eh. She just cared about appearances and looking pretty and shit like that.”

Luffy and Ace nodded as one. “That’s not Dadan.” Dadan might wear make-up and beads, but she was a mountain bandit who was never really seen by people other than her clan or her victims. She didn’t really care about stuff like that. Even if she did get pissed when they stole the lipstick she kept hidden in her back closet for war paint.

“And she cared about other kids more than me, and didn’t really bother me until I did something she or someone else didn’t like.”

“Definitely not Dadan.” Luffy and Ace nodded again. Dadan didn’t have any other kids and yelled at them all the time. (Though, that may be because they never did anything they were supposed to do. What did she expect? Chores were boring! )

“What about your dad? What was he like?” Ace prompted, tossing out the idea of ‘mom.’

“Shitty. He always yelled at me and called me names. He was mean about it though. Dadan just looks like she’s about to cry.” Sabo finished, still thinking hard. “I mean… my parents aren’t what everyone else says parents are like though? At least for the kids in Edge Town.”

“Yeah… dads are supposed to protect you right? And be big and strong? And leaders?” Ace questioned, bitterness tracing into his voice.

“And moms are suppose to like take care of you and bring you stuff! Like the Mystery Doc-“

“THAT’S JUST DADAN!” Both Ace and Sabo this time hit Luffy’s head, cutting him off.

“She just comes to check on us, then trips up all our traps! It’s not a Mystery Doctor! Just! Dadan!” Ace spit out.

Luffy whined as the three of them quieted, thinking over everything that they had just said.

Then, Sabo spoke the words that would seal Dadan’s fate.

“If Dadan is kind of like a dad…” She protected them, or tried to in her own way, and was the leader of the Dadan bandits. “And kind of like a mom…” She was the Mystery Doctor, as Luffy called it, and checked up on them while cursing them out in all sorts of nasty ways. “Then… is she a mom and a dad? Is that how that works?”

“Well. We only have one of her. She can be both.” Ace decided. Jungle life left no room for society to state who could or could not be what and… well…

Besides. Maybe mom’s were the protectors sometimes and the leaders, and maybe dads were the caretakers. Ace was pretty sure that could happen. Did happen. Roles were stupid anyway. Just do whatever the fuck you wanted. That’s how Ace and his brothers lived, anyway, how everyone should live.

But…

“Why were you really asking Ace?”

Sabo knew him too well.

“Some of the kids in Edgetown were talking about how they were getting their dads’ shit for Father’s Day or something.”

And Ace wanted to know if he should be making something for anyone (or just wallow in the hatred he had for his dad.)

If he had anyone to make something for.

Luffy doesn’t even question why Ace was lurking around Edgetown kids without them, and sits up with stars in his eyes.

“WE NEED TO MAKE A CARD FOR –“

“SHUT UP!!”  Twin fist slammed into a rubber head as Ace and Sabo cut Luffy’s idea off.

“HEY!”

Or maybe…

“Maybe he has a point.” Sabo hummed, thoughtfully, as they had all settled into the ground.

“What?”

“Maybe we should make a card for Dadan.” Sabo rolled out of the way of Ace’s fist. “No! Think about it! We get to tell her thank you for all the shit she tries to do for us and maybe she’ll stop yelling at us so often!”

Luffy and Ace looked at him as if he were an idiot.

Sabo felt vaguely insulted.

“It’d be super funny to see her face when we give it to her too.”

Luffy and Ace looked at him as if he were a genius.

Now, there was only one question left.

“How the fuck do you make a card anyway?”

-

Dadan woke up peacefully that morning, which was an immediate cause for her to reach for her knife under the bed and spring into action.

She never woke up peacefully anymore. Not since those three brats had taken to crashing the hut in the morning. Either something was wrong, or those brats were playing with her.

She was going to get more gray hairs than Garp at this rate.

Fuck.

Quickly, she scanned her room for any oddities, any thing that would tip her off to whatever the fuck was going on this morning.

Dresser. Mirror. Weapons. Window. Card. Window. Wall. Wea- Wait.

Card?

Dadan stepped closer to the piece of folder thick paper, lying on her dresser, and peered at it closely.

Hapy Father’s Day! It read, in the misspelt handwriting of a child who had previously learned to write well then gave up. It was in black ink, fancy looking, with a smear along the exclamation point and drifting off into the side.

Around it was jungle trees in crayon and something that might have passed as Dadan, if not for the lack of face, and the only visual characteristics being orange curls and red beads and sharp teeth and a angry look.

Curious.

Wait.

SHE WAS A WOMAN!

Damn BRATS!

She ignored the tears at the edge of her eyes and opened the card, knife set to the side.

Dear Dadan, the same handwriting as the front said, this time in dark blue, thickly pressed crayon. Hapy Father’s day. Thank you for taking care of us. Beside the note was a scribbled jolly roger, an S surrounded by crossbones as its signature. Besides that was another scribbly orange blob, this time marginally closer to looking like a person.

Beneath that, on the same page, was careful red print, again in crayon. The words were spaced out, as were the letters, as if the writer didn’t particularly know how many letters were in the word and was waiting for someone to tell them. It read Shitty Old Hag. Thank you for taking care of me. You are stupid but you are strong sometimes. Happy Fathers Day. – Ace

Besides that was some suspicious wet spots, hastily wiped away.  Dadan dabbed her own eyes as to not add to them.

Ace’s artistry skills were slightly better than Sabo’s at least. His version of her was most definitely a person, apparently sitting atop of a bear. She laughed at that, a little.

Her eyes skimmed to the next page, where a monstrosity of black and orange was red was scribbled out. She was vaguely sure it was human. Vaguely. It might have been a bear.

The yellow crayon writing had been outlined in careful strokes by someone clearly not the original writer. DADAN, it seemed to screech, YOU ARE THE BEST BEAR HAG TIGER BANDIT MOM DAD. MOUNTAIN BANDITS SUCK BUT YOUR COOL. – FUTUR KING OF THE PIRATES

Then, on the opposite side of the drawing, in bright orange, LUFFY.

These stupid, stupid kids.

Dadan wasn’t crying. She wasn’t.

Oh how she loved these kids.

She turned the card around one last time, to the message on the back.

This handwriting, graceful and in black ink, was one she recognized. Makino.

Dear Dadan,

I hope this gift doesn’t insult you too bad, the boys were so excited to do it that I just had to help them with supplies! They really do love you, even if they don’t quite grasp the difference between mom and dad. They told me they just decided you could be both. Isn’t that great?

Thank you for being there for our boys Dadan! Happy Father’s Day.

-Makino

Okay. Maybe Dadan was crying right now.

Oh, she hated the fact that she loved these boys.

“Shishishi!”

“Luffy! Shut up!”

THUNK!

Oh, she was going to kill them.

Dadan turned to the window where a top hat, a straw hat, and a quite obvious head of black hair was peeking out over the window sill.

“BOYS!” She raged, setting the card down with care before running to the window.

“RUN!” Came the terrified call, followed by laughter and joy as three boys sprinted away into the woods.

Dadan debated following them, before deciding she would rather they not see her teary-eyed face.

Ah.

She might not be the best parent, but she did alright at least. Enough to get a card on a holiday.

Dadan loved her boys.

She really did.

[bestintheparsec]

The Same Coin - Part 3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

A/N: Alright, this chapter feels like a big boi compared to the previous ones😂 I’m sorry for the delay in posting this! But I hope you enjoy it, and as always comments and feedback are appreciated!❤️ Special thanks to my lovely friends @hiscyarika​ @murdermewithbooks​ @aerynwrites​ for helping me proof/edit this thing, it would not be what it is without their help❤️

Words: 5.0k

Warnings: canon-typical violence, angst, a slice of Tender™

You pull your gun out of its holster, readying yourself against the side of the wall as Steve and Peña do the same. The sun beats down on you as you wait for the search bloc’s cue. Even if today’s mission is just a small-scale one, you’re glad to be back out in the field—and so is Peña, since it was his tip to begin with. Late last night, Peña received a tip from a previous CI regarding the whereabouts of a small lab. The colonel only allowed the use of fifteen men and a few cars, but this should be more than enough for the takedown of this particular site. Without the need for verification by Centra Spike, all three of you were promptly able to get the ambassador and Messina on board with the plan.

You’re shoulder-to-shoulder with the two of them now, waiting on the colonel’s signal as the men break down the entrance and toss a flash bomb inside. You’re given the cue as yelling erupts from inside and the whole search bloc barges in, sweeping the building. Gunfire from either side rings out, and when the smoke clears you’re able to make out the few sicarios that have been taken out on the ground. 

The quiet only lasts a few seconds before more shouting and shots come from the stairwell. Suddenly, a slew of sicarios start flooding the warehouse, coming from all corners and every room. They fire continuously and your ears start to ring from the noise. You take some of them out, but the shots keep coming and never cease.

“What the fuck!” Steve yells beside you as he continues to aim and dodge bullets. The three of you split up and scan the whole area, but you’re unsure of what you’re even looking for now. Your adrenaline’s running so you can’t process for long. Peña said there would only be a few of Escobar’s men here, not a small army of them.

The bloc continues to take them down one by one, and you’ve already made your way through most of the building when a bullet flies past your arm, hitting the wall behind you. You dodge behind a shelf and watch as two sicarios fire at you, pushing themselves through the window in the room. One of them knocks a shelf over on his way out as a barricade, and you quickly follow suit, climbing over the hunk of metal and out the window. Javier and Steve hear the noise and make their way into the room, following after they see you throwing yourself onto the street outside.

Sweat starts to bead on your forehead as you chase after them, expertly dodging the objects they throw in your path. Innocent bystanders watch with concern and you dip past them—you’ve almost caught up and can hear Steve and Peña's racing footsteps behind you. You always outrun those two—your lungs haven’t been bogged down by cigarettes the way theirs have. 

One of the men turns and shoots at you before disappearing through a doorway on the other side of the road; you’ve almost caught up to the other one so you make a split-second decision, letting this one go and continue running straight ahead.

You’re closing in on him when the sicario abruptly turns into a narrow alleyway. You follow, but lose your footing and trip over a large piece of metal that he’d thrown to the ground. He dashes off and escapes as you get yourself up, groaning loudly. 

“Fuck!” you hiss at yourself.

As you go to pick up your gun off the ground, the other sicario that had slipped away earlier appears out of nowhere, his gun pointed at you and ready to fire. You freeze like a deer in the headlights, your hands ready to fly up in surrender when a shot rings out from behind you. The bullet goes straight through the sicario’s chest, sending his lifeless body to the ground.

You exhale in relief and whip your head around, meeting Peña’s eyes as he lowers his gun. He tries to catch his breath, giving you a curt nod. Seconds pass before you realize you’ve stopped breathing, but you return the nod after taking a deep breath. It’s the only thanks you’re able to give at the moment, since he gestures in the direction the sicario escaped towards. The chase is still on, so you grab your gun off the ground and run alongside him.

You sprint back out into an open street where you see Steve pointing his gun at the sicario, who’s got his own gun aimed right back. 

“¡Baja tu arma!” Peña yells at him, but he doesn’t budge.

Your gun is pointed as well, but you briefly scope your surroundings. Aside from a few cars parked along the sidewalk, the street is void of any people. 

No one else seems to notice the unsuspecting truck that’s parked to your left, carrying large tanks with the word “gasolina” stamped on them in faded white letters.

You turn your attention back to the sicario, but it’s too late—his eyes go to where you were just looking, and Peña and Steve see the truck at the same time he does. There’s a split second of silence, but then he jerks his gun in the truck’s direction and pulls the trigger before you can yell “No!”. At the same time, Peña shouts something you can’t make out, and you’re about to move when you feel the force of his large hand shoving you and Steve face-first behind a car for cover. Your arms brace the fall and you feel the vibrations from the explosion as you lie face-down on the ground. Following the sounds of shattering glass and debris, the street fills with blaring of car alarms and smoke.

You felt an impact on the way down, but now you’re not sure if it was because of your body hitting concrete, or the weight of Peña’s body on top of yours, shielding you. His free arm is over Steve and he quickly moves it off. He grips your arm with his hand, then releases it but keeps himself over you. The sharp ringing in your ears isn’t enough to distract you from the feeling of Peña’s chest against your back, pressing on you every time he breathes in and out.

All three of you stay on the ground for a few more moments before uncovering your faces and looking up to inspect the scene of complete chaos and destruction. Debris litters the ground and the dense smoke in the air burns your lungs. You know to always expect the unexpected, but this was definitely not part of the plan. 

The colonel’s going to lose his shit. You shift your position, still aware of his weight on you. Peña starts to get up first, but keeps his arm over you just a second longer than necessary. You don’t know why but you feel a hint of warmth rush to your cheeks. With a shaky exhale, you push yourself up as well. What the hell was that? you want to ask him. He offers no explanation or the slightest comment about the strange moment of contact, so you figure it’s just you, thinking too much as usual.

You sigh with relief when all of you are able to stand, seemingly unharmed. Peña looks relieved as well, looking around as you brush the dust off yourself.

“Anyone hurt? Or hit their head?” he asks, rubbing his shoulder. You and Steve each let out a huff of air and shake your heads as you all start to walk back towards the warehouse. No one has to say it, but you know you’re all in for some harsh words once you get back to the embassy.

~

The three of you sit in the ambassador’s office with Messina, and as predicted, they’re pissed. While you three were off chasing down those two sicarios, the search bloc had managed to capture a couple of sicarios back at the warehouse—alive. So while they’re off being questioned right now, you, Peña, and Steve are getting reprimanded for how indiscreet the mission was. You’ve been listening to their lecture for nearly twenty minutes and they’re only now slowing down. Not much has been said on your part; you’re fuming on the inside and trying to contain yourself. Your jaw is clenched and you’re bouncing your leg on the floor, waiting for it to be over. It won’t make a damn difference what any of you tell them; it never does.

“Ma’am, with all due respect, we have two high-tier sicarios in our custody,” Peña comments with a wave of the hand, barely concealing the irritation in his voice. His other hand grips the arm of his chair, his knuckles white from the pressure.

“Agent Peña, this mission was supposed to be covert—in and out, is that not what the informant said? You were supposed to go in there quietly, not create a goddamn war zone,” the ambassador retorts.

“How were we supposed to know all of that would happen?” Steve clips. His frustration mirrors your own. You’re about to mutter something sarcastic when you notice Peña’s eyes shift down to the ground, then back up. He clenches his teeth and grinds his jaw. It’s a tic of his, when he’s up to something. You’re not sure what he has to do with any of this, but now’s not the time to bring it up.

After you get dismissed, you go back and sink into the chair at your desk, sighing with exasperation. Peña and Steve sit down at their own desks across from you, stowing their guns and badges away.

You quietly observe them as they pretend to skim some paperwork. Steve has some small bruises starting to form on his arms, and you’ve got a busted lip—but other than that, the three of you aren’t hurt. You shake your head at the irony—one small stakeout with Peña resulted in him being shot in the leg, yet a whole explosion happens and the most you get is a bloody lip and some scratches. Go figure. 

Your fingers twitch and can’t stay still, and you can’t figure out why. It’s been a few hours since the event, and a scolding from the higher-ups has never fazed you before. Your fight-or-flight response has calmed down now. But you almost feel shaken by the incident, even though it was far from being your first encounter with danger. You didn’t do anything differently, and no one was hurt. But your mind can’t focus on anything else except those moments where you might’ve been harmed today—that sicario was ready to shoot, and the aftermath of it all could’ve been a lot worse. Your mind flashes to Peña’s hand on your back, and you feel your face getting warm again. Why the fuck are you thinking about this? You shake your head, immediately suppressing the thought.

As astute as you are, you don’t notice that Javier is observing you, too. He doesn’t miss the way you’re massaging your fingers again, something you haven’t done in a while—at least, not around him. You cross, then uncross them several times. He suddenly feels a pang of guilt; today must have affected you more than you’re letting on. He considers how this was yet another time he’s put you—and Murphy, of course—in harm’s way. His CI had greatly downplayed the amount of violence to expect, but his anger over this isn’t boiling quite as strongly as the nagging sensation of guilt that’s slowly making itself known again. He’s had worse problems with past intel, but for a reason unknown to him, this time it’s different. You might just be a coworker, but he can't help but feel like he's at fault for more than one thing today.

So when he watches you with your multiple nervous habits, he almost has to pull his eyes away. Steve picks up on your annoyance and says something to cheer you up, and a hint of a smile appears on your face. It’s not long before Javier's attention is inadvertently drawn to the cut on your lower lip; it’s a bit swollen along the area. He purses his own lips and forces himself to finally look away. It was just another day on the job. Why the hell does any of this bother him?

You stand up suddenly, tossing the files onto the desk and breaking his chain of thought. “I’m going to go get a coffee,” you tell them, pushing your chair in. They both nod as you pull your drawer out to grab your things and leave for your break. You don’t notice the frown on Peña’s face as he watches you leave, either.

~

As you sip on the steaming beverage and walk on the quiet sidewalk towards the benches on the outskirts of the embassy, you’re hit with the feeling that today’s events are going to linger in your mind for longer than they should. You wish they wouldn’t—you’ve seen so much worse. You exhale and take a seat on the bench, rubbing your temples and taking another long sip from the cup. 

You weren’t stupid when you joined the DEA; you knew what you were signing up for. But you also knew what you had to give up, or at least you had to try to. You’ve worked here for too long to not know better. You don’t get close to people; you try not to, anyways. Even though Steve is a good friend, there's a lot about you he doesn't know; things you’ve never offered. Loss and suffering is all you’ve seen during your time here—it wouldn’t do you any good to get attached. Does this have anything to do with Peña? No, of course not. You try to brush your thoughts off, instead pondering what kind of shady dealings Peña's been involved in. He knows more than he’s willing to tell, but you don’t know if you want to know any more than that. It’s not the first time he’s done questionable things, of that much you're sure. Eventually, he’s going to get himself hurt if he keeps up the reckless behavior. Why doesn’t he realize this, or care? And more importantly, why do you? 

You start to massage your fingers, as though it’ll wash the thoughts of your life choices away.

But you’re never allowed any reprieve. As if on cue, Peña’s voice interrupts your thoughts. “You’re in my spot,” he says, approaching the bench.

You’re about to make a smart remark, but hold back when you turn and see the resigned expression in his eyes. Peña takes a seat beside you and leans back, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and offering you one. You shake your head as he lights one for himself. 

“This is my thinking place, too,�� he comments when you don’t say anything. He follows your gaze to the street, full of loud cars and pedestrians out and about.

“I, um—Thank you. For today, with the sicarios,” you finally add after a few moments, turning to look at him. “I mean it.”

Javier meets your eyes, only breaking his gaze when he realizes you’re still rubbing your fingers. His mouth presses into a hard line and he doesn’t really know how to respond to your thanks, so he just nods. 

“You don’t need to thank me. Just...doing my job,” he says quietly, practically under his breath. You were almost hurt again, and it would’ve been his fault.

“What is that job, Peña?” It’s a genuine question, and you don’t mean any harm by it. “I don’t know what you’re not telling us, but...you should be careful. If not for your own sake, then for ours.” 

He puts the cigarette to his lips and takes another draw before he answers. “I can take care of myself,” he states simply.

You scoff at that—not just because he’s stubborn but because you’ve told yourself the same thing many times. You've learned to fend for yourself here.

“Maybe,” you reply. “But there’s a lot more at stake than your own safety,” you tell him. He glances away then, but acknowledges the statement with another nod.

“Don’t worry. You’re not going to get in any trouble,” he adds quietly, and it’s not laced with the typical sarcasm you’re used to. 

“That’s not all I care about, you know.” If you sound a little defensive, you hope he can’t tell.

“Really, and what do you care about, agent?” He smirks, exhaling a puff of cigarette smoke.

“The same things you do,” you answer curtly with a shrug. “Catching that asshole, staying alive while I do it.”

“That’s all?” he asks with feigned disbelief.

“I think you know it’s for the best,” you say. “It’s best not to be attached to anything, or anyone else,” you add before you can stop yourself. Your eyes widen at the admission and you turn away—you didn’t mean to say that out loud.

There’s no way Peña misses the change in your tone, but he seems to spare you and makes no other comment. You exhale deeply and stand up, tossing your cup in the bin.

“We better get back inside,” you say, deftly changing the subject. “Let’s not give them another reason to make our lives difficult.”

He chuckles. “And when they do?”

“I’ve told you before,” you reply, a slight grin on your face. “I’m used to dealing with assholes.”

~

Lately, you’ve been getting a flood of potential new leads coming in. Some of them come from the sicarios that’d been captured days ago, but a lot of them seem to come out of nowhere. The phone’s been ringing more often than any of you have been used to recently, but more often than not the sources want to talk to an American; specifically, they ask for Peña. You and Steve occasionally question him about it, but he shrugs it off, reassuring you that these are all valid intel. 

The good thing about having so much new information is that the three of you are actually motivated to look into it, grateful for anything beyond the mindless busy work that’d become part of your routine. Falling into your prior routine from when Peña was working from home, you all bring the work home to his apartment almost every night. Each day seems to run into the next as you work tirelessly, plotting and digging to move forward. Late nights turn into even later nights, but you all seem to be running on fumes anyways.

You can’t help but feel like the dynamic between you and your partners is different now, too. Something seems to have shifted after your short conversation with Peña that day at the embassy, but you can’t put your finger on what it is. 

Steve catches on to something being off, too. One night when you’re all poring over one of the leads, Javier makes some darkly-humored remark about something and you let out a chuckle but make no other comment, continuing to focus on your work. Steve looks back and forth between you two with a wrinkle in his brow, racking his brain. He’s been used to being the middle-man, constantly mediating the hostility that was often present whenever you two worked together. The friendly banter—if that’s even what this is—is just a tad disorienting to him.

The three of you pass the liquor around; you have just enough to make you forget the exhaustion of another long day. Hours blend together and you continue to power through, but sometimes your minds give out for the night before you can make it home.

When Javier looks up and realizes you’re both out cold for the night, he sits up and stretches, getting up to head to bed himself. He’s mildly envious that you’re able to succumb to exhaustion so easily, because he knows it won’t be easy for him. But then again, it’s probably not much easier for either of you—sometimes you’re simply lucky enough to have a night where the baggage of the job is strong enough to allow you to rest. Steve’s got his face on his knuckle with his mouth agape, and you’re nestled into the side of the couch with your arms crossed. A gentle smile crosses Javier’s face and he shakes his head. His partners really are something else. 

The smile fades quickly when that nagging feeling of guilt hits him again. Sure, he’s been keeping contact with his informants; it’s the only way your bosses will take things seriously. But he’ll be damned before he lets any of them put you or anyone besides himself in danger again.

He walks over and pulls the blanket that’s draped over the side of the couch, covering you with it before picking up the papers off the floor and stacking them neatly on the table. He brings the glass of whiskey with him to his room, not bothering to shut the door behind him. 

~

A car horn blares in the distance and Steve jolts awake, realizing he dozed off even with the dim lights still on; he figures it’s time to call it a night. He stands and shrugs on his jacket, smirking when he sees your sleeping form slouching over on the couch. He takes another swig of whiskey from his glass, briefly deciding whether he should tell you to go home, too. He glances towards you, then to the paperwork on the table, then to Javier’s room, and smirks again before deciding to leave you alone. He places the glass down with a clink, turning off the lamp as he makes his way home to Connie.

~

Javier wakes up abruptly, his body still and his eyes adjusting to the surroundings of his bedroom. He can barely put together what he saw, but his heart beats rapidly and he can feel his pulse in his face. He remembers an indistinct image of broken glass and fire, nothing else. He steadies his breathing, in and out, willing the pounding in his chest to stop. The nightmares visit him so often that he’s never surprised by them anymore, but he’d like to be able to sleep through just one fucking night.

He exhales heavily and shuts his eyes again, knowing damn well he’s not going back to sleep. It only lasts a moment; he opens them again and sits up on his bed, running his hands through his hair and down his face. He pushes the comforter off himself and puts his feet on the ground, leaning forward with his face in his hands. He tries harder to remember what it was about this time, but it’s already been erased from his memory, leaving only the aftereffects. He’s so fucking tired. Not just from the lack of sleep, but from everything that leads him to dark places even in slumber.

He sighs deeply again, then stands to get his drink from the top of his dresser. It’s almost empty, so he pours himself another glass. He can’t tell if he’s a little buzzed from the earlier glass, or if it’s just his mind being too loud.

~ 

Your eyes open slowly as you try to reorient yourself—you’re still on Peña’s couch. The old leather cushion squeaks as you sit up, yawning. The lights are all off, so the space is completely dark, save for the blue-hued night’s sky shining through the window. You can’t have been out for more than a few hours, but you rub the sleep from your eyes before pushing the blanket off yourself and immediately shiver when the cool AC air hits your skin. You’ve only been tired enough to fall asleep here a few times, but every time you’ve woken up with this blanket on you. You can’t help but feel a hint of warmth in your chest, but push the feeling away before you let yourself think too hard about it.

At any rate, you need to go back to your own flat, so you get up and blindly try to find your things in the dark. You dig around and find your keys before swinging the bag over your shoulder. You’re about to head to the door when you hear a quiet groan and some shuffling coming from Peña’s room. You purse your lips, unsure if you should ignore it. But when you hear the clinks of glass and sounds of liquor being poured, you hesitantly remove your bag and gently place it back on the floor.

You’re afraid of breaking some unspoken boundary as you quietly walk towards his room. Coworkers—partners—watch each other’s backs, don’t they? This is normal. 

His door is wide open, so you tell yourself you’re not barging in. Standing just outside the door,  you nervously peer inside. You expect him to be under the covers, but instead find him sitting on the edge of his bed facing away from the door, his head in one hand, his free hand nursing a glass. If you leave now, he won’t notice. But you suddenly remember his protective hold over you and Steve during the incident. Before you can change your mind, you knock lightly on the door frame. You don't know what troubles him, but if it's anything like your own demons, he shouldn't have to be alone. 

“Peña?” you whisper, so quietly that you’re not even sure he can tell you’re there. 

He makes no response, but sits up straighter and rubs his face, so you know he heard you. 

“Are you…okay?” you ask with a meek voice, waiting for him to answer with sarcasm, or anger, or...anything. Honestly, you expect him to ask you to leave, and at another time you might have gladly done so. But now you’re not so sure.

“Yeah, great,” he mutters, but his voice cracks at the end of it. You swallow dryly, not knowing what you should do. But he doesn’t tell you to leave, so you rock on your feet for a few seconds as you wait for him to add anything else. When he doesn’t, a feeling of courage overcomes you and you take a step into his room, joining him in the darkness. Your breath hitches because while you don’t know what this is, you know that there’s no going back from it.

You walk towards his dark silhouette—your pulse is racing and you have no idea why—until you’re standing in front of him, your knees almost touching his. He barely lifts his head, not meeting your eyes. If he wanted you to go, he would’ve told you so already. 

Your hands want to fidget, so you slowly reach out and gently take the glass out of his hand, setting it down on the nightstand beside him. He rubs his hands together hesitantly, looking up at you for a moment before turning away, unable to match your gaze for long. Your arms are at your side, your brows furrowed as you ponder what to do. You don't ask for an explanation because there's none needed. If only to distract yourself from the biting tension in the air, you reach out again, timidly brushing your fingers along his bare shoulder. You’re pretty sure your fingers are shaking, but when he doesn’t pull away you place your whole palm on his skin, running it down his upper arm in hopes of comforting him. You feel his muscles tense and then quickly relax, so you start to pull away—abruptly, he stops you by taking your hand and giving it a light squeeze with his calloused fingers, taking you by surprise; he quickly retracts as if he didn’t mean to do it. He still avoids your gaze, looking straight ahead at the wall behind you. You’re never this brazen unless you’re in the field, but you don’t want to leave him alone now. 

You lift your hand again, this time moving to softly run your fingers along his thick hair, smoothing it behind his ear. You swear you hear him inhale, and he seems to relax against the movement. You run the palm of your other hand along the smoothness of his back, then gently pull him in towards you. He doesn’t move his arms, but he almost instantly leans into you, his head pressing against your stomach. You wrap your other arm around him, and while he doesn’t do the same, he relaxes completely against you. Minutes pass but you don’t move, keeping your hold around him as you listen to him breathe in and out, occasionally lightly stroking the back of his head. The noises of the Colombian streets at night quietly fill the background, but all you can focus on is him. His skin is warm against yours and you almost feel comforted yourself, despite your best attempts to ignore the feeling. The heaviness of your tired eyes is long gone now.

You’re not sure how much longer it’s been when you suddenly feel him tense under your arms again. He gently pulls away as you let go. He finally looks up and meets your eyes, raising a hand towards your face. The tips of his fingers barely graze the skin on your cheeks and suddenly your heart rate picks up again; just as quickly, he removes his hand. You don’t even have time to let go of the breath you realize you’re holding. You take an inch of a step backwards, steadying yourself and tugging on the hem of your shirt. 

“I...should go," you whisper. Your voice falters and you hope it doesn’t betray you.

A beat passes. “Yeah, you should,” he agrees, but his voice is gentle.

You linger for a moment, then slowly turn and walk away, leaving his bedroom door open like you found it. You keep your steps quiet as you pick up your bag again and walk through the front door. Once you’re out in the hallway, you pause and take a deep breath, shaking off whatever feeling has suddenly taken over the emptiness in your chest.

~

Translations:

Baja tu arma = lower your weapon/put the gun down

~

Series tags: @yabby-girl @mytinybaguette​ @mrpascals​ @dindjarindiaries​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @pascalesque​ @lady-sigyn​ @bel-13 @positivelife3000​ @larakasser @buckstaposition​ @watsonwise​ @irishleesh93 @gigilame�� @lostingoogletranslate @kristalhi​ @supersonntag​ @lcandothisallday​ @keeper0fthestars​

Perm tags: @immundusspiritu @aeryntheofficial @i-like-those-odds @heyy-honeyy @hail-doodles @hiscyarika @taman-a @electricprincess888 @spacegayofficial @myrin1234 @aloneontheoutside @pascalisthepunkest @ah-callie @fleurdemiel145 @katialvi @murdermewithbooks @pisss-offf-ghostt @kayebede @lamnothome @fan-g0rl @lokiaddicted @mrsdaamneron @poedaneron @wolfshifter4life​ @rociomz @opheliaelysia @dyn-djarin @randomness501 @hayley-the-comet @mrsparknuts @exy-issexy @blue-tidal-wave @palalover​ @forever-rogue​ @adikaofmandalore​

[rinharu-purple]

MC’s confession day

Isn’t the “Slightly drunken date” one the best dates? Not because it has many sweet moments between Gavin and MC, but mainly because this date revolves mostly around MC’s thoughts and feelings about Gavin as well as how she perceives *cough* and simps for *cough* him. Those thoughts and feelings must be at such a great magnitude, that she actually confesses them all to him by the end in the most hilarious, cutest way possible. That’s why I’ve decided to write an analysis about it. 

If anyone's interested in an analysis about MCs feelings towards Gavin in general, could take a look at here

20 seconds in to this date MC already blurts out her first thoughts about her expectations from this date evidently:

“Gavin was going to teach me how to surf. Which meant I’d get to see him up-close riding the waves...I’ll bet he looks handsome”. But weren’t you doing this, so that you could enjoy the activities that Gavin is into together? Wasn’t that the reason you went surfing with him MC? Anyways, Gavin must also have thought the same way, which is why he tells her that she should be more specific on what she wants, and then asks her why she wanted to watch him surf. To much of our surprise, she honestly and directly tells him because she’d thought that he would look so handsome doing it...leaving him speechless during the process. #strike one

Next scene is MC watching Gavin surfing from afar and again, what she thinks meanwhile is...”The waves splashed on his tightly-flexed muscles, glistening in the sunshine...What an amazing man”

She has spent the whole afternoon watching him surf and when Gavin finally gets out of the water during the sunset he finds MC still drooling over him.

“Then there were the beads of water dripping the lines of his body...

It seemed...even more beautiful than the ocean sunset.”

At this point even a guy as oblivious to such simping as Gavin feels the slack-jawed gaze(her own words not mine) of MC on him and calls her out in a flirtatious tone:

While MC is struggling to find an excuse, he helps her out and changes the subject, because you know best boi gotta best boi, yet still...#strike two

After that they go to the beer festival where MC’s amazement continues. Once seeing Gavin on the stage playing the bass, she realizes how less she still knows about him and gets bewitched even more.

“This was a Gavin that I’d never seen before, shining in the spotlight all on his own. as he stood there, It looked like he could take on anything this world could throw at him. As I looked at Gavin, this feeling suddenly welled up in my chest, filling it up entirely...I want... to get to know him better!”

At the moment their eyes met, MC can’t keep those thoughts and feelings built up inside and lets them out shouting...

Funny thing that she was at first in a dilemma about those stirred up feelings and wondered if it was the music or Gavin who had driven her so wild. Her conclusion at the end was though: “From the beginning to the end every throb of my heart was because of this man”.

Leaving the venue, they finally arrive at the lighthouse where the final act commences and at this point MC has chunked down at least 3 cans of beer already and Gav-babe a few more. They both have blemished faces due to alcohol but it just turned on MC even more (I am telling you, she is drooling all over Gavin from second 1 till the very end during this date).

(Btw I need to mention how I like that they don’t start making out or anything while drunk but rather gush out about their feelings about each other. Typical for Gavin x MC, they are so pure and innocent...until...you know...they aren’t...;) when is the Whispers ASMR coming to the ENG server again?)

While MC is getting more and more assertive by every passing moment, Gavin finally gives her the final string of encouragement she needed by saying that his smile, his strength, his joy and sorrows all belong to her because she is the reason for him being the man he is today. That’s when MC takes out the shell from her pocket and gives it to Gavin, telling him that there are many things he still doesn’t know about her, but Gavin has another ace up his sleeve:

On a side note, Can we please agree on how good Joe delivers this line please? That mischievous tone and that bantering voice...its just perfect!

Things not only not end there but also escalate even further from this point on, because let me remind you that our lovebirds are drunk, so Gavin finally lays the cherry on top while MC lays herself on top of him by saying that he is crazy for her too (it only plays Crazy in Love by Beyoncé in every possible cover version in my mind during this scene <3). And that is our # strike three

After this final line of his, there is now no way of stopping MC’s confession anymore so here she goes...

“No more talking! Just listen to me! When I said that, I meant it. Not about the bass playing, but you. I like the gift you gave me, I like the bracelet you gave me. I also like that love letter that I never read. I want to see more sides of you...When you’re eating, when you’re sleeping, when you’re happy, when you’re sad, when you’re wearing a tuxedo, or red in the face from drinking.

All of it! I want to see every side of you

Is...is that ok?“

As we know after this confession Gavin reassures her by saying that he belongs to her alongside all the things that she's just wanted of him aand CUT!

Its just so well written how MCs fascination about Gavin riles up throughout the day and bursts out by the end of it. How she sees him as a handsome, attractive, talented and fascinating man in anything he does as well as how amazed she is by him to an extent that she courageously shouts out how crazy she is for him in public but also courageously tells the same thing to his face when called out on it. She just wanted these feelings out. Those feelings in which she is amazed by every thing he does and wants more of it, all of it. MC literally confesses to Gavin during this date and because of it, this is one of the best dates.

Writer's note: Now that I think about it, it's understandable why mappa didn't include this date in the anime.

Disclaimer: The print screens are from YouTube because I prepared this post on PC so I had to improvise.

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XX

A/N’s at the end:

Parts I-XIX:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

Part XIX

.XX.

Lucie was already awake when the knock came at her door. She’d been up with the sun writing a letter to Grace for her next available time to meet so that they could continue with their plan to resurrect Jesse without having to sacrifice a life. She’d been up half of the night with ghastly dreams of herself holding a knife to the neck of someone she loves. When it came down to it, even in her wildest imagination, she couldn’t bring herself to do it; not even to a stranger. When it seemed sleep would allude her, she did what she’d always do when reality came to be too much. She sat at her small writing desk pressed underneath the window so she could see the moon and the stars once the clouds had broken away enough. She started a new story. Disappearing into a different reality with new, but familiar people, and stayed with them until dawn. In her alternative universe, there was no mention of demon attacks, murder rates, or pretentious leaders. Instead, they flowered with friendships and love pursued, sustained, or left in need of resuscitation. The pages smelt soft as if sprinkled with powder. She wrote until her wrist ached and her fingers locked and she was forced to rest.

Lucie had just finished buttoning the pearl buttons down the front of her dress when a small knock came at her door. She picked up her gloves and companion hat and glanced once at the drying pages on her desk.

Her hands were stained with black ink that even the fiercest scrubbing wouldn’t remove. Her once clean and neatly trimmed nail beds were all colored with ink. When she woke this morning, she found a mark on her chin, across her forehead, and even some on her bottom lip. Luckily, those came off with a bit of soap and warm water. She recalled the hands of a painter that once did a portrait for the Institute. Not only his hands were riddled with color, but his clothes and his traveling bag as well. An artist doesn’t need to speak or show off their work to be known as an artist. An artist wears their work wherever they go.

She smiled to herself as she opened the door to find their butler with a letter sitting on a silver tray.

“The post arrived,” he said and lowered the tray for Lucie. “Breakfast shall be ready shortly. Are you in need of any assistance this morning.”

As soon as she saw the neat, elegant gold lettering of her name on the smooth parchment, Lucie nearly leaped onto the letter.

“No, thank you,” she fumbled. “That will be all.” And shut the door with her foot.

Without a letter opener close by, she used her finger to slide underneath the wax seal and pulled out the letter, tossing the envelope aside as she unfolded the paper.

Dear Lucie,

I am writing to request your assistance with some correspondence letters I have been needlessly putting off for the last month. If you find yourself with some time today, would you be so kind as to come by the house at any time after noon. The back door will be open. You can see yourself in.

Best,

Aunt Cecily

Clever girl, thought Lucie. Pretending to be her Aunt as to not give away their agenda. Perhaps she did not give Grace the full credit she deserved.

She folded the letter into a small rectangle and stuffed into the bodice of her dress. As she turned to leave, her gloves slipped from her hands and her mouth dropped.

Jesse leaned against the door. With his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes held her face with a rage that rivaled even her own anger.

“And what is it that you want?” She asked with a slight break in her voice.

Jesse’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not going.”

Lucie scoffed. “And are you going to be the one who stops me?”

“Yes,” he growled.

“Is this how it’s to be?” She brushed a curl away from her face. “I do something you don’t particularly agree with and you suddenly become my own personal poltergeist?”

“When you’ve left me no other choice,” he said. “I’m trying to leave you alone. I realize I made a mistake by taking advantage of your ability to see me. I’ll never forgive myself for giving into the selfish ideology that after so many years alone, I finally had someone to talk to, that it never occurred to me the wild, beautiful girl would try to resurrect my lifeless corpse.”

“A terrible mistake on your part,” said Lucie, picking up her gloves from the floor.

Jesse stepped away from the door. “I tried staying away from you, but that clearly hasn’t worked. You’ve just managed to get yourself into even more trouble.”

“I need you to move,” said Lucie.

“Lucie, you cannot go there. It’s dangerous. Whatever you’re thinking, whatever they’re planning, it will not bring me back. Not as I was and not as I am now.” He reached for her, but his hands stopped in the air, as if he suddenly thought better of it. His expression softened. “In truth, this is something that I never wanted to confess to you, I’d hoped that you’d simply just let me go. But I realize how important it is now. Lucie, the way you think you feel about me, I don’t feel that way about you.”

Lucie rocked back on her heels just a bit. “And how is it you think I feel about you?”

“An infatuation,” said Jesse. “I’ve let it go on because there’s not many people to talk to when no one can see you. I’ve been alone for so long, quietly observing everything, but never able to engage. And then one day, I heard a girl’s voice in the forest, calling for help and I felt this pull to answer her. A pull that I couldn’t ignore. I never expected you to be able to see me— much less communicate with me, but you could. And it felt like dry land after months at sea. I’ve been using you, Lucie. Selfishly using you, because I couldn’t stand to be alone any longer.”

Lucie’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you. You’re just saying these things so I won’t go.”

“It’s true,” said Jesse. “Lucie, you’ve been a great friend, but bringing me back to life won’t make us more than that.”

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. He was just trying to push her away; protect her. But the doubt crept in all the same. He never once insinuated that their relationship was anything more than a strange friendship. If he were all she had to talk to in the world, she felt she would have clung to him, if only not to be alone.

Warmth spread across her cheeks. She had to look away from him. She needed to leave. “Please move,” said Lucie quietly.

“Are you still—“

“Move,” she said again and his form brushed aside as if shoved by the wind. Jesse stumbled for a moment, while he gained his bearings again, Lucie pulled open the door and left.  

Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, but she managed to hold them back. If this was his truth, it was best she knew. Still, the anger boiled inside of her until she almost turned around twice to tell him that she wasn’t bringing him back so they could ride off into the sunset together. She was giving him his life back because he didn’t deserve to die when he did. The way he did. He deserved to live and if she could give that to him, with nothing in return, then that would make her happy.

But if that wasn’t what he wanted, then perhaps it wasn’t her place to force it upon him.

She ran past the empty drawing room and turned the corner to descend the hallway to the dining room when she stopped.

Standing outside the door, pacing like a nervous jungle cat in a cage, was Cordelia. As Lucie approached, it seemed she was speaking in an entirely different language to herself, muttering to hands without noticing Lucie’s approach until she stood right behind her.

“Oh!” Cordelia stumbled back, clutching her chest. “Lucie, I didn’t hear you.”

Lucie appraised Cordelia, her hair was pulled back and braided into a coronet that ran into a braid down her shoulder. Her dress was a soft honey color that swooped across her chest exposing her delicate collarbone. The intricate beading had spots missing, but Lucie could still tell it was one of Cordelia’s most treasured items, if only because she’d never seen her wear it before.

“You look lovely,” said Lucie, running her fingers over the soft silk of the skirt that held Cordelia’s curve closely.

“Do I?” Cordelia blanched. “I supposed I’m trying to make a bit of an impression today.”

Lucie looked around the empty hallway. “On whom?”

Cordelia blushed. “It’s a bit of a long story, and I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable by telling you this information, but James and I may have kissed last night.”

Lucie’s eyebrow jumped and her traitorous heart ached. “May have?”

Cordelia grinned down at her distressed leather boots. “All right, we did. But before we could discuss it, my brother walked out and said all of these awful things to him. I haven’t been able to talk to him yet. I feel terrible.”

“Is that why dinner was so awkward last night?” asked Lucie, recalling the silent meal that passed between everyone except for the adults who kept attempting to make conversation, but couldn’t manage to get more than a few words out of the young adults sitting at the end of the table. No one would make eye contact and Cordelia just pushed the vegetables around her shepherds pie. Lucie had just assumed it was because she didn’t like shepherds pie. “Is James in there now?”

Cordelia shook her head. “My brother is sitting in there alone. A ploy to be sure James and I aren’t alone together. I was hoping to catch James before he came to breakfast, but I haven’t seen him come down. Oh, do you think he’s avoiding me?”

“No,” Lucie assured her. “He’s probably dressing as we speak and taking just as much care as you have.”

“Is it too obvious?”

“No, just the right amount of obvious,” said Lucie. “Sometimes I think my dear brother needs a brilliantly lit beacon for a sign and even then it might wallop him over the head before he saw it. Why don’t you go find him now and I’ll distract Alastair?”

“Because I can’t risk someone seeing me go into his room alone and I can’t very well speak to him freely in the open hallway,” said Cordelia, burying her face in her gloved hands. “I was hoping to catch him before breakfast and ask him for a morning walk. I don’t know what to do, Lucie, I’ve never been in this sort of situation before. And now I have Alastair hovering around me like a judgmental headmistress at a convent.”

“Have you a lot of experience at convents?” teased Lucie.

“You know what I mean,” said Cordelia.

Lucie smiled and patted her dear friend between the shoulders. “I do. Now, here’s what we’re going to do—“

Before she could give Cordelia her plan, James ran into the hallway. His hair stood up from sleeping on it wet and his gear was buckled incorrectly as if he’d done it in a hurry and without glancing in a mirror. Lucie couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She looked over at Cordelia who was beaming as if a witchlight had been stuffed inside of her.

“The post arrived—“ James started but was quickly shushed by a gloved hand over his mouth.

Cordelia lunged at him. “Shhh… we must be quiet. Alastair is there.”

James stiffened. “Good. I mean to speak to him.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” said Lucie, blocking the door. “I think the two of you have more to speak about than you and Alastair. Besides, it’s barely nine in the morning. That’s far too early for blood shed.”

James took Cordelia’s hand as if in some sort of act of defiance. “I am not going to sneak around your brother. I’m not going to sneak around anyone. We’ve spent far too much time in secret, I won’t do it anymore.”

Cordelia seemed to melt into herself as she leaned towards James.

Lucie snapped her fingers between them. “That’s wonderful, but now is not the time. What was in the post?”

James tore his eyes away from Cordelia to look back at his sister. He looked at her with a confused expression as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

“The post,” Lucie demanded. “You said the post arrived. What was in the post?”

“Right,” he shook his head. “Magnus replied. He said that he found it suspicious that we chose to write him a letter rather than show up at his door unexpectedly and unannounced as history suggests. Suspicious and intriguing, he said, so he’s invited us over this afternoon.”

“Wonderful,” said Cordelia. “How are we going to get past my brother?”

The three of them thought for a moment. If Alastair had any suspicion that Cordelia would be going off with James alone, he’d be sure to insist on joining or not allowing it at all.

“You’ll tell him you’re coming with me,” said Lucie. “I have to go to Aunt Cecily’s this afternoon to help her with some correspondence. You can tell him that you’re joining me. James, what time are you supposed to patrol with Matthew?”

“Noon,” said James.

“That’s perfect,” said Lucie. “You’ll look as if you’re going off to meet Matthew to patrol and Cordelia will look as if she’s joining me to go to Cecily’s except Cordelia will hop into your carriage instead of mine.”

James and Cordelia stared at Lucie for a long moment before either of them said anything.

“That brilliant, actually,” said James.

“I know, now fix your gear,” said Lucie. “You look like an idiot.”

Lucie speared another sausage onto her fork from the steaming plate in the middle of the dining room table that had been neatly done up with slow burning candles and plain white china plates. Tessa and Will had left the Institute early to attend a meeting with the Counsel. Sona was being visited by a Silent Brother who insisted on keeping a close eye on Sona’s pregnancy due to her age and fragility.

The meal prepared was as extravagant as the table setting: piles of fresh sausages, perfectly browned toast with freshly churned cinnamon butter, golden scrambled eggs, bacon slices, and bowls of seasonal fruit sprinkled with sugar.

The smell wafted through the Institute like a beacon.

Lucie sat beside Cordelia who sat opposite Alastair. He’d finished his breakfast before they left James to ready the carriages. With his plate cleared from in front of him, he flipped through the mundane newspaper occasionally glancing up to examine the two girls opposite him.

The silence between the two Carstairs was palpable. If Lucie wasn’t so nervous herself about having to go to Grace and tell her that she no longer wanted to help bring Jesse back, she might have tried harder to fill the silence. But with her own thoughts racing with the truth Jesse had shared with her, she couldn’t bring herself to even try.

“What are your plans for today?” Alastair asked gently. “I thought we could go to the park and get some fresh air. Maybe that will help to restore some of your memories.”

Cordelia’s fork clanged against her plate. “Lucie’s Aunt needs help responding to correspondences today. I’ve been asked to join her.”

“Oh,” said Alastair. “That’s all right. Do you need an escort?”

“No,” said Cordelia sharply. “James will be busy patrolling with Matthew so you needn’t worry about the two of us sneaking off together.”

Alastair’s mouth stiffened. “Cordelia, I know that you’re angry with me, but—“

“I’m not angry,” said Cordelia, pushing her plate of food away. “We can walk around the park tomorrow or perhaps this afternoon. There are some things we aren’t finished discussing, but if you’ll excuse us, our carriage should be ready and Cecily is expecting us.”

Lucie followed Cordelia when she stood up from the table, but before she turned to leave, she saw Alastair look down at his hands resting in his lap. His mouth muttered something under his breath, probably something he wanted to say to Cordelia, but couldn’t bring himself to. For all of his faults, and he had many, Lucie could recognize the love in his eyes towards his sister.

The two girls left the room, hurrying through down the hallway towards the front doors where two carriages waited. James sat in the driver’s seat of the open one that was mostly used for transporting items. Balios stood patiently while James hopped down and assisted Cordelia into the spot beside him on the bench.

“We’ll meet back at the Institute at three,” said Lucie, that would give them plenty of time for Magnus to muddle through Cordelia’s mind and James to look for the book while she abandoned her plan to help Jesse. “We need to come in together so no one will be suspicious. Good luck, Cordelia. If anyone can find your lost memories, it’s Magnus.”

“Let’s hope so,” said Cordelia and nodded at James to leave.

Lucie gathered her dress and climbed into the carriage waiting for her. She took her seat beside the window on the plush velvet bench and tried not to think about what she was about to do.

Jesse’s words played over in her mind until eyes burned. Maybe it was foolish of her to believe that there was anything more there; that he might actually care for her. Perhaps she did spend too much time in her fairytales that she’d lost touch of reality. Perhaps this was all for the best. She could focus on her training, on becoming parabatai with Cordelia, and finish her manuscript for publication. She’d have to think of a clever pen name, possibly a male one like Jane Austen had, so that her audience would expand past bored housewives.

And perhaps one day she’d meet someone. Alive, preferably, and her feelings for Jesse Blackthorn would be just a distant memory that she tucked into a box in her mind until they’re completely forgotten about, consumed by other things.

She wondered if he’d forget her too. If that was something he could do.

If it was something he’d done already.

It was nearly noon when the carriage came to a stop outside of her Aunt Cecily’s house. She did as Grace instructed and went around the back. The house looked dark when she approached the door though the garden. There was no light coming through the windows, normally Cecily had the doors open to let a breeze inside and some of the stuffiness out or the housemaids were hard at work dusting rugs, hanging laundry, or pouring out dirty mop water, but there was no such activity. Perhaps Grace preferred everything to be quiet.

Lucie rapped her knuckles on the dark wood once. “Grace, it’s Lucie. I don’t want to frighten you by barging in.”

After a moment, when she heard nothing, she tested the door knob and found it unlocked. She pushed it open on  its aged hinges and walked into the kitchen. The curtains had all been drawn leaving the room dark except for small slivers of light where the sun came in through a break in the curtains. Flakes of dust danced in the air as Lucie passed through to the front drawing room.

“Grace,” Lucie called as she checked the chairs and the lounge sofa where they’d shared their bargain. The room was empty and quiet except for the sound of the old grandfather clock ticking away the seconds. “Grace, are you here?”

A chill drifted through the thin fabric of Lucie’s sleeves. There was a faint smell of burning wood.

Lucie turned towards the stairs leading up to the second floor.

“I don’t find this humorous,” said Lucie, and walked slowly up the stairs despite her instincts telling her to stop. “If you’re hiding because you don’t want to help me, well I’m here to tell you that I’ve decided to put an end to our plan. Your brother is adamant that he doesn’t want my help to bring him back and wishes to terminate all contact with me, so you can stop the theatrics now.”

She reached the top of the landing where the hallway split in two directions: West and East. Lucie glanced to her right and knew her aunt and uncle's room to be down at the end and Anna’s room being the first door on the left.

The sound of shuffling feet came from her left. She glanced in that direction just as the skirt of a white dress drifted into a doorway.

Lucie released a sigh and hurried towards the door. Words laced with venom filled her mouth as she stomped down the hallway and nearly kicked open the door.

“I sincerely hope you—“ The words were cut short. Laying in the center of a four poster bed in a black tailored suit, like he’d just risen from a nap, was Belial.

He grinned that cunning, familiar smile at her. “Good,” he said. “You received my message.”

A/N: Happy Halloween friends! I hope you all had a wonderful and safe holiday whether it was spent watching scary movies alone or with friends, safely trick-or-treating in a neighborhood, or partying it up sipping booze through a straw and hole in your mask while dressed like Napoleon Dynamite or a ninja turtle (I'm not judging). Live your best life! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. We are starting to get back into the thick of it, and I for one, am excited. Please give it a like, tell me your thoughts on this chapter, reblog if you feel so inclined, and if you haven’t all ready give me a follow. I post about books, romance, and zero politics. Next update is coming at you, Nov 15!

[whispersafterdusk]

Lost in Time - ch 20

"Better have a good reason for dragging me out here, fellow."

The nights on this side of the river were unbearably hot, and the wind blew sand into every nook and cranny of person and building alike; Windsor could have sworn he learned in grade school that deserts were chilly at night but Eufala seemed to be different in that regard -- maybe it was the proximity to both the river and ocean, since the humidity alone was enough to make you want to die during the day.

That heat and humidity had already soured his mood by the time he'd returned to his motel room, and finding the little note jammed under his pillow hadn't done much to alleviate it; now here he was out in the middle of the desert, filling his boots with sweat, staring down the muscle-head that had left the note.

Franklin was an intimidating figure whose image was slightly undercut by the moonlight glistening on the healthy amount of sweat on top of his bald head; it was taking every ounce of self control Windsor had to not comment or laugh about it, or stare as a single bead finally ran down off the man's dome and traced a line to the lobe of his ear, then disappeared down his neck to soak into the collar of his shirt. ((Continued below cut))

"You're not one of them, are you?  Duvos soldier, I mean."

Windsor met the man's gaze and shook his head.  "Nope - just a humble bounty hunter and mercenary for hire.  What's it to you?"

Franklin folded his massive arms with a grunt and a nod.  "Figured as much.  Listen.  Xan's on the hook for some murders. He was given - "given" command of this last job," he repeated, flapping his fingers as he said it, "-and then, poof, dead commander.  Xan's rise through the ranks has always been on the backs of the dead -- loads of blood in his wake but never anything that tied him directly to anything, but this one they can't let slide on a maybe."

The man went silent then and Windsor could tell by the look on his face that he was expecting a reaction; he kept his expression blank and let the silence drag on until the meat head was clearly getting frustrated.  "Right.  And?"

"...and so I'm here to screw things up for him.  If he's discredited on something this important then no one is going to care if he disappears.  The higher ups are willing to sacrifice another chance at an AI just to get him gone."

Windsor rolled his eyes.  "I see where this is going and no thank you.  This is your bed - shit in it all you like but I'm not joining you."

Franklin's eyes narrowed.  "If Xan takes a fall so do you since you're a part of this damn group."

"I'm not an empire native and also don't give a flying rat's ass about the man or his politics -- if anyone wants to make a stink about it I've got the papers to prove I'm just a hired hand, and if they STILL don't like that I've got ways to get out of their hands.  If you want to convince one of the others that they need to save their backsides then by all means do so; I won't stand in your way or narc you out.  But leave me out of this."

Franklin growled.  "You saw 'em -- they aren't going to break ranks."

Windsor shrugged.  "Yeah, and?  What would've you done if they HAD?"

"Kidnapped the woman, dragged her back to Duvos - I've got my orders to screw this up but nothing says I can't benefit in the process.  So long as the job isn't done as ordered and Xan's embarrassed.  He stakes his reputation on his plans always going AS planned down to the letter, so-"

"Oh please, THAT'S your back up plan?  Original plan or not that would only make Xan look good!  You're as dumb as you look, as dumb as I suspected, and my answer is STILL 'no goddamn thank you.'  Mind your business and I'll mind mine."

The other simply narrowed his eyes and glared; Windsor gave it another few breaths then turned to leave.  He kept his ears trained for any approaching steps (as he half-expected the man to attack him with his back turned) but he made it back to the motel without issue, and after emptying the sand and sweat out of his boots he unclipped his dagger harness and rolled into bed.

Whatever trouble there was in paradise wasn't any of his concern; he'd been hired to help steal an AI and that was that.

Pity about Xan though...man really did have a reputation for getting things done.  Whatever methods he used aside Duvos would surely take a hit in the espionage and acquisitions department if they took Xan out of the chain of command.  Was rather interesting to hear that they were actually willing to do something about him...Duvos had some cutthroat politics and supposedly a lot of things were overlooked or praised as being ambitious but whoever that commander had been that he offed must have had parents REALLY far up the chain who had the pull to go after him.

At least Franklin's half-assed recruiting attempt had given him a fair head's up that once they'd paid for his services then Windsor should get the hell out of town and lay low.  Maybe he'd leave the meat head enough for a single drink as a parting gift -- assuming the man's own tactics didn't leave him dead at the end of all this.

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

"It's not important right now."

Remington mentally sighed; they'd been trying to get the date of Eli's birthday out of her for five days now and she'd stubbornly insisted each time that they had more pressing matters to attend to.   And yes, while technically she was correct, he didn't see any harm in them knowing when to wish her a simple "happy birthday" with the rest of it coming later. It wasn't exactly an argument but whatever you wanted to call it was interrupted by a familiar wobble from his bad knee; he immediately froze -- an impressive feat considering he was partly bent over in a stretching pose, and by shifting his good leg he was able to avoid toppling over onto his head (this time).

Eli grabbed him by the shoulders and helped him straighten up, and when he turned around she was frowning down at his legs.  "Stubborn injury, isn't it?"

"Yeah.  Been like that for awhile now.  I've learned to live with it."

"If we just knew what was wrong I bet Stewart could fix it."

"Really?  Even without all the fancy technology?"

She nodded.  "Really.  I've been trying to get up to speed with Xu about what survived the years and what's been developed since everything fell apart. Kind of makes me wonder if we really NEEDED all that tech back then.  Made things easier but at its most basic a lot of surgeries are done in essentially the same way regardless of whether it was a man or machine holding the blade...  We had an old saying about reinventing the wheel and while innovation was always pushing for new heights there were a lot of things you could say we had down to an art and couldn't really change.  Can't remember the last time I'd read about a new medical advancement...and I was married to a researcher."

With Eli helping he lowered himself into the grass and rubbed gingerly at his knee; every couple of days, on top of any strength training they found the time for, Eli had him working with stretches and light exercises specifically meant to try and help that joint.  So far he'd not noticed any changes aside from being constantly sore but at this point he was willing to try just about anything as he didn't relish the idea of living the rest of his life with a leg that was always threatening to suddenly buckle if he moved wrong.  

"Still, a lot of things made life easier. Bare minimum," she went on, "I'd love to have at least one functional imaging machine.  See everything inside without having to open you up."

"How'd those work?"

"Couldn't begin to tell you, beyond trying to explain how X-rays, radioactive tracers, and magnetic imaging works which, aside from basic facts about them, is well out of my scope of knowledge. Now, if I had Darren, or Peter or Ashley here, any of them could talk themselves blue in the face explaining how any given medical instrument worked.  Stewart could explain it too if you're interested."

Peter and Ashley...if memory served those were two of the squad mates they had buried in the graveyard (they'd been keeping a close eye on those graves still) and he certainly knew who Darren was.  "I won't bother Stewart with that - he'll have his hands full when the next round of scholars shows up."

With a groan she let her head drop back, staring up into the sky.  "Don't remind me. The first group was nosy enough."

"These ones are coming from Vega 5 and ought to be more interested in the technical side of things rather than...well."

She flashed him a smile.  "Rather than wanting to study me and how folks in the Old World lived?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that.  I didn't think they were bothering you too much...were they?"

"Not...really?  It kind of depends on how you want to quantify it - they didn't ask to meet with me a lot, but when they did they had notebooks full of questions that Stewart's social and technical programming couldn't answer and it'd take me an entire day to get through them."

He frowned.  "You could have said something if they were imposing on you too much."

"I could have.  But I didn't see a point in it," she sighed.  "It was something that needed to be done."

He sat up and looked at her; compared to Arlo or the Flying Pigs he didn't really get a lot of one-on-one time with her outside of these recent stretching sessions but still even he could tell something was a bit...off with her tone.  Like she was tired, or sad (and he didn't really need to consider why).  "You've got all the time in the world to answer questions."

"Maybe.  It just seemed easier to get them out of my hair and get back to-"

"-work?" Remington jutted in.  "Doesn't seem like you focus on much else.  Is everything all right?"

She blew out a breath that trailed into a buzzing raspberry.  "Not you too."

"Me too?"

"You, and Arlo, Asher and Xu - asking if I'm all right or need anything all the time or if someone is bugging me."

"...well, friends do that, don't they?"

"They do, but not every problem or bad mood can be solved by having a friend around."

He bent his good leg so he could rest his arms on his knee, and his chin on his arms, as he gazed up at her thoughtfully.  "We just -- it's not meaning to suggest anything beyond just wanting you to know the door's open, you know?  I can ask everyone to tone it down but we're just - we care.  That's all."

She closed her eyes and, after a moment, slumped her shoulders.  "I know, and I get it, and I'm thankful for having friends around ready and willing to support and help.  But it's... It's like picking at a scab. Each time I get asked, it's picking - and if you keep picking it never closes or heals, and the scar is a million times worse.  And with what they did to Darren's grave I feel like someone took a diamond sander to the scab and ground down to the bone.  Just when I thought I was doing better.  I talk to Xu, and it helps, but each well-meaning question from everyone else is pulling scabs right now."

"All right.  I'll quietly let the others know that you'll come to US if you need something and we should stop asking.  But, I do know we do really want to know you, and be your friends, and be there.  That's why we wanted to know about your birthday -- heck, if there's any holidays you want to celebrate I know we'll figure that out too."

She rubbed her hands across her face and held them there; when she spoke her voice was muffled but Remington didn't think she sounded too upset.  "Birthdays were celebrated only on multiples of 5.  I was born on the 15th of the first Spring.  I would need to check with Stewart to make sure I've got the years right but I last remember passing my 37th birthday."

Remington nodded slowly, and smiled at her; in his mind, very briefly, he thought 'I'm older than she is' followed immediately by the realization that no, he was not, and no one in the world was older than she was.  "All right - I'm sorry if it seemed like I was badgering you on anything but I'm also glad you told me.  Do you want me to keep quiet about it?"

"Please.  At least until I hit 40."

"It's a deal.  How would you celebrate your birthday back then?"

"Gifts, an elaborate dinner.  Costume parties were popular.  I always ended up with costume parties because New Year's Dawn had just happened, which was a city-wide costume party so you'd always have something on hand you could wear.  You'd go door to door singing songs, playing games, giving gifts, dancing in the streets.  You'd stay awake as long as you could but it was expected that you'd stay awake from dawn of the last day of the year to dawn of the second day of the new year."

"That sounds an awful lot like celebrating a holiday, and not your own  birthday."

She finally dropped her hands away from her face and shrugged at him.  "That's what happened if your birthday fell on or close to a national holiday."

Remington went to stand and tested his weight on his bad leg; there were no wobbles, no twinges, no sudden shooting pains.  "Sounds like you've had 37 years of getting the short end of the stick, then."

"You learn to live with it.  Ready to keep going?"

He didn't protest the sudden change in subject; with a bit more attention and care to how he was moving his body he managed to get through the rest of the exercises without any further trouble, and though he was pretty sore when they were done he didn't mind it too much -- his next patrol would be on horseback so the joint could rest while he rode.

"We'll get there, slowly but surely," Eli said as she walked him to the gate.  "Just take it easy for the rest of the day."

"I plan to," he replied with a chuckle.  "I was actually just thinking about that." As he latched the gate behind him he could spy Selene heading home - she was just coming out through Portia's gates. "-not to rush off or anything but I better get going.  I know Selene is just wanting to pounce over party things."

"Oh I know.  She's babbled about your birthday party these last few days.  All the more reason for YOU to keep your trap shut."

Remington laughed.  "I swear on my honor your secret is safe with me.  See you later, Eli."

He hurried off and was able to dodge around Selene with a hurried 'sorry, late for my patrol' and then he was huffing and puffing up the hill toward the Corps building to collect Arrow.

When he got there though he found his saddle was missing.  That was odd.

Spacer was there however and that saddle was where it was supposed to be; Remington hurriedly scribbled a note of explanation for Arlo and left it pinned to Spacer's stable stall then saddled him and headed down the road, and wondered how the heck he'd managed to misplace a saddle. Maybe someone had moved it since they were cleaning out the back wall in preparation of replacing a few shelves that were starting to dry rot and his was the only saddle that sat near those particular shelves.   Most of what had been sitting on those shelves was currently in a jumbled pile in the corner across from there...maybe he ought to clean a bit of that up when he got back from patrol.

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

He didn't mind that Remington had borrowed Spacer -- the horse liked the man well enough so Arlo knew there wouldn't be any trouble from the animal (unlike Teddy who typically wouldn't let anyone but Sam ride him).

What he DID mind though was by the time he'd found the note the missing saddle was back in its place, and after checking it over he found that a lot of the stitching had been carefully frayed with a knife so that it was highly likely that if Remington had been IN the saddle, moving quickly, and had made any sudden movements or sudden stops, the straps would have given way and dumped him off the horse.  Teddy's saddle had likewise been tampered with but not as badly as Arrow's, and Arlo was both relieved he'd discovered that before Sam went out on a ride as well as extremely anxious for Remington's safe return because he had no reason to believe that Spacer's saddle hadn't also been sabotaged.

It was really beginning to feel like whoever was causing their current problems was trying to spread them as thin as possible, as Arlo's first thought upon discovering the sabotaged saddles was "great, now we have to watch the stables."

But...no.  That was doing exactly what their spy and or vandal would want.

He still believed that the Stupid Plan idea of Eli's had merit - in fact, this was probably a result of that, assuming their spy was also their vandal - but it was time for a change in strategy.

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

"Looks like we'll be up and running within two weeks then."

It had been awhile since they'd ALL been together out at the facility; they were clustered inside the tent, looking over a collection of blueprints and measurements for the security door and signal transmitters.  Eli had been shifted off her patrols and onto helping Selene get the rest of the transmitter parts made, along with the towers they'd be mounted on.  With Eli's assistance they wouldn't need to bring in another builder for the assembly (though Higgins was producing the metal struts needed for the towers) and that left Merlin and Petra in charge of assembling the power sources (a mix of hydro, wind, and power stones).

Between work on that, and Mint overseeing the project to get the door installed...two weeks.  They would need to manage for two weeks, and then they could bring their full attention down on catching their spy.   It was nice to know that the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel wasn't something that was going to run them over.

"Do we have anything new to discuss?" Mali asked, pausing to look around at each of them in turn.

Beside him Arlo cleared his throat and Asher turned to look at him as he leaned forward to brace his hands on the little table.

"Yes, actually.  Someone sabotaged all of our saddles yesterday.  I think it's time we get a bit more aggressive - try to draw this person out into the open."

"I agree, because whoever this is uh-" Sam stopped abruptly, glancing briefly at Eli, before sighing.  "-we had some graffiti to clean up early this morning."

"About me, I'm guessing," Eli said.

Sam nodded.  "Yeah.  Nothing too nasty but basically urging you to leave town, claiming you don't belong here, that sort of thing."

"What was the graffiti made with?  Do we have any record of anyone buying paint of that color?" Remington asked.

This time she shook her head.  "It was done with charcoal - really easy to clean up, thankfully, but it doesn't point to where it came from or who had it. And of course no one saw anyone doing it AND it was all at different heights so we can't really narrow anything down."

Arlo huffed.  "Of course.  Regardless -- I worry that letting this stretch on any further will only result in someone getting seriously hurt.  It's clear our initial plan has definitely made this person more bold - just not bold enough to come close to us like they did at the tent.  I think this may be the best we're going to get so we need to come up with our plan to catch them."

Remington nodded, running a hand through his hair briefly; it was hot and stuffy in this tent with all of them inside it and Asher felt his scalp prickle in the heat just watching how Remington's hair clumped together in damp strands.  "We've set a trap once before for that rogue knight - we can always do it again."

"Well, maybe," Sam said, drawing out the last word.  "The thing is, THAT time we definitely knew what the knight was after.  There's a lot more down in the facility besides Stewart and if we set a trap it needs to be baited with whatever it is they're hoping to steal."

"It also needs to look natural - we got away with the last trap since it was in a ruins that were already falling apart.  This facility is much more preserved and it's going to be harder to set something up without it looking off," Mali added.

In the brief pause that followed that exchange Asher sat up a bit straighter.  "Well, it's common knowledge that we're expanding the clinic in town soon.  We could use that as our staging area instead since it's going to be pretty obvious that we're moving Stewart's station there."

Arlo grimaced.  "Yes, but that would be dangerous and tricky. Setting this trap would be dependent on no one else being at risk of injury -- we know this person is armed, after all, and we can't control when someone might try to trip the trap.  I don't want to put Dr. Xu or Harrison, or anyone else who might be at the clinic, in danger."

Eli lightly elbowed Asher in the ribs.  "AND I don't want Stewart's tech in danger of being damaged either -- if it breaks that's it because while I MIGHT know how to fix it it won't be as simple as heading down to the shop to pick up the right parts."

"Yeah...you're right about that part," Asher muttered.  "So it would have to be replicas, and we'd be guessing at what the spy would go for. Do you think they'd actually know what to grab if we baited them with the server stuff or basic computer pieces?"

Eli raised an eyebrow.  "Assuming they're not expecting that again? I could make something that looks genuine, important, and expensive."

Remington let out a thoughtful noise, leaning toward Eli. "How complicated would it be to do that?  I don't even know what...whatever we're talking about looks like."

"Not...TOO complicated, I don't think?  I -- hang on, wait.  Before we get too far ahead of ourselves I need to know what's common knowledge about tech these days.  Exactly how complicated and fancy I'd need to make the replicas would kind of depend on what people know or think these things look like."

They all fell silent; Asher glanced about and could see lots of thoughtful faces - he was hopeful that that meant someone had an answer, because he definitely didn't.  Technology wasn't something he studied or thought about much and he'd consider himself the last person anyone ought to be asking about Old World stuff.

Finally, Mali tipped her head back to look up toward the tent's ceiling.  "There's some common knowledge about Old World components but it's mostly regarding the things we commonly find.  Everyone knows what chipsets are, circuit boards, monitors and displays, and odds and ends that get lumped together just as 'old parts.'  We also have access to old engines of varying types that we've successfully re-created ourselves so we no longer need to rely on digging them up.  In this case... I'm not sure I have the answer.  But I know who would."

There was a brief pause then Arlo nodded.  "Ah, right.  The scholars from Vega 5 will be here soon."

Mali nodded.  "Vega 5 is full of people who have studied Living AIs, and they and Atara both have large libraries full of blueprints and books on Old World tech along with everything their museums have catalogued on display.  They'd be the ones to ask about what they would consider common knowledge."

"But would they know what's common knowledge in Duvos though?" Eli asked.

Mali shrugged.  "It's possible.  I'm not privy to everything that's been discovered through the Alliance's information networks -- the Flying Pigs are an adventuring guild who sometimes get tapped to help provide law enforcement.  I know more than most but ultimately we're not a military group so we're only told what we need to know for the tasks we're given." Eli scratched at her cheek; Asher noted that, due to the heat and sweat, the simple gesture left a pair of angry red marks across her skin  "Right...  Maybe I should go talk to Gale when we're done here -- er, assuming you aren't putting me back on patrol duty?" she added after a moment, looking to Arlo.

"No, go talk to Gale - this is important.  Afterward get back to those signal transmitters," came Arlo's answer.

"Understood."

"You sure you don't need an extra pair of hands with those things?" Asher asked then, looking between Arlo and Eli.  "At the very least I can tote and carry."

Arlo considered that for a moment, then glanced to Eli.  "Your thoughts?"

She huffed out a breath. "Carrying, sure.  But it'd just slow us down if we have to explain how to assemble.  We DO need someone to start bundling the tower pieces and that's also something you could do without much instruction needed - get the finished bits from Higgins, ensure we've got everything, sort it out into sets for assembly.  Basic stuff."

"All right -- go ahead and help them with the heavy lifting and getting the tower parts ready to transport.  Eli, once you've talked to Gale come find me in the Corps building -- Mali, if you'd like to join me for that feel free." Mali and Eli both nodded, and Arlo blew out a breath.  "I think that covers everything-"

"Hey- HEY!"

They all jumped to their feet at the shout from beyond the tent; Asher was still getting to know a lot of the townsfolk but he thought that sounded a lot like--

As he was closest to the tent flap Asher stuck his head out to see Albert sprinting toward them; when the man saw him he started waving his hands and his sprint was slowing.  Asher in turn hurried out of the tent and began running toward him, faintly aware of the sound of several pairs of feet following along behind him, and about halfway to the man Albert came to a stop entirely and doubled over with his hands on his knees, panting harshly.

"What's wrong?  What's happened?"

"Portia...ruins...cave in..." Albert was gasping as Asher came skidding to a stop beside him.  "One under...church..."

"Oh hell," Asher muttered.  He spun around as Eli, Arlo, Mali, and Remington reached them.  "Cave in at the ruins under the church."

"Was anyone hurt?" Arlo asked immediately.  Albert could only nod as he struggled to catch his breath and Arlo broke into a run again while calling orders over his shoulder.  "Asher - take Albert to the tent to catch his breath.  Remington and Eli with me."

The others went running off and Asher put a hand on Albert's shoulder.  "Sit down here in the grass, mind the marshy spots - we'll take a minute here and then we'll walk to the tent, all right?"

"I'll ask Sam to stay out here with Adam," Mali interrupted.  "After that I will join Arlo and the others in town - stay with Albert until he's recovered then escort him back to town."

"Got it," Asher replied.  Mali immediately ran back the way she'd come and Asher turned his attention back to Albert.  "Deep breaths, man, it'll be all right.  Do you know what happened?"

Albert took several more breaths; he seemed to be breathing a bit easier.  After an especially deep breath he lifted his head to look up at Asher.  "Not...a clue.  Heard a...loud noise.  Couple folks...out of the ruins, shouting...about a cave in.  Gale already there...told me to come get you all. I was closest."

Damn it... They should have had this meeting at the Corps building, not all the way out here; even as he thought that he knew that was very unfair as all their patrol routes for this morning had had them all out this way and it was quickest and easiest to gather here, but...  Well, honestly it could have been worse timing.  At least out here they'd all been in one place but had this happened at any other time of day or any other day in general they would've been spread across the countryside with only two of them in town.

"Think you can make it to the tent?  We'll get some water in you, can sit a bit, then we'll head back to Portia."

Albert nodded and straightened and the two of them began to (slowly) walk toward the Pigs's tent.  Mali was already heading back toward them and they exchanged nods as she passed and kept on going.

"What kind of loud noise did you hear?"

"Just a loud boom and a rumbling."

Asher frowned - a loud boom?  "Like...a KABOOM-kind of boom?  Like something exploded?"

"I couldn't tell you.  It was more - more of a sound that sort of hit you in the chest, more than in the ears, and one you could feel through your feet.  Our building is closest to those ruins so it's no wonder that we heard something."

"We?  You and Gust I'm guessing?"

Albert nodded.  "I went to the ruins, and Gust went for Gale.  And then Gale told me to run out here."

"How many came out of those ruins?"

"Um - I saw three folks.  Covered in dust, one of them was bloodied. They were all shaken up and just shouting 'cave in cave in' over and over."

Asher went quiet, chewing on his lower lip.  He wanted to simply believe that the ruins had partially collapsed but something nagged at him over it; the Civil Corps and the Flying Pigs both conducted regular inspections of all ruins across the Alliance of Free Cities to make sure they remained safe for public use.  There's NO WAY they would've missed a structural weakness that was so dangerous as to cause a cave in...someone on the inside had to have caused this.  A careless digger, or...

The saddles might have just been the first attempt to send a message.

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

Four injured, one dead.  All in all, considering there had been eight people inside the ruins at the time of the collapse, it could have been much worse.

Still.  It was slightly guilt-inducing to feel relieved that ONLY one person had been killed -- no one was sure where she'd come from but they'd matched her description to the list of Happy Apartment hotel-based rentals so they had a name but no way to contact any next of kin, nor did they know if this Kara person had any sort of surname at all either.  It would make for a somewhat plain headstone but at least they had the first name.

Sam, along with Mali and Higgins, had worked quickly to get a makeshift door in place and the rest of the entryway to the ruins boarded up; tomorrow Dana would be traveling to Portia to help Mali investigate what had caused the collapse.  Sam had wanted to go in with them as well but she'd gotten a resounding "no" from Arlo, Mali, and Gale - all at the same time, no less.  She supposed that made sense as she wasn't a miner or builder or anyone who would know anything about structural integrity (or whatever Mali had called it), and the fewer people at risk inside for a follow up collapse, the better.

As she walked up the hill toward the Corps building it was hard to miss the silence in this half of town; Ack hadn't been at his usual spot in the plaza, there weren't any tourists or townsfolk walking about.   Even the Round Table had seemed a bit quiet when she'd passed by moments ago.

Portia had certainly had a streak of bad luck lately...  The pessimistic side of her wondered how the spy would find a way to take advantage of the chaos.

As she crested the hill she spotted a man leaning against the railing of the stairs that led down to the central plaza; he had his back to her but she recognized the coat he had on (even in this heat).

"Bob?  I thought you would've moved on by now," she called out.

The man jumped and spun around, stumbling a bit as he boot caught on an upraised stone.  "Huh!  Huh?  Well.  Yeah, maybe.  Thought I should. Been tired lately."

Sam nodded and walked over, crossing her arms and eying the man.  He was a harmless drifter and she didn't suspect anything of him but he was also somewhat regular - he arrived in the spring, left at the start of the summer season, and then came back mid-autumn.  "Something wrong?"

"Not really.  Just got a feeling.  Road might not be safe."

She frowned.  "What do you mean?"

"I remember someone telling me there was a thief around.  I don't carry valuables.  But that's not all someone could take."

"Bob... Do you think someone's trying to harm you in some way?" she asked.

The man fidgeted a bit.  "Not me.  I think?  But I've seen some ghosts.  Footprints out of thin air.  I don't want to share a road with it."

Sam stared at him.  "...where did you see these footprints?  Can you show me?"

Bob shook his head.  "Not now - been too long.  Saw them on the beach while I was stargazing.  Walking west.  Too close to where I'd pass going back south."

"How long ago was this?"

The man shrugged, then scratched at his head.  "Not sure.  I don't do so well with time anymore."

"But it was recent, at least?"

He nodded; Sam mulled that over -- it sounded like Bob had spotted their spy out in the wild.  "How about we walk together to where you saw the footprints and you tell me whatever you can remember about when you saw them and what you were doing?"

He nodded again and walked with her back down the hill.  As they passed under the gates she wondered if she shouldn't call for back up but...  Well.  She could think of a lot of reasons to do so, and the reasons not to didn't seem as convincing so as they continued down the road she gestured for them to detour toward Selene's house.  Eli ought to be in the factory helping assemble, and Asher ought to be here too.   Surely one of them could shift over to walk out to...wherever, with her and Bob.

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

That she hadn't known Kara made it easier to look genuine when it came to keeping her expression appropriately sad-looking as they buried the woman; it was a small ceremony with a smattering of Portians present, along with the full force of the Civil Corps -- being as she didn't see them she assumed that the Flying Pigs members were out at the facility, as usual.  They seemed to never, ever leave the place unguarded and, as she'd discovered the other evening while doing some recon, there was a gigantic build project of some kind being carried out at the facility's entrance now -- if she had to guess it looked like some sort of covering, or door.  

That likely meant they were really doubling down on the security out there, and while what she was after was being moved out of the facility she was beginning to get worried -- if they sealed that place up tight that would free the Pigs up to directly watch the construction of the clinic addition and the installation of the All Source AI.  

And that would make Lily's job even harder while now also being down a team member.

After the funeral it was announced that the ruins would be closed for the time being to conduct an investigation into the cause of the collapse; that at least didn't effect any of them remaining but it ALSO carried the high risk of bringing in more outside people -- more Pigs, more nosy law-types, the possibilities were starting to pile up.

Days ago she'd been bitching about how long it was taking them to start construction; she'd seen buildings put up in a matter of days in Duvos -- how hard could one addition to an already existing building be?

Now... As much as she didn't want to disappoint Xan, they might indeed have to change their plans to have any chance of this heist succeeding.

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

They always put out the paper on the first of every month.  Always.   Without fail -- even if it meant that she and Erwa stayed up all night fixing issues with their printing press machine or working to get wording on an article juuuuust right.

The first of the month was still six days away but Gale had asked for a special edition to be produced.  It was the hardest thing Mei had ever had to write: all this...all this alarming detail on a vandal, a thief attempting to break into the medical facility in the marsh, and now the devastating discovery that the cave in two days ago had been purposely caused by tiny explosive charges.  It was such awful news that sometimes Mei found her hand shaking as she scribbled notes and drew arrows or crossed out paragraphs as she tried to get things into order both chronologically and also in a manner that flowed well for reading.

There were still a few hours to go before they needed to start printing and there was just one thing Mei wanted to get done before then but then again... It wasn't a nice subject and she didn't want to offend anyone - especially not the person she'd like to interview regarding all this.

But.  She wouldn't know if she'd be offending unless she asked.

Selene's workshop was a familiar sight - Mei had been out here a lot over the years, both before and after large city projects were announced and completed with the builder's help - so she knew better than to knock on the house's door and instead marched up to to the factory door and really gave it a good pounding.  After a few minutes the door opened and an oil-smudged Selene was framed in the doorway, and once it registered who was there Mei was offered a big, bright smile.

"Hey!  What're you doing out here?"

"Hello Selene!  I was wondering if Eli was still here?"

Selene nodded and stepped aside, gesturing with one hand toward a makeshift workbench set up perpendicular to her usual one; lined up shoulder to shoulder was Eli, Petra, and Merlin, all hurriedly working to assemble bits and doodads that Mei guessed was all meant to fit into a much bigger contraption of some kind.  

It was unusually quiet in here today as well; only a handful of the machines were running -- that must mean whatever Selene was working on either didn't need a lot of pieces or maybe it was almost complete.  She stepped inside and out of the way so Selene could close the door and then noted that the latest member of the Civil Corps, Asher, was sorting large metal struts and rods into organized piles against the far wall, moving about in short bursts and then checking off things on a clipboard he had hanging off his belt.

"I'm not interrupting something I shouldn't, am I?"

"Not really - we can spare a pair of hands for a bit."  Selene led Mei over toward Eli and the Research Center gals.  "Mei's wanting to talk to you, Eli."

The woman looked up at them (though Mei noticed her hands didn't stop what they were doing - it was kind of impressive to see her keep working without her looking at the pieces) and silently lifted an eyebrow.

"Oh - um, yes.  I was wondering if you could spare some time to give a few statements for the article we're writing for the paper?" Mei asked into the pause.

"Uh..." Eli drew the word out, returning her attention to what her hands were doing.  It seemed immediately clear that whatever her answer was going to be it would have to wait until she'd finished off this piece of...whatever it was; Mei waited patiently, and watched with a bit of curiosity, until Eli had slotted all the pieces together and tightened down all the screws.  "-all right, sure.  Let's step outside for some air."

Mei led the way outside and then followed as Eli took an abrupt turn to the western side of the factory -- there was a cluster of stools out here and they both settled on one, and Mei hurried to pull out her little notebook.

"All right - of course, if you find any of my questions upsetting it's perfectly fine not to answer.  I don't mind at all!"

Eli nodded.  "Ask away."

"How would you say the situation is currently going?"

"Which one are you referring to?"

"Let's start with the vandal.  It couldn't have been easy to see the gravestone damaged like that."

For several breaths Eli didn't answer.  Mei sat patiently with her pen poised over the blank sheet of notebook paper with her free hand pinning the loose edge down; this side of the factory was currently in the shade and the breeze was a bit strong as the wind rushed along the flat brick.  It was a nice place to sit but if she wasn't careful her notes would get scattered across the yard since not all the pages were still bound to the wire spiral.

"It wasn't, no.  It's clear whoever did it wanted their message heard, and intended it to hurt.  It did, I won't lie, but also, it really shows just how much of a coward this person is since they didn't confront me directly.  Same with all the other instances of graffiti lately -- they're not brave enough to say anything to my face.  In that context, it's a bit comical."

It took about the same amount of time for Mei to write that down as it had for Eli to say it.  "-and do you have any guesses as to who this person is?"  Eli shook her head but didn't elaborate; Mei added a little mark after the quote to remind herself of the answer.  "How about things out at the medical facility?  Has there been any further attempts to break in?"

"No, and soon there won't be any chances of a break in either.  We're installing a security door and will work toward preserving the facility as it is."

Mei had heard about the door - she wondered what it would look like when it was done.  "And do you have any opinion on the expansion at the clinic, since it's rumored that you'll be incorporating an All Source AI into the building?"

Eli blinked at her.  "Incorp- uh, maybe that definition has changed in three hundred years but we're not incorporating him into anything.   He'll be installed and be there to teach and treat, but he won't be in charge of or able to run the clinic by himself.  For one, there's no other computers or AIs for him to oversee, and secondly the building will be just a building without any tech for him to monitor either."

"Do you have any worries about how having an All Source AI teaching humans would be seen in the greater world?"

With a loud sigh Eli leaned back against the brick wall.  "I do, sort of.  I worry that zealots in your Church won't be able to look past him being a part of the Old World and try to destroy him, in which case all the knowledge he holds would be lost along with him.  Hand in hand with that I also worry about what he'd be teaching and to whom."

Mei looked up from her notes in surprise.  "You think he'd teach something bad?  Or bad people?"

"Not exactly "bad" in either case, its more I worry people will try to somehow hoard the knowledge -- even hypothetical enemies deserve the right to live disease and injury free.  I wouldn't really say there's right and wrong people to teach, but I do think there will be people out there who think they're the only ones who have a right to the knowledge, or who think some knowledge is fine but some of it should be scrubbed from history.  We even had a bit of a problem with myths and misinformation regarding certain diseases in my time and that was with an entire world's worth of knowledge available to anyone at any time."

Mei slowly nodded at that; it reminded her of an article she'd written a few years ago about the push-back of remedies coming from a doctor in Vega 5.  "So, even if people don't want to keep the knowledge to themselves there's also a question of whether some would accept it, at all."

"Exactly. I imagine there's going to be a lot of entrenched doctors scattered across the world who think their way is best and will be unwilling to change.  It'll be a bit messy in the upcoming years but I hope the overall health and life expectancy of the world goes up as the knowledge spreads -- and hopefully it'll be fairly uniform across the world, not just in small clusters due to hoarding or refusal to adapt."

With her hand cramping from how quickly she was trying to write Mei managed to get all that down in her notes; she'd gotten a little carried away as she'd only wanted a few lines to quote but this could potentially be an article all on its own.  She was just about to shut the book when a thought occurred to her. "Oh!  Right - there's been a lot of questions about the metal towers that were put up recently.  Are you able to explain what those are for?"

"You guys use telegraphs for long distance communication, right?"

Mei nodded.  "For messages that can't wait for couriers."

"Right.  So, those towers are the first of many that will hold...how to put it in simple terms...  Think of a telegraph that doesn't need wires, is more reliable and secure, and also can just send words instead of having to tap a little button and have someone translate at the other end.  We're trying it out here in Portia and maybe in the future, assuming it works and can be reliably maintained, we could extend it across the continent."

"What, really?" Mei asked, eyes widening.  "That's huge!"    

Eli was giving her an amused look and Mei realized her jaw was hanging open; she scrawled an almost unreadable note about the towers underneath the rest of it.  "Ah, um - uh, so, when will THAT project be completed?"

"It'll take some time.  Getting everything installed is the easy part.  Getting it all to work correctly will be hard."

"So...no...expected...completion date yet?" Mei asked as she wrote, glancing up from the writing to Eli, then underlining the 'no' as Eli shook her head.  "That's very exciting... Will it be something anyone could use?  Will it cost a lot?"

Eli paused, then offered a half shrug.  "Well, I guess that first answer is yes and no.  In terms of complexity anyone will be able to use it because it's not difficult at all to learn, but initially there's going to be a problem with getting parts to both maintain and expand it so there won't be a lot of the system in place for widespread use to start.  I don't have any idea on cost just yet - we're using a combination of wind, water, and power stones to start off with.  I'm relatively certain I know how much energy this will draw but won't know exact numbers until its been up and running for awhile."

"And...you're ok with this technology spreading?"

Eli snorted loudly.  "I am," she replied, placing heavy emphasis on 'I.'  "No idea about the rest of the world."

Mei hummed to herself as she put down a few more notes.  "This could be an article by itself... All right.  That was everything I had in mind for this piece.  Unless you'd like to add anything?"

"Not in particular."

"Well, thank you!" Mei said, smiling and shoving a hand toward her.   Eli shook it with a bit of a smile and then stood.  "I'll get this over to the paper and you'll be seeing it in print soon!"

Eli didn't reply beyond nodding, then led the way around the building where she went back inside while Mei headed toward the gate; she felt a bit lightheaded -- like she was floating across the grass.  The prospect of a better, more secure communications system that was instantaneous made her giddy; imagine how much faster information could travel.  Imagine how quickly a message back home could reach family...how much easier it would be to stay in touch with the Atara Post about her progress with the Portia Times.  

There were dozens of ways she could instantly imagine her life getting easier if this communication thing worked, and that was just for HER - she couldn't even clearly conceive all the ways the entire Alliance could make use of such a thing.

As she walked through the doors into the news building she managed to pull her thoughts away from the communications scoop and set herself back on track regarding the special edition Gale had asked them to put out; it didn't appear Erwa was here but that was ok - Mei could work on a rough draft and get his opinion later when he came back.

Eli hadn't been the only one she'd interviewed today so the first order of business was to quickly reread her notes and decide where to insert Eli's bit into the order she'd tentatively decided on earlier; this article needed to be a direct and firm read, with a logical flow to the information, but it couldn't have a tone to it that would cause undue alarm. People had a right to know that the cave in was actually a murder, but how to word it so that it wouldn't cause a panic in town...

And also, the more she thought about it, the less sense it made to include anything referencing the communications project.  Prior to talking to Eli she'd assumed the towers were related to the security project out at the facility but now it seemed they were unrelated to each other, and...well, if they had a vandal snooping around it wouldn't do to draw attention to something this valuable.

...yeah.  It made more sense to relegate the communications towers to its own separate article, AFTER the vandal (or murderer?  Or both?) had been taken care of.  At the very least that cut out a good amount of information she would've had to figure out how to fit onto the front page with everything else.

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

Windsor had "claimed" a small area of the Peach Plaza for his impromptu performances; a decent number of people expected him to be there in the mornings and later at night, showing off his juggling and throwing skills (a few had even donated some small straw targets for him to use so he'd changed up his routine a bit).  It may have just been a cover job but it was bringing in decent money; it was a nice little perk to the whole thing but if they didn't get moving on this theft job soon he wouldn't be able to keep playing off the "too poor to go back home" angle of his cover story.

The atmosphere in Portia seemed a bit...strange this morning.  There weren't nearly as many people moving about in the central plaza as usual, and as he went plodding up the hill passed the shops he was a bit alarmed to see a small crowd of people that WEREN'T his usual audience huddled roughly in his spot near the fountain.  As he drew closer he could see all of them clutching papers in hand, and there was a dull roar of chatter among them.  In their midst was a squat, hairy man in an orange vest and hat, and a blonde woman wearing a blue and white pointy hat; they appeared to be handing out whatever the paper was, and when he finally got close enough to the gathering he saw it was a thin newspaper with "SPECIAL EDITION" printed in big, bold letters across its top with "Portia Times" printed in slightly smaller text beneath it.

Through a gap in the crowd the hat-wearing blonde noticed him, and carefully wound her way through the group toward him with one of the papers in hand, pushed out toward him.

"Good morning, sir - would you like to read this special release of the Portia Times?  This copy is free, paid for by Portia's government."

"Uh...sure.  What seems to be the ruckus?" he replied, taking the paper and skimming the-

...oh.  Oh boy.  Well, that wasn't good.

[daily-jaspvid]

Kissing The Lipless - ficlet

Might be a preview. I have more ideas for this, but this was the main interaction I wanted to get out!

Hurt/comfort, canon-typical trauma, friends to lovers (setup), TW implied previous s/h mentioned briefly. 

“Well, here's our cabin!” David announced, motioning to the modest living space that was the single-room building. “The bathroom is over there in the corner. Otherwise, Gwen and I pretty much split it down the middle.” David marched over to his side, where his desk stood neatly arranged and his bed laid neatly made.

“It certainly is… a lot more cramped than I expected.” Jasper pointed out, glancing over at the two lounge chairs by the TV. “There are only two beds. Where will I be sleeping?” He asked skeptically.

“Oh, well…” David trailed, scanning the room. “You will be bunking with me until we can work that out. I was planning to make us bunk beds! Until then, were sleeping together!” He announced cheerfully. “I usually sleep on the far side against the wall, anyway. Makes me feel safer at night!”

“Riiight, ok,” Jasper mumbled, taking a seat on the bed. “Davey, look… I might not be here for long. I agreed to help you out with the camp now that Campbell is out of the picture, but I am mostly here for closure.” He admitted with a rough sigh.

“Closure?” David’s voice dropped its cheerful tone. He took a seat next to his friend, gently placing a hand on Jasper’s leg comfortingly. “What about? I thought you loved camp?”

“Yeah, I did, for a little while. Then things got… fucked. Nearly getting mauled to death by a bear does things to a person, Davey, and Campbell was such a huge PRICK.” Jasper slammed his fist down onto his other leg, causing David to startle. “I almost died, and then I knew too much, so he actively tried to take me out. He's a deranged scumbag who doesn’t care about anyone but himself.” He pulled up his shirt, revealing the large claw marks scarred into his chest. Tentatively, David reached out to stroke them with his fingertips, his expression growing more distraught. It was then that he noticed other scars. They were smaller and erratically scattered around Jasper’s ribs. He couldn't tell exactly what caused them, but his stomach sank further regardless.

“Jasper I… I had no idea. Really, I didn’t realize all of this was affecting you so much. You always sounded so happy in the letters you sent me! And- And in the pictures I saw of you online. I had no idea you’ve been in so much pain.” Tears already began to bead in his eyes.

“I’ve made some stupid decisions growing up. Made some rash decisions I'm not exactly proud of. Outlets that I thought would help, but only caused me more pain and shame as I went along. Really, I shouldn't be alive right now. Hopefully, by coming here I’ll want to be alive again, too.” He lowered his shirt again, expression still reading as stoic and distant. “Maybe I’ll stop feeling like a ghost and live my life how I’ve always imagined a life should be lived.”

“But you are alive, and you do mean a lot to me. If you ever need anything, Jasp, you can talk to me. Alright?” David took one of his friend’s hands, squeezing it. “I’ll admit I also put up a big front. I don’t like the kids seeing how much things bother me. I know they all think I’m a vapid idiot, but I’d rather them think that then see how… I don’t know, troubled I am? How I’m not actually a happy person? My work, though hard, is really rewarding. Connecting with them is what I live for. Maybe it will help you, too.”

David pulled Jasper into a tight hug. Despite his slender frame, he had a firm grip Jasper wasn’t sure he could wiggle out of, even if he wanted to. “Jasper, I don’t want you to feel like you just have to be here out of obligation. I truly want this to be a healing experience for you, but I won’t force you to stay.” His voice had a serious quality seldom heard these days.

“I know,” Jasper hummed, returning the hold. “I wouldn’t have come at all if I didn’t feel ready. I trust you, Davey. Hopefully, you aren’t as spacey as you were as a kid.” He pulled away, a smirk breaking across his lips as he ruffled David’s hair.

“Oh, you’d be surprised!” David chuckled thickly, wiping his eyes. “Definitely more emotional than before. I’m sorry I didn’t do enough when we were kids. You almost died, what, twice? At least?”

“Davey, don’t pin that on yourself, you were ten,” Jasper stated firmly. “Like I said, as long as Campbell is gone I don’t care. Dang, has it already been fourteen years?”

“It has. Wow, it… really has been.” he fell quiet, staring down at his hands folded neatly in his lap. “A lot of things have happened at this camp. Two other kids have died, actually. Somehow Campbell managed to sweep those under the rug, too. It's concerning what he could get away with, but he's paying for it now. Come on, I’ll show you around camp. We can talk more along the way, ok?” He stood, offering his hand.

“Yeah, sounds great.” Jasper agreed and took it.

[blackestnight]

20: your faithful friend

Prompt: Free day!

Word count: 603

A sequel (but not an immediate one) to “With Kind Regards.” Contains very minor spoilers for the 60-70 WHM quests.

A cross-section of correspondence.

Dear Mune,

The drawings you sent with your last letter were very good. I’m not sure what those flowers are called in Eorzean either, because I’ve never seen them here. When I go to Gridania next I’ll show it to my friends Sylphie and Gatty. They know a lot about flowers and they travel more than I do, so they might recognize them.

I just got back from a visit to Anyx Trine, which is why this letter is late. I know Hanami and Sidguru have said there are dragons in Othard, but they don’t look like the dragons we have here. The broodmother of the Anyx Trine dragons is named Vidofnir. She likes it when I visit with Sid because while he’s out helping the Vath and hunting with the people from Tailfeather, I get to keep her dragonets busy for a little while. They like it when I conjure wind for them to flip around in. It’s sort of like being surrounded by toddlers, except they fly, and they stay little kids for decades. No wonder Vidofnir gets tired sometimes.

I’ve never tried rice crackers before. We don’t eat a lot of rice here, or at least I’ve never seen it. Mostly we eat popotoes. There’s a food called popoto cakes that I like to eat for breakfast sometimes, but it’s fried in a pan, not baked. I’ll save some for you the next time I get them, and I’ll send them with Hanami. The postmoogle would probably just eat them. I think you’ll like them.

I know your nameday is coming up soon, so I put a present in the envelope. Hopefully it gets to you on time. It’s not much, and it’s a little messy, so don’t worry if it falls apart; I can get the thread to make another one if it does. The bead is a piece of amber Sid found in the Sea of Clouds. The dark bits are pieces of grass frozen inside—I thought it was neat.

What are the Kojin like? We don’t have any turtle beastmen here. What sort of magic do they use to keep the water out of their city? Isn’t it scary being that far below the sea? I can’t imagine what it would look like. I don’t even like going underground to fetch things from the root cellar for Master Gibrillont. Is it very dark, or can you still see the sun?

Hoping you have a good nameday!

Your friend,

Rielle

—

Dear Rielle,

I don’t know if you have sent another letter since the last one I sent, but I wanted to share this news with you as soon as I heard it! My dad and I are going to visit Auntie Hana in Eorzea! Since the planting season is over my grandmothers don’t need us to stay and help them around the house all the time. We’re going to visit Limsa Lominsa and Ul’dah and Gridania and Mor Dhona and Ishgard! We aren’t leaving for another moon but I can’t wait to go. When I visit Ishgard would you like to meet in person? 

I’m sorry this is rushed. I’m also sorry about the stain (I spilled my breakfast). I’m writing this before I go talk to Master Minazuki about the schoolwork I’ll miss when I’m gone. I hope she doesn’t give me too much because I don’t want to do classwork while I’m on vacation.

I need to go or I’ll be late for class, but my dad says he’ll take this to the Moogle and I hope to hear from you soon!

You friend,

Mune

[franstastic-ideas]

The Villain I Appear To Be

So, after seeing a fan art floating around my dash of Chara from @lostmypotatoes Wild West AU singing 'Why Don't You Do Right?' to Papyrus after the Jolene Incident, and after a brief conversation with potato, I felt... inspired.

So I wrote a thing based on that. It's based on Frisk's feelings after the whole hoopla with Jolene goes down but before Chara finds it in her to get back on stage and sing out her heartache.

My writing may be a little rusty since it's been a while since I last wrote something and it was done in just a few hours, but it has a lot of heart put into it.

I hope you enjoy it nevertheless.

Word Count: 3,957

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFjn67oZ9-Q

(Dumb video inserts aren't working >_<)

A hush fell over the saloon as the owner stepped up onto the platform stage and moved towards the microphone. Grillby cleared his throat, a hint of nervousness in his tone as he made the announcement.

“Due to issues of… health, Miss Chara will not be performing tonight…”

A small round of boos came from the crowd, but one stern look from the fire monster silenced them as quickly as they had come. Others in the audience whispered amongst each other with concern, wondering what horrible malady the sweet show girl had caught.

Grillby knew exactly what kind of illness it was that poor Chara had contracted, the worst one of them all – heartbreak. He had seen everything. Jolene entering the saloon. Papyrus passing her completely to oogle at Jolene. Chara holding onto a parchment with a tightened grip, tears beading at the corners of her eyes… But Grillby wasn’t one to pry into others’ business. He simply told Chara she didn’t look well and sent her home to recover without ever letting the girl know he was aware of what had transpired.

“In her place, Miss Frisk will be performing solo for the night. Please give a warm round of applause for her.”

The seated crowd did as asked of them. Some of the more ornery and drunk men gave a few hoots, hollers and wolf whistles in the lady’s direction as the curtain rose to reveal her place on stage.

Frisk stepped front and center before the microphone, a tight smile on her lips.

It was fake.

Sans frowned in his seat, seeing through her disguise. Was she shy performing without Chara by her side? She had sung before without her, but her voice had fallen to a soft delicate whisper during those times, barely audible, but oh so enchanting to his senses even if he doesn’t understand the words to her song. Almost as if she were whispering her secrets for him to keep and guard.

…Or perhaps that belief was a product of his own lovesick fantasies.

Regardless, the sheriff knew he was in for a treat tonight. Chara was a wonderful person and a talented songstress; he could understand why his brother had taken an interest in her and he felt great sympathy for her catching ill, but whenever she was up on stage with her sister, Sans felt as though Frisk didn’t get much an opportunity to shine.

Then again, Miss Frisk had enough suitors to worry about as is, even when she clearly wore a veil as she mourned her dear departed husband, who Sans had only recently learned never existed. Apparently she wore it to throw off her more troublesome suitors. It warmed his SOUL to its core that Frisk would share something so confidential with him – he wasn’t even upset that she had essentially been untruthful towards him as well this entire time! He understood. Having that kind of unwanted attention coming from all angles from the town’s men would grate on any lady’s nerves in a relatively short amount of time.

A quiet clearing of her throat brought his attention out of his thoughts and to the woman who had captured his SOUL.

 “Sometimes when I

Wanna run away and hide

When there's no one on my side

And all my pride had disappeared”

 Her voice was as faint as it always was when she sang without Chara’s accompaniment. Frisk’s tone was somber. Even her eyes held a glint of sadness in them. She was sad – how could she perform as if nothing were wrong when her dear little sister was currently crying her heart out into her bed’s mattress?

Chara had returned to their temporary dwelling strangely quiet the previous night. It was obvious from the air of gloom surrounding her that something was terribly wrong. When she raised her head to meet Frisk’s eyes, that’s when the dam burst. She wailed, gripping onto her sister’s shoulders as she tearfully explained what had happened at the saloon – that scum Papyrus, sending a letter asking for her to meet him in the star fields that night, only to ditch her for that little tart, Jolene.

Chara cried herself to sleep last night, and that was the last thing Frisk heard before she fell asleep herself. She had climbed into her bed and they slept together in each others arms like they did when they were little girls.

That’s what Papyrus had done to her sister – he had reduced her to a sobbing little girl. And each time Frisk dwelled on this fact for too long in the past twenty-four hours, it made her blood begin to boil all over again.

 “I take it off my mind

And leave it all behind

Nothin' left to do but

Try to take the leap and follow through…”

 She had warned Chara about that playboy. More than once. But even so, she was far more angry with Papyrus than her.

Chara had already learned her lesson.

But Papyrus?

He still needed to be educated on what happens when you make fools out of the Dreemurr sisters…

 “And that's exactly what I'll do…!”

 She craned her neck towards where he was sitting in the crowd, her lips curving upwards wickedly with a predatory gleam in her eyes.

 “I know to you I don't seem very strong

But I assure you before you can find me I'm gone

So come on and catch me you've still got a chance...”

 Her voice began to crescendo, aweing the crowd and illiciting a few hushed whispers. Sans let out a soft gasp, one hand clutched over his SOUL, his eyelights morphing into hearts. Papyrus, however, felt a cold chill go down his spine that he couldn’t shake off for some reason…

Grillby turned towards Frisk from his place behind the counter with a slightly raised eyebrow, but she only gave him a smile feigning innocence. The instrumental picked up, and Frisk turned her gaze back on the crowd, specifically Papyrus, her SOUL pumping with DETERMINATION.

 “But not for long

I'll be rollin' place to place

Won't stop till I win the race

Although I may have crossed the line”

 Sans watched, spellbound, as Frisk danced across the stage, oblivious to the dramatic change of mood between her and his brother present. He was far too distracted by the cadence of her voice to notice. Papyrus couldn’t place why, but he felt like a small defenseless rabbit in front of a powerful lioness while subjected to her fierce gaze.

The lyrics to the song she was singing weren’t helping either.

 “No time to waste on you

I don't plan on slowing

Down, no I'll keep on going

Even if you think I'm in the wrong”

 Papyrus’s deception and Chara’s heartbreak had brought Frisk back on track. She remembered why the both of them came to this town in the first place.

She had allowed herself to become distracted by the the sheriff, and because of that, her mind had been swept away from their objective. Perhaps if she had remained focused on their goal, she could have prevented her sister and that cad from ever getting as close as they had been. Then maybe Chara would be up here on stage singing with her instead of wrapped up in her bedsheets sniffling.

 “Just know that

Although I may not think everything through

I don't take back what I say or regret what I do

I know that some stay in line and they stick to the plan

But if you leave it to me I'll do whatever I can”

 She was the head of the operation, the brains, the planmaker. And Chara was the one who followed those plans to the letter and helped them come to fruitation. She was her darling little sister, her best friend, and her eternal partner in crime.

By toying with Chara’s emotions, he had not only made Chara his enemy, but Frisk as well. Then again, she and him were never friends, but now Papyrus has made himself a powerful enemy with a personal vendetta compared to a few nights ago where Frisk previously considered leaving him unscathed at Chara’s request when they finally did raid the town of its gold.

 “'cause

I know that's what I'm here for

I don't wanna wait around anymore

Even if you can't see

The good inside me

 I don't have the time to tell you

Why I do the things that I do

Just please hold on and soon you'll see

That I'm not the villain I appear to be”

 She and Chara had done their share of heists before, but Frisk had been in this business longer than Chara. Her sissy wasn’t nowhere near as innocent as most of the town’s population thought she was, but she was still a saint compared to herself.

That’s why Frisk always insisted on doing the dirty work during their jobs most of the time – even if Chara had no qualms on doing it herself, Frisk didn’t want to stain her sister’s hands with more blood than necessary, metaphorically speaking or otherwise.

Because deep down, no matter what, she wanted the best for her sweet little Chara. Even when they pickpocketed and stole, what they took, Frisk always kept in mind how their spoils could benefit Chara first, herself second.

Chara had been her entire world since she first entered it.

 “Movin' along, no I won't settle down

Until I'm locked behind bars or I'm kicked outta town

So you can keep on a runnin' around and around

But you will never quite catch up to me!”

 Frisk put her everything into her song and dance routine. Her singing had never been quite as powerful as it was this night, her kicks had more force put into them some members of the crowd realized - Frisk was imagining knocking the teeth of the monster that broke her Chara’s heart right out of his skull.

Focusing on this song was quite literally the only thing on the face of this Earth that was keeping Frisk from leaping off the stage and onto the table where he sat to beat Papyrus within an inch of his life in front of every patron in the saloon at the moment. If she poured her aggression out into her routine, she could hold off on carrying out her violent desires.

 “And I know you think I'm crazy

But I hope that maybe

Now you'll see why…”

 And yet, every time Frisk caught eyes with him in the crowd, her anger rose exponentially. In an effort to calm herself, she switched from maintaining eye contact with Papyrus to looking at the other members of the audience. She didn’t allow her gaze to remain on Sans for too long whenever it fell on him, however.

He had his elbows propped on the table, his hands pressed against his cheeks flushed blue, his heart-shaped eyelights never once tearing away from her focused on her every move – every step she made, every breath she took, he didn’t want to miss a single second.

If Frisk had witnessed this a few days ago, she might have blushed.

But not now.

Those moments between them, when she felt a warmth creep onto her face and her heart and SOUL flutter because of him… She buried them in the very back of her mind, where they were soon to be discarded.

No more silly distractions.

No more tender feelings to take either of them away from their shared ambition.

“We came to this gold infested town with a job to do and I intend to finish it…” Frisk thought, clenching her fists and belting out the last line of her song.

 “I had to tryyyyyyyy…!”

 A lull of silence followed the song’s end, then suddenly, the entire saloon erupted into a raucous round of applause. Grillby was beginning to become concerned that his furniture would be damaged in the excitement, but the crowd managed to compose itself before it ever came to that.

The sole person in the establishment that hadn’t moved a muscle was Papyrus, who had been locked into his current position early into Frisk’s performance. Nobody picked up on his discomfort though, everyone assuming that he too had been taken aback and bewitched by the lovely Miss Frisk’s unexpectedly powerful voice.

He finally moved to take a swig of his drink, the beverage sloshing about when he tried to bring the mug to his mouth with his quivering hand. When he finally got a mouthful, he swallowed hard.

“WASN’T SHE AMAZING, PAPYRUS?!” Sans shouted, his eyes shifting to stars as he rigorously shook Papyrus’s shoulder in his enthusiasm. “I NEVER KNEW MISS FRISK COULD SING LIKE THAT!”

“y-yeah. i didn’t k-know either…” Papyrus stuttered, his knees weak and feeling as though he would collapse if he were to stand up.

“PAPYRUS, YOU BETTER NOT BE THINKING ABOUT STEALING AWAY MISS FRISK FOR YOURSELF, MISTER!” Sans warned with a frown and a sharp jab to the sternum, mistaking his brother’s apprehension for attraction. “IF YOU DO, I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU! SHE HAS ENOUGH UNSEEMLY SUITORS TO DEAL WITH FOR THE MOMENT, AND YOU ALREADY HAVE MISS CHARA! BE THANKFUL FOR WHAT YOU HAVE AND DON’T! BE! GREEDY!”

“y-yeah. c-chara, you’re right again, bro.” He then slowly pushed himself into a standing position and took a few wobbly steps towards the saloon’s counter.

“that was the most terrifying three minutes and thirteen seconds of my entire life…” Papyrus thought as he downed his entire glass, hoping the alcohol would soothe his frazzled nerves after that performance.

Though he wasn’t aware as to why yet, Papyrus knew that Frisk was upset with him for some reason – more than usual. She continued to glare at him with a heated gaze throughout her song and dance number, almost accusingly.

And the lyrics – Papyrus had thought since he first met her that Frisk seemed suspicious, but Sans would hear none of it. It surprised him that someone like Chara, sweet and innocent as a lamb, was related to someone so unsavory. Some of the men around town had been taken in by her, but Papyrus had unknowingly just witnessed her revealing her true colors to him.

Disguised as an incredibly catchy musical number, Frisk’s song had been a subtle declaration of war against the entire town.

And her shared gazes with him throughout were a stern warning – cross either of us again and you’ll pay for it dearly.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

 “M-MISS FRISK! PLEASE WAIT!”

Once Grillby dismissed her for the night, Sans attempted to flag her down to compliment her performance and maybe a chat, he hoped. However, Frisk didn’t turn around when he called out to her, didn’t even slow down as she headed out the door.

“IS SOMETHING WRONG?” Sans asked worriedly when he caught up to her, a concerned Papyrus trailing after him not too far behind, but far enough.

She continued to ignore him, her pace quickening just slightly.

Knowing she didn’t want to be bothered at the moment, Sans should have gave up then and turned in for the night to seek answers when Frisk was in a better mood, but his curiousity, confusion and feelings of hurt won out over his common sense.

“FRISK. PLEASE TALK TO ME.” He nearly pleaded when her steps grew even more hurried. “SOMETHING’S OBVIOUSLY WRONG. DON’T KEEP YOUR EMOTIONS BOTTLED UP WHEN TALKING ABOUT IT MIGHT MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER. PAPYRUS DOES THAT AND I HATE IT… SO PLEASE…”

“There’s nothing to say.” She retorted, not slowing down in the slightest.

“DON’T LIE TO ME.” He shot back, rushing in front of Frisk to block her path. “TELL ME THE TRUTH! I’M NOT MOVING UNTIL YOU TELL ME WHAT’S BOTHERING YOU!”

Frisk kept her head down, not meeting his gaze which matched her own while she had been on stage staring down Papyrus. She bit her lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, but Sans then took her face in his hands and gently coaxed her lower lip free, stroking over the abused skin with his thumb.

“FRISK…” He pulled her face closer to his until the tip of her nose nearly touched his nasal ridge, his eyes imploring.

She looked down at their feet and mumbled something, but Sans was quick to tilt her chin upward to regain eye contact.

“FRISK…?” He repeated, his tone filled with concern as his thumbs traced patterns over her cheeks.

“We shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

His movements immediately ceased.

“…What?” Sans asked, his voice dropping to a broken whisper.

“We shouldn’t see each other anymore.” She said again, her tone more firm and her gaze sharp as she pried herself away from him and his touch, taking a step back.

“You… you don’t really mean that…” His voice cracked at the end as he gave a wobbly smile. “If this is a joke, this is a really mean one to pull, Frisk… I might just take you seriously.”

“No. You should take me seriously.” She asserted, glaring at him with the very same intensity and hatred that she had towards his lying cheating brother. “It’s not a joke and I most certainly did mean it.”

“But… why?” Tears began to bead in the corners of his eyesockets. “W-Was it something I said or did…? If it was, I’ll never do it again! I promise-”

“No. It’s nothing you’ve done… nothing you’ve done at all.”

“Then that’s it, isn’t it?! It’s something I haven’t done that I was supposed to, right?!” Sans was nearly sobbing now as he tried to reason with a Frisk consumed by thoughts of revenge. “If that’s it, then just tell me! Tell me what to do! I-I’ll do anything for you, just… please don’t do this…”

“There’s nothing you can do. Nothing at all.”

Her tone was cold, so cold…

“We shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

Sans hiccuped once, then twice before falling to his knees, his hands clutching at his chest where inside his ribcage his SOUL was aching and crying out in agony. He let out a heartbroken wail before the sound of his quiet sobs were the only noise heard on the empty streets of the town.

Frisk didn’t spare him a second glance and continued her walk home without another word to spare for him.

Papyrus looked down at his brother, and his own SOUL told him that he should stay and comfort him in his time of need…

But Frisk wasn’t the only one with a penchant for taking revenge.

“hey.”

He said once he had significantly caught up to her and was far away enough from Sans that he couldn’t hear. Frisk didn’t stop but that didn’t matter to him – he could walk and talk at the same time.

“i know you seem to have a bone to pick with me…” That was the understatement of the century there, “but why’d you say all that stuff to my bro? sans didn’t do anything to tick you off, and he definitely didn’t deserve whatever that was back there.”

“…”

“so? don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

Frisk suddenly spun on her heel and was standing before him in an instant. Papyrus froze in his tracks, for directly in front of him was the barrel of a revolver, and its owner’s finger was hovering dangerously over the trigger.

“One false move and I’ll shoot you down. I mean it.”

“d-do i need to raise my hands up, or…?” He brought himself to ask, his arms already half raised before she answered him.

“No. Keep them down. Seeing your hands raised up like that makes you look kind of creepy. Like you’re about to do something… untoward.”

He briefly considered raising his arms again just for that comment, but her thumping the business end of her revolver against his sternum quickly told him that testing Frisk’s rapidly waning patience was a bad idea.

“Listen, I’m in a hurry, and I’m sure you are too.” The silver of her revolver glinted in the moonlight. “So you had better leave me alone from here on out.”

“that doesn’t explain why you treated my brother the way you did!” Papyrus pushed his wariness of the weapon in front of him aside, the image of Sans slumped on his knees as he cried on the cold hard ground burned in his eyesockets. “why…? i know you never liked me, but… i thought you at least liked him. no, i know you did… so… what’s changed?”

A bitter smile slipped onto her lips as she all but spat out, “Now you will know of the joy of comforting a sibling who’s SOUL aches with heartbreak, of the restless nights that will be spent holding them in your arms as they bawl like a small child…”

“what are you talking about?! that doesn’t explain anythi-”

The end of the revolver slamming against his chin and forcing his mouth shut silenced him.

“C h a r a…” Frisk hissed. “You… you hurt her. And it’s taking every fiber of my willpower, every ounce of my DETERMINATION… not to end your life right here and now.”

“what did i ever do to chara?” He questioned incredulously.

“You really don’t know?! Is your skull that vacant of rational thought?!” She growled, her pointer finger lightly stroking the cool metal surface of the trigger.

“all i know about chara right now is that she’s supposed to be sick and from the sound of things, it’s supposed to somehow be my fault.”

“And it is your fault.” She said punctuated by a swift nod.

“y-you’re crazy! how could her falling ill be any fault of mine?!”

“How? Does the name ‘Jolene’ ring any bells?”

“jolene? What does she have to do with-”

“But I forget how ignorant you actually are, so maybe this will jog your memory.”

Frisk thrust a crumpled parchment at his chest. Papyrus cautiously unfurled the piece of paper and his SOUL stilled.

 My Chara,

 You performed wonderfully as always. Let’s escape to the star fields tonight. Wait for me there.

                    - Carrot Stick

 He slowly raised his head to meet Frisk’s scornful expression. He opened his mouth but no words would come out.

“s-she… she never showed up last night.” He feebly tried to argue, but Frisk silenced him with another upward thrust of her revolver.

“Because she saw you with that cheap little tramp, Jolene!” She interrupted, then went on with a poor impersonation of the two, “‘Do you have any plans for tonight? None, I hope.’ ‘well you’re in luck then, i’m free for the rest of the night.'”

“…” Papyrus was rendered speechless once again.

“She told me everything, so don’t you even dare try to pin any blame on her!”

Frisk took a deep breath, the hand holding the revolver slowly lowering. “It’s getting late… Now, I believe we both have a distraught sibling to tend to for the night, wouldn’t you agree Mister Papyrus Gaster?”

Her voice had shifted to a faux sugary sweet tone, but he could still hear the underlying venom there. Papyrus heard her footsteps grow more faint, but he made no move to pursue her any further. It was only the thought that Sans was probably still bawling in the empty road behind him that brought Papyrus to his feet. As he gathered his brother’s weak and trembling form in his arms, all he was left wondering was,

“what have i done…?”

[quagmireisadora]

[Jonghyun / Taemin] After the Fire

Prompt: A is a struggling writer going through a creative block, until B literally crashes into their life, claiming that they are a modern-day muse.  Rating: R-ish(?) Warnings: some explicit descriptions Length: ~10,000

Summary: Drawn to danger, I burned my own house down.

(Written as part of the Winter of SHINee fic fest. Please go support all the entries there)

------

“... we thank you for your manuscript and applaud your efforts in completing another book. Unfortunately, it is not quite in the vein of what we are looking for. Please stay in touch for…” 

In Jonghyun’s eyes, there is only one way to construe the letter—your stuff isn't sexy enough.

He knows the standards the publication house upholds. When he’d first applied to write for them, presenting a short story full of elucidated gasps and pants and whatnot: he’d done his research. The other writers and their works are miles apart from what he could ever produce. Those books are too salacious, too irreverent for him to match.

So, he knows there is a yardstick, and that he is required to be faithful to it, if he must help retain their astronomically high readership. 

Honestly, though… the only reason Jonghyun writes erotic literature is because it is easy money. 

Coming straight out of college, he first tried his hand at working for obscure webzines. That was a very weird, isolating experience. His colleagues were constantly embroiled in intellectual and cultural debates, the likes of which a man of his upbringing could never participate in—the elegance of noir films, the chaos of punk history, the artful French New Wave. Not only did these subjects evolve outside the barriers he grew up between, the webzines’ subscribers were largely foreigners, rendering a monolinguistic man like him… well. Useless.

Following this, he’d done a stint at small, virtually unknown publications. He’d written largely ignored thought pieces for national papers. He’d even submitted the less embarrassing specimens of his attempted poetry to the Metropolitan office of which, none were imprinted on subway doors. Yet.

To the interested employer, his CV reads like a grocery list of jobs: I did everything I possibly could with my mediocre talent, just so I could earn a living. And he doesn't mind that—encourages that thought, in fact. It is Jonghyun's earnest belief that only by downplaying his past professional experiences will he ever get a step ahead, climb a rung higher. It is also Jonghyun's earnest belief that dream jobs do not exist and, in this economy at least, settling is a good idea when you have qualifications as meaningless as his. 

So no, he doesn't turn any work down. Nothing is beneath him. And that attitude has led him here—to writing cheap erotica for easy money.

Except, Jonghyun hasn't a single erotic bone in his body. 

He is a man, most certainly. Red-blooded as they come. But something about writing down the act, about describing it in the most colourful and drawn-out details... femininity must surely be a prerequisite, he thinks. To notice the way that things look or sound or feel or taste in those short moments. To recreate that passion, that ecstasy, that urgency with paragraph upon paragraph of meticulous and explicit narration: one must need a very observative mind. Or a hyperactive imagination. Because something that lasts just a few minutes from his perspective, can only be recreated with such intensity if it were a woman on the other side of the pen.

So no, Jonghyun doesn't do sexy. Despite having penned three short novels, all with the reluctant perusal of internet porn, he doesn’t do sexy. He doesn’t do softcore, he doesn’t do taboo or wild or… anything, really. He just isn't capable of indelicacy like that. He reasons he can probably try romantic, but that’s not what this specific job entails, does it? No, and the letter is good evidence of that, he realises, stowing his last manuscript away for recycling. 

 Where sexual depravity is concerned, Jonghyun is running on empty. And if things don't change soon, his bank account will too.

------

His mother doesn't know, of course. She thinks her poor son, her youngest baby, is so deeply mired in the nine-to-five that he doesn't even have time to visit these days. Writing is time-consuming. Writing entire novels, even more so. He doesn’t tell her what his job is, though. He keeps it vague. I’m working at an office. I’m working for a big company. I’m working in a building on Saemunan-ro.

As common a name as Kim Jonghyun is, a pseudonym is useful in many ways, he realises. He doesn’t get strange calls from distant relatives, demanding what the hell does he think he’s doing, while ignoring the fact that they went looking for erotica in the first place. He doesn’t have his young cousins approach him with was that really you, hyung? or can we get an early copy of your next one? His friends and ex-associates don’t have a clue. He would like to keep it that way: Minho already gives him a hard time about growing into an old shut-in, if he had the faintest idea of what was going on behind those closed doors and drawn curtains… Minho would no longer be a friend, Jonghyun wagers with shame.

Even so, the question of inspired writing—if he can call it that—still remains. Rather, the question of how he will pay next month’s rent, how he will settle the stack of overdue power and internet and water bills, still remains. Seoul is an expensive city to live in by oneself, and he cannot move back under the same roof as his mother and sister, not with a scandalous job like this. 

At this point he has no way of stimulating his mind without resorting to stealing from other writers. 

And so, the idea of a fan-meeting event is a sort of lifeline. He figures it could help if people show appreciation for his work: even if those people are wild-eyed and pimple-faced oily young men who should be ashamed of themselves, his morality yells wordlessly. But he is no one to judge. And if they prove to be a motivation, if they can help him get out of his block, then all the morality in the world can go to hell. 

The event isn’t as clandestine as he imagines it to be, either. Outside the venue is a board yelling out a “SHIN YUN BOK PUBLICATION AUTHORS’ CONVENTION”. The doors are wide open. The sound of chatter, the smell of food, the murmur of excitement, all floats out to the lobby just outside. 

When he enters, his face obscured by a surgical mask and a large pair of sunglasses, the place is packed. A man is on stage, calling out polite directions for crowd control. Jonghyun recognises him as his employer. Or at least, he is the guy who interviewed him over a grainy skype call late one night. He self-consciously checks his disguise and walks deeper into the fray.

A semi-circle of tables is arranged around the hall, each nominated to a writer. Upon studying the occupied seats, Jonghyun’s premise is solidified when he realises eight out of ten appear to be women. Somehow, this information impresses him.

When he ducks under the ropes and is stopped by a security guard, he points at the only empty table in wordless explanation. Some awkwardness ensues: a request for ID, a weary denial on the basis that pseudonyms aren’t on any ID, a quick consultation by text message, an unenthusiastic “OK, sir. This way, please.” Soon after, Jonghyun has taken his place and assumes the target of many pairs of staring eyes in the room. Some point and snicker, some watch him awestruck, some even take photos. Selcas! Like he is some sort of celebrity! He feels uneasy and oddly vulnerable, fidgeting with his sunglasses as they threaten to slip on the sweat beading his face.

But when the doors are finally shut and the event declared open, Jonghyun’s jealousy soars.

There are lengthy, winding lines of people waiting to speak to nearly all the other writers--but not him. No one approaches him. Not for the first ten minutes, not for the next half hour. In spite of all the staring from before, no one wants to speak with him. No one is interested in getting his signature. 

It is only now, at such a place and such a time, that a series of paranoid questions fills his head. Does anyone read his books? Does anybody like them? Is he not popular? Is his work insignificant, even in circles like these? 

If the number of people dying to speak with the others is anything to go by… then no. Jonghyun is not in the least bit popular. 

He overhears his neighbour chuckle to say things like, of course there is a sequel coming out or yes, I based that character on myself. There are squeals, there are gasps, there is enough veneration to drown Jonghyun in self-pity. Suddenly, he wishes for that love and admiration. He wishes someone would ask him interesting questions and expect fascinating answers; dote on him just the way they dote on the rest of the panel.

His jealousy is poisonous enough that it spreads through his blood. His eyes burn with it, his pulse throbs against it, he feels it bristle in and out of his nostrils with every breath. His sweat begins to sting. His solitude starts to prick. His confidence dwindles to nearly nothing. The weight of envy makes him slide lower and lower into his seat. He plays with his marker and acts nonchalant. Acts like he is unaffected. But in truth he feels like crying. He feels like going home. He feels like quitting-- 

When his latest book is suddenly slammed onto the table, he yells and jumps a foot off his seat. Eyes turn to him again, this time with thinly veiled distaste rather than disinterest. He looks up at his assailant to find a lanky young man donning fashionable sunglasses and equally fashionable clothes. 

“Sign, please,” the guy says in a tone that borders on demanding. 

------

What surprises Jonghyun isn’t the fact that he has a “fan” in someone like Lee Taemin, as he introduces himself later. It is more astonishing to him that other people immediately follow his example and accost Jonghyun with copies of his work—some that look well used and dog-eared to the point that he is afraid to touch them. More and more readers who claim to love his writing flock over, while this Taemin character stands by. Silent, watchful, critical. 

As he doles out autograph after rushed autograph, Jonghyun can’t for the life of him understand how the situation reversed itself in the blink of an eye. 

“Uh… thank you?” he expresses uncertain gratitude. “I was. Surprised.”

“Mm hmm, so what do you want to do next?” the guy counters, folding up the sleeves of his baggy tee-shirt. The crowds have long dissipated. Security has rounded up all the stragglers, even the rowdy ones trying to get too close to that overly popular writer who went by the penname of Eonsook. But no one seems bothered by Taemin. No one cares that he is still here, still engaging in lazy conversation, going at his own pace. Everything about this is so peculiar. Everything is the opposite of his expectations.

“Well, I was about to go home and eat dinner, so—”

“I meant,” an exasperated look berates him. “What do you want to do for your next project?”

There is no answer for that. Jonghyun doesn’t plan these things out. He sits in front of the screen and starts to pour things onto it until he realises none of it is usable. Then he gives up. Rinse, repeat.

But he is expected to answer now. He is expected to say something rooted in a fully formed thought. He is expected to answer this man, this person who appeared out of nowhere and somehow managed to single-handedly create the interest Jonghyun was looking forward to. So, is there also an expected answer? Is there a right and a wrong response? Should he take the question as a cue to say something else, something scripted for such interactions? He doesn’t know.

He settles for a vague, “Uhm, is there anything in particular that Taemin ssi likes to read?” If he has learnt something from his time writing about politics, it is this: the best answer to a difficult question is another question.

An indifferent shrug replies. “Don’t really care. As long as there’s sex in it.”

He’d make a great politician, Jonghyun thinks as he starts to gather his things. “Well. I’m sure you’ll find plenty to satisfy you, then,” he gestures around them at the nearly vacated hall. 

The man on the stage waves to him, he waves back. They will probably speak on the phone later on, and Jonghyun will bombard him with questions.

“But I like what you write,” Taemin continues, drawing is attention back. Physically holding his chin and turning his face so they are looking at each other again. “I want you to write more. Much more. A series!” there is a hint of excitement on those puffy lips.

Jonghyun knows not to aggravate people like him. People who are probably more dangerous than they appear to be. He takes a cautious step back. “I… I wish I could, sir. But you see—”

“I’ll pay you to do it.” A sure motion pulls an expensive-looking wallet out. A wad of cash is counted before nearly all of it is set onto the table. “An advance. I’ll give you three times that when you’ve finished the first draft. How about it?”

He stares at the fan of ten thousand won notes. Rent, he reminds himself. You must pay rent by the end of next week. But what the hell is he going to write?! “Sir, I’m… I’m really very sorry. I don’t have any plans to write the next book and. And I’m not even sure what to write so—”

“I’ll help with that,” Taemin insists. “You need ideas, I’ll give you all the ideas you need. I’ll… I’ll be your muse,” he decides.

Jonghyun stares for a long uneasy moment. Where is security and why aren’t they doing anything? he wonders. He takes another step to back away from the weird man. But the money is right there, perfect bright green rectangles that seem to have come fresh out of the mint. The overlapping portraits of Sejong the Great are all pleading with him to be pocketed. Just say yes! the king is shouting out, even in that placid gaze. You don’t have to follow through, just take the money and run! He can’t find you, anyway!

No. That would be disingenuous. That wouldn’t be right. No matter how desperate his situation, Jonghyun would never resort to thievery. He shakes his head and stays his hand, making no move to accept the money.

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you, Taemin ssi,” he bows and rushes off.

------

Their story begins and ends at Namdaemun.

She looks at its sombre face, artillery fire still marking some of its masonry and disrupting the course of the story. Their story. It is the gate that reaches out for a hug, she thinks when a cold wind picks up and threatens to swoop her shivering self away. It is the gate that offers an embrace, arms angling out from its stiff middle, like a father consoling his sad and broken child. How odd it looked in its place. How quaint, to be the only survivor of its own story. No more kings roam under its elegant archway. No more guards train their arrows from the pagoda. No more tigers rustle nearby under the cover of trees, desperate to find a meal.

This gate… this thing. It shouldn't be here. But someone has shown it their kindness and tended to it; fed it with mortar and concrete and newly painted timber. Someone has seen fit to breathe new life into it.

Their story begins and ends here.

She met him once, then many times, upon the tufts of grass framing Namdaemun. She met him and with every meeting the distance between them diminished from feet to inches to barely anything. She met him, met all of him, met every place on him with every place on herself. His hands would smell of spice. Of coal and heat and rain… perhaps he tended to a garden in their time apart. He had the gentlest hands. When he touched her, they felt like lamps against her skin. His warmth would intoxicate her.

Maybe he was made of fire, she would wonder in the hours they lay next to each other, breath stuttering and pulse racing. Maybe he was a jinn.

“You’re not small enough to fit in a lamp,” she would tease him when they'd stumble over each other.

In her loneliness, she’d dream of him, floating on clouds made of cotton. She'd imagine him traveling from land to unknown land and sea to unending sea. She would imagine him soaring, his skin burnished and his eyes like bronze.

But he is long gone, now. He has left her side and his hands warm someone else's days. She is the survivor of her own story. She is a stiff gate looking for someone to embrace, someone to comfort. She endures, just as Namdaemun endures. They stay and they wait, the gate and her, in the hope that someday there will be a finale to their respective stories.

And then they will breathe a unified sigh of relief.

------

Jonghyun supposes it would’ve been wise to expect a second meeting.

He is still shocked when the time comes: a buzz from downstairs, a murmured excuse about routine maintenance, a knock on the door that sounds far too eager to be just pest control. 

When he opens the door to find the familiar lanky frame, he panics. There are no more disguises obscuring the distance between them now. Each man is plainly visible to the other. Jonghyun feels caught. Trapped, like a wild animal hunted until metal teeth closed around his leg. He frantically searches for something to hide behind, forgetting that he could simply shut the door again.

The creepy man named Lee Taemin invites himself in. He saunters casually, ambling the length of the hallway, looking around the room and humming, appraising it, measuring it. Measuring Jonghyun, who is still shocked and unable to react in a way that protects him.

“Wh-what’re you—?!” he begins when some of the shock has worn off.

“You don’t make a lot of money, do you?” Taemin cuts him off. “Why don’t you accept my offer? I’ll pay you plenty. More than you’ve probably ever seen. Then you can move out of this dump.” Even as he says this, he runs an appreciative hand over a row of books. “I can help you realise all your dreams, you know?”

“How did you even find me?!” Jonghyun counters. 

“Does it matter?” the other drawls, shaking his head in exasperation. He swings his arms around himself as he walks, and when his palms meet, he lets them clap together. Like he’s out on a relaxing stroll in the park. Everything about the setting is preposterous. “I tracked you down, now I’m here, and I’m giving you a second chance. Isn’t that what’s important?”

He stares, trying to figure out this puzzle of a human being. What is this guy? How is he so at ease right now? What is this game he’s playing and why? Why with Jonghyun, of all people? Does everything out of his mouth sound like that? Like a simple fairy tale? I’ll do this, then you do this, then we’ll live happily ever after. Ridiculous!

He’s only ever seen people like that on dramas. Badly written and poorly acted dramas.

“Please leave,” Jonghyun requests, maintaining a formal tone despite all the peculiarity of the setup. “Or I'll call the police.”

Taemin clicks his tongue. “Not until you answer me.”

“Sir, I can’t be bought for no reason.”

“But I’m giving you a reason,” Taemin points out as if the concept is too difficult for Jonghyun to understand. Which it is. “I pay you, you write for me. I like what you write, I pay you to do more. It’s like…” he gestures, standing in the middle of the room, his stance oddly graceful and formidable at the same time. “Like when a king enjoyed an artist of his court and promised his patronage,” he illustrates. “That’s what we’ll be like.”

The smile on his face is a perfect representation of a magician’s. Maybe he is something of a trickster, Jonghyun thinks. Maybe he likes to put on a show and confuse people.

“The publication house already pays me,” he informs. 

“After you finish the book,” he is challenged. It isn’t a lie, but how does this guy even know?1 “And only proportional to the sales. I’ll pay you regardless. In fact,” Taemin points. “I want you to write these books especially for me. My eyes only.”

So that’s it? Jonghyun wonders. Just a rich kid feeding his own kinks? He scoffs and rakes through his hair, sitting down at his desk to think.

He decides to consider it, because yes, he needs the money. Yes, he wants to stop living in fear of sleeping hungry. Yes, he doesn’t want to be destitute at the age of thirty-one, before he’s even had a real relationship, let alone marry and have kids. 

But can he really uphold his end of a deal like that? Can he really write what this guy is expecting him to write?

“I’m not good at… at sexy things,” he finally declares, motioning with his hands as if to show they were empty. “I have to work very hard at it. I can’t do it the way the rest of the authors do, and—” he sighs, remembering the way crazed readers had flocked to everyone else’s tables. Remembering his sales numbers, and the words of the manager of the obscure bookstore as he complained about having to lug all the unsold copies back into storage.

Trash, he’d called them.

“Really, I’m not even sure why you came to me, when someone like… I don’t know. Eonsook? She’s the better choice, clearly.”

Taemin walks closer, his lips pursed like he is thinking of a convincing argument. Maybe he is, from the way his eyes are so focused and bright. There is an unbreakable determination in his every movement. He crouches in front of Jonghyun, sighing as he looks up. 

“Your first book,” he begins. “A story about a man with a delusion. That he is in love with a woman. They fight, then they grow close together. And then, the man is cured through therapy. But,” he clicks his fingers. “His delusion has been passed to the woman. Brilliant idea,” he compliments. “Excellent writing. And yeah, sure, the sex stuff left a lot to be desired but…” he shrugs. “I liked the story. I liked that there was more to look forward to than just two people going at it. And you wrote to tell us that story, not to satisfy my needs, I could see that,” he assures. “So why not do more of that?”

Jonghyun gives a soft laugh despite himself. “Because that book sold less than a hundred copies. And the feedback was dismal—”

“Fuck the feedback,” Taemin shakes his head, a frown creasing his features. He looks young; too young to be involved in disreputable matters like this. Or… maybe at the perfect age to waste his time on such prurient endeavours. “Fuck what any of them think. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“And you do?” Jonghyun doesn’t mean to be so standoffish but he cannot help it. Here is a stranger, coming out of nowhere, to validate him and say nice things about his pathetic attempts at writing. Here is someone trying to convince him that sales don’t matter, popularity doesn’t matter, even the adoration of the readers doesn’t matter. Then what does? Jonghyun confronts with a scowl. What does this guy know?

Taemin chuckles. “All I know is this. I like everything you write.”

------

“This world is built on supply and demand,” Taemin explains. 

He’s still here, hours later. By Jonghyun’s benevolence, of course. They are sitting on the floor, a laptop with a blank word document between them. The cursor is blinking… blinking incessantly. It taunts with each flicker.

Tell your story, Taemin said to him. Tell your story. Write it all down. Whatever you’re thinking of. It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as your put it down in words.

Easy to say. Because try as he might, he doesn’t know where to start. He doesn’t even have the shadow of a beginning, forget the middle and the end. There is no story in his mind, no words waiting at his fingertips. 

This is a waste of time.

Taemin continues regardless. “The readers of this kind of stuff... their lives are filled with disappointment. With reality. They want the impossible: sultry encounters, beautiful getaways, improbable scenarios. You see?” he signals like his words are shedding light on abstruse philosophical concepts. “They want what they can’t have. And writers like Eonsook understand that. They supply that demand. That's why she’s always making bestsellers.”

Jonghyun considers this for a moment, seeing some truth in those claims. He takes a look around his own apartment, eyes roving over the small desk and small sofa and small kitchen. It is a liveable space, he reckons. It is better than a half-basement, or a slum with toxic asbestos roofing and poor access. But he is aware that in the bigger picture, he is still poor. He is confined. He is restricted. He is at the bottom of a heavy and insurmountable hill. 

Disaffection comes easily to people like him. And short of being on the wrong side of the law, there is only one way to be at ease with his circumstances.

To pretend.

“But you? You fuck everything up,” Taemin carries on, amusement in his features. “You take that supply-demand model and turn it on its head. You say, I decide what I'll write. I decide what I produce. This is my art, not my bread. This is more than a paycheck for me. This is more than a popularity contest for me. That's what I see you think, and…” he shakes his head, chuckling as he reclines on his palms. “I gotta say, I find that really ballsy.”

A small balloon of pride inflates Jonghyun’s chest at the words, to his own surprise. He shifts and clears his throat. “Th-that’s all well and fine, but… but it doesn’t help that no one will read my stories.”

“Tell me something,” the other contests. “Why did you start writing in the first place? And—” he holds up a finger between them. “Don’t tell me it’s for the money. You could do anything and earn money. Why this specifically?”

“W-well, because… because what else am I going to do with a major in—?”

“No,” another shake of the head stops him. “No. Don’t answer from up here,” Taemin taps his temple. “This isn’t about rationality. This is about how you feel. About why you feel that way. Give me the answer in here,” he reaches forward and pokes a finger into the centre of Jonghyun’s chest.

He stares at the perfectly shaped fingernail, at the faint pink that dissipates into flesh below the joint. Why does he write? What compels him to scribble on stray pieces of paper? What makes him put his thoughts down on phone notes? What is it that surges in his chest when he’s in the shower, when he’s about to go to sleep, when he’s listening to a beautifully sad song for the first time? What makes him write? 

“I… I have a lot to say,” he concludes. It feels like an admission of guilt—freeing. Splitting the restraints he’d been struggling against for… perhaps, years. It is like a large weight has come off his shoulders and now he can stand up straight. Now he can float off the ground. Now he can fly. He sighs and closes his eyes. “I have a lot to say. About… everything. And I—” he shakes his head, looks up from the finger, glances at the blank screen, turns his attention to the face of someone who is listening. Someone who is here and who does not appear to be in any hurry to leave.

“I really want someone to listen.”

With a pleased smirk, Taemin tilts his head and nods. “So start talking.”

------

He wonders what sounds he would hear, if he were up on the moon. 

Would he hear the distant roll of waves? The rushing and ebbing of tides, their froth effervescent in the shell of his ears, their folding and retreating as sharp as the feeling of sand between his toes. Would he hear the occasional beep of a passing space shuttle? Would he see the face of another human in the window of the craft as it zooms past, their hands mirroring a wave and their faces reflecting each other's smiles? 

What would he hear in that vacuum? 

Would he hear the patter of his heartbeat, like water dribbling off a tin roof to roll along the eaves and fall against leaves, touch the ground, seep into the earth and become lost? Would he hear it speeding and softening like the tides, waxing and waning like the moon, repeating itself over and over, spinning like the earth does, like the stars do, like this universe does? Or would he feel an urgency in his lungs, the frenzy to drink in as much breath as he could, to gather as much oxygen in each inhale and retain it until his sight shook and his hearing went dissonant and he realised that he could hear nothing on the moon?

Nothing?

Maybe it would be hope. Maybe he would hear the sound of unfiltered sunlight hitting his skin. Maybe he would hear the whisper of a solar wind playing with his hair. Maybe he would hear his smile, his happiness, his joy even in solitude like that. Maybe he would hear something like that. Maybe it would be melodious to his ears, maybe he would dance to it, on the ashen rigoleth, the dead and cracked surface of the moon. Maybe he would float from crater to crater and find himself repeating circles, large ellipses that never ended. No beginning and no end. Maybe he would hear the most perfect sounds that ever existed. Maybe he would hear the sonorous representation of heaven.

Maybe the moon is full of music.

------

Jonghyun stretches his arms and arches his back, rolling his neck tiredly. The light outside his windows has dimmed by a large degree. The sun has gone down hours ago, without his noticing. He blinks and feels around himself to reach for a light switch. An afterimage of the laptop screen remains in his vision for a while as he stands on complaining legs and ankles. A grumble in his stomach alerts him of the time. Dinner time. 

“Taemin ssi…?” he calls out, rubbing his eyes. “Taemin—”

It takes him a moment to realise he is alone. “Eh?” he scratches his cheek, trying to recall the sound of the door opening and shutting. He can’t tell how long it has been since the other left. There are no traces of his visit, no discarded teacups, no dirty plates with crumbs, nothing. He checks the bedroom, the bathroom, just to be sure. But it’s true: he has been a bad host. 

Jonghyun really has been doing nothing but writing. 

Searching for his phone to type out an apology, he realises belatedly that he doesn’t have a contact saved under “Lee Taemin.” With a repentant pout, he hums to himself. Next time, he promises himself. I’ll make it up to him next time.

When he’s settled down in front of his laptop again, this time with a steaming bowl of kal-guksu, he makes a choked sound at how much he has typed. Scrolling through page upon page of a very coherent-looking storyline, a reverberating surprise runs its course through him. Did he really do all this? Was that guy really serious about all that stuff? Has his inspiration finally returned to him, after all this time, all these years?

A muse… he feels the hint of a smile playing under his cheeks. He has a muse. 

“That… isn’t that something imaginary?” Minho asks him when he excitedly gushes about the encounter. “Like, something that old men used to think up so they could make paintings and all that?” 

“You’re just looking for an excuse to call me old,” Jonghyun dismisses. They’re lying on Minho’s carpet, listening to music. The sun is streaming through tall slider doors, and the usual sound of traffic is absent on a Sunday morning like this. Even the shadows look blue, their hue fluid and sparkling like light bouncing off of water. He feels calm, he feels like he is cradled in a hammock. As they relax side-by-side and read off their phones, there is a plot swirling in the back of Jonghyun’s mind. It buzzes and stirs, waiting to break out and lay itself down in orderly lines and sentences. He nurses it, pets its back, scratches it between its ears. He gives it a name. 

But it can wait.

“Look at this,” he scrolls through a namuwiki article on the Muses, holding it out for the other to see. “It says this famous novelist from America calls his bowling trophy a muse. Wah…! He’s written so many famous books!” 

“He’s old, too,” Minho snorts before he’s swatted at by an annoyed Jonghyun. “OK, OK!” he defends. “OK. I get it. You have a muse. So, is she hot?” he grins and rolls onto his elbows, a happy glimmer in his large eyes. “Does she pose for you? Do you get to take her on dates? How does it work?”

“It’s a guy,” Jonghyun frowns. 

“Really?” Minho hums, the slightest disenchantment pulling at his lips. “But it says here that muses are supposed to be beautiful women. Look,” he wrests the phone away from his friend and goes to the image section of the article. 

His point is proven by several old and colourful depictions of elegantly posed women, loose garments draped over their voluptuous fronts. There is no hint of an awkward lanky male form in dark and brooding clothes that blend him into his bleak surroundings. The women’s expressions are calm and filled with wisdom, unlike Taemin’s youthful fervour. The only feature that is barely reminiscent of the young man are the dark, mystical eyes.

Something inside Jonghyun grows uneasy.

“I mean…” he shrugs, hoping to give an explanation. He doesn’t have one, not at that moment. He doesn’t know how to defend his experience. All he knows is a name, some very sound advice, and the promise of money… money he hasn’t yet received, mind. He realises he is dealing with a stranger, after all. That if he isn’t careful, his prefatory suspicions of Taemin being a dangerous guy might still come true.

“Look, why don’t I introduce the two of you when he visits again?” he offers as justification, trying to push the issue aside. “You’ll like him, he’s got an... entertaining sort of personality, you’ll see—”

“I have a better idea,” Minho rejects the response. “Why don’t you just let me read one of your books, eh? I searched for your name and nothing comes up, you know? Are you really getting published at all? Or are they just taking you for a ride and stealing your work—?”

“Let’s just,” Jonghyun holds his hands up between them. He feels alarmed at the turn their conversation has taken. “Look. Let’s talk about this later, OK?”

“Hyung…” Minho makes an exasperated face, but he’s a good friend. His words are rooted in concern. He slowly settles back onto the floor, giving up on his argument, intertwining their legs. The soothing sounds from his music system take over once again.

What remains is Jonghyun’s fear of losing a dear friend.

------

“Who are you, really?” he shoots his misgivings the first chance he gets.

It has been many weeks since their last meeting. He has been progressively furthering the new book, or whatever it turns out to be in the end. What first sat as an idea in his scribbled notes has grown tall and strong. He now has chapters, and multiple plotlines that diverge from and converge on each other. He has dialogues, he has beats, he has imagery, he has descriptions. He has woven all the ends to make one whole, one complete mass, one continuous flow. Things are coming together, and Jonghyun is amazed at his own progress.

But his gratitude doesn’t dilute his distrust.

As soon as he barges into the apartment, Taemin demands to read through whatever there is so far. For a long time, he sits reposed on the sofa: silent for once, interest wavering only when he is addressed.

“Huh?”

“Are you just some rich chaebol kid looking to spend his dad’s money? Is this… just fun for you?” Jonghyun expounds on the interrogation. There is some insecurity in his tone, some residual lack of confidence from previous encounters that have left him wounded. Even he can tell. But he continues, unabashed in his self-preservation. “All this… this muse stuff. What’s in it for you?”

“I told you,” Taemin offers an apathetic shrug. “I like your writing.”

“I thought you like books with lots of sex,” Jonghyun frowns and counters, pointing at the tablet in the other’s hold. “I don’t have any of that in there.”

“Are you planning on keeping it that way?”

“Well, I wasn’t really going to, but—wait, no, listen to me,” he is nearly distracted, and the momentary look of triumph on Taemin’s face leaves him flustered. “I need to know who you are. I need to know why you’re doing this, and I need to know now,” he places his ultimatum. “Or I’m not writing another word.”

Taemin sits up and releases a slow exhale. His gaze is amused. It roves over his host, appraising him like a teacher would a child on his first day of school.  

“What if I don’t tell you?” he posits. It’s not a challenge. His tone is chatty, conversational. As if he’s asking, what if cars could fly. He leans forward and smiles that magician smile again. “What will it change, if you know? Is it going to fix your life? Is it going to rid you of all your problems? Is the world going to make sense?” he motions with his hands. “Of course not. So why do you want to know?”

“Because—!” Jonghyun wants to say it will sate his curiosity, but he can’t admit that. Something about that feels like a confession. He can’t speak his mind like that.

“Look, I like that you’re curious,” Taemin reads his mind anyway, still smiling. “I like that you want to learn about things you don’t understand. I think that’s important for a writer. But I think what’s more important is figuring out what the real question is.”

He blinks with confusion. “The real question…?” he shakes his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re writing this thing,” the other waves the tablet. “And you’ve advanced really far into the storyline. Things are getting exciting, characters are finally starting to become full people I can be invested in. I can’t put this book down even if the house was burning,” he compliments. “But there’s something missing. And I can’t tell what it is, except that it exists. In there,” another poke into Jonghyun’s ribcage. “Maybe the question you should be asking then, is what is missing? What else do you need? What else is there for you to find?”

A clearing of the throat, a shift of the seat. Jonghyun won’t acknowledge it, but the words resonate with him.

Missing. Something is missing. Something needs to be found. Something is waiting to be discovered. Something that he requires to complete this story… or maybe complete himself. Something that once sat in an empty slot in his chest must be recovered. He doesn’t mean for the thought to be so profound. But it is that very same profoundness that makes him believe it’s probably true. Something is missing inside him. Something is missing from his life. Something is missing from his world. And he needs to find it.

“Will you help me look?” he entreats his muse.

A magnanimous stretch of the arms replies. “It’s what I’m here for,” Taemin grins and falls back onto the cushions, continuing to read.

------

They stand outside the apartment block and Jonghyun is still not sure about this.

“Look, I really don’t think—” he starts to beseech, but Taemin silences him with a wave of his hand. He clicks on one of the call buttons and a ring starts to go, only raising the panic in Jonghyun’s gut.

“Just meet with her,” the other persuades, rational as always.

When someone answers on the other side of the line, it’s as if his entire body freezes until he is nudged. “U-uhh… yes. M-my name is uh… I mean. That is—”

“Is this a prank call?” the woman asks with anger in her voice.

Another nudge shakes his senses up. “N-no…!” Jonghyun insists. “Uhm, we—you and I. We work for the same company. M-miss Eonsook.”

A long pause. Some rustling of cloth. Some whispered conversation in the background. Then the woman’s voice returns. “OK, come on up,” she finally acquiesces before a loud buzz swings the front door open.

“Go!” Taemin hisses at him, grinning wide under the dark sunglasses that have become his signature.

The building isn’t much different from Jonghyun’s own apartment block, but there is something lighter about everything. It feels… nicer. There are planters with pretty flowers along the corridor. The lifts are clean and fully functional. The walls are devoid of posters and advertisements. TV sets can be heard outside some of the doors, as can the whistle of pressure cookers and the nagging of mothers. The atmosphere is homely, welcoming. He doesn’t feel like he’s intruding on anything, so he continues to walk in confidently.

He reads the numbers on each unit as he passes by, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings and wishing Taemin were accompanying him.

When he’s at the door he was looking for, he rings the bell and waits.

The woman who answers him is somewhat recognizable. He remembers seeing the straight jet-black hair, the round jaw, the parrot-hooked nose, the no-nonsense stare. Even if he has never before glimpsed her puffy lips or heard her soft voice, he remembers her from the fan-meeting—and possibly from other occasions, when they bumped into each other at the publication office.

Nobody can tell she is one of the most popular writers in the country.

“Ah, hello,” he bows low and his sunglasses slip off his face to clatter to the ground. He scrambles to put them back on, but simply pockets the disguise when he notices the turn in her mouth. “M-my name is—”

“You must be the person who writes as Grapefruit,” she guesses correctly. Her diction holds a soft lisp. Barely there, unlike Minho’s often baby-like pronunciations. He blushes and nods at the floor in response to the question.

“Come in,” she invites him, the grille door swinging outwards.

Other than the ordinary-looking furnishings, her home is full of photos. As he pulls the surgical mask to his chin and wanders through the apartment, Jonghyun cannot help but study them all, turn by careful turn. All over the walls she has displayed pictures of herself, her family, her friends, and another woman. A sister, he guesses at first, before correcting himself when his eyes go to a shockingly intimate polaroid.

He doesn’t realize he is staring until he hears his host pointedly clear her throat.

“Some juice?” Eonsook offers the glass on a tray. He accepts and stands awkwardly for a few minutes, shifting from foot to foot.

“Y-you have a very nice place—” he begins.

“So,” Eonsook cuts him off, showing him a seat. “How can I help?”

“H-help?” he blinks, his thoughts clouded.

She raises her eyebrows, wets her lips, digs her teeth into the lower one. “It’s a polite way of asking why you’re here,” she clarifies. He can tell there is laughter waiting to bounce out of her throat. In everything she does, there is an underlying strain of confidence. She exudes it in waves that come off her and lap at his own chest, nearly pushing him back with their force.

“R-right! Yes, of course,” he jumbles with the glass in his hold, looking around for a moment before accepting the proffered seat. “I—I came to ask you for… for advice.”

She follows his example and sinks into an armchair, crossing her legs and watching him for a moment. A long and entertained moment. “Oh?”

“Y-yes…” he insists. “You see. I’m—I’m currently working on this book, and. And I’m at this part that I need to research before I write it. So…”

“What kind of part?” her interest is immediate.

He tries to think of a way to describe it, nervously scratching the back of his neck and fumbling with the collar of his tee shirt. He feels unreasonably nervous, cognizant of the sweat beginning to stream down his back. “W-well…” he tries.

“Is it a sexy part?” she asks.

“N-not really.”

“Hmm, I guessed as much,” she leans back into her chair. “I’ve read your work. You’re not much of an erotic writer, are you, Grapefruit ssi?” she sums him up with narrowed eyes. And yet, there isn’t any sign of malice in her observation. He glance is approving, in fact. Admiring. “Your stories are very different. Emotional. They’re for a very… cerebral audience. Is that always your intent?” she asks with some fascination in her gaze.

He blinks up at the ceiling, thinking of a genuine answer, not wanting to disappoint her for some nameless reason.

“No,” he concedes after a while. “I think it’s just… because of the kind of person I am. I think it requires me falling in love first before… before my characters fall in love.” He runs a finger over the rim of his condensate-covered glass, nodding contemplatively for a moment. “W-what about you?” he asks. “What is your intent? When you write, I mean.”

She hums, crossing her arms across her front. “Intent…” she hisses a breath in. “There doesn’t always have to be one, you know?” she says conversationally. “Like you said, we can feel very strongly about something, and then write about it. Tell a story around it. I think that’s possible,” she accepts. And when she smiles, he feels an odd sense of solidarity with her.

“What… what does Eonsook ssi feel strongly about?”

The woman smirks. “You were staring at her just now,” comes the simply reply. Accompanying it is the smooth motion of a hand coming up to support her chin, a ring glinting on its third finger.

Jonghyun bumbles an apology.

“There is nothing else I feel as strongly about,” she reveals. “There is no one I love as much, no one I care about as much, no one who matters to me as much. And so,” she holds out a hand between them. “I write about her. About us. I suppose…” she finishes with a grin, a clever gleam nestled in her eyes. “I suppose you can say she’s my muse.”

“A muse…!” Jonghyun’s heart runs on a treadmill at the words. “Do you think…” he begins, shifting forward in his seat. She mirrors the movement. “Do you think you could teach me? How you find the courage to tell your stories?” he requests.

“Courage?” Eonsook chuckles. “It doesn’t take courage to make people happy, Grapefruit ssi,” she shakes her head. “Because that is what we do. We ultimately make people happy with our work. They read it, they smile, they feel good. Maybe they forget about it after some time. Maybe some of it stays with them for years. Who knows?” she shrugs. “As long as we get them to smile.”

He feels awe at that. “As long as they smile…” he nods again, this time in understanding.

------

With every jump of his hips, he is filled with a murder of crows that flutter to the far edges of his body—to the villages settled in his fingertips and the townships developed in his toenails. With every jump of his hips the leaves inside him quiver from the force, as birds take to the skies between his stomach and lungs.

When they travel, when they journey through him, his sighs tell the tale of that journey. They sing like bards, reciting how the crows travel carrying messages tied to their feet. The sighs paint pictures of beaks pecking at his outer edges, his boundaries, his geographical territories. With every jump of his hips he is breaking those boundaries, violating the treaties that hold those borders sacred. With every jump, he is less self-contained, less of an uncontested dominion.

He secedes. He surrenders his independence. He lets himself be taken captive by the thrum of the man below him. Inside him.

With every jump of his hips, he abdicates the throne of his identity. He makes the other king. Gives his crown to another head. And the crows carry news of this shift in power to all the lands that were once under his reign. They carry the news, propelled by the sighs, released at every breath, every hitch, every gasp. Every jump.

In his own kingdom, he is now a pauper.

To have meaning, to be defined by a name and description—all this no longer applies to him. The other man has changed his definition. The other man has made him… not him. But if he is not himself, who is he? If he is not who he was born as, if he is no longer the man he introduced himself as, who is he? What is his name, now? What can he call himself? How will he present himself to strangers, if he is a stranger to his own self? If he looked himself up online, what would the results be? Would they just become strange unreadable symbols?

If he is not himself, then he does not exist: or, at least… this is what he has always thought to be true.

But now his hips jump, and his voice breaks, and he calls out a name that doesn’t belong to him. With every jump, he becomes a blurry existence.

------

They grow close, Eonsook and Jonghyun. They become friends.

She talks to him often, sometimes on the phone, other times over dinner. On a second visit to her apartment, he learns the other woman from the photos is Gwiboon, who talks a mile a minute and laughs like an erupting volcano. The two of them accept Jonghyun like he has always belonged in their life, always had a place in their home and their hearts. They are kind to him. They are kinder than most others have been.

Perhaps because there is nothing to hide from them. He doesn't have to lie about what he does for a living, doesn't have to make up stories about how he spends his free time. He doesn't have to shut his doors and draw his curtains with them. There is nothing to be ashamed of, in their company.

It's freeing.

Jonghyun continues to write, faster and longer than ever before. He writes like he breathes. He enjoys how uninhibited it makes him feel. He finds himself feeling more and more confident about this story, even going back to the rejected manuscript and making edits with a red marker. He meets Taemin at a café and spends most of the time scribbling in a notepad as they hide from other patrons in a corner booth.

With every page he writes, a mass of pride grows in his ribcage.

“So, what now?” Taemin asks him one afternoon, having finished the latest draft and giving it his seal of approval. “Where does the story go from here?”

“Hmm...” Jonghyun nurses a cup of coffee. It is early in the morning. He has been organising his books and wardrobe and even his thoughts while the other read. He has been carefully making his way through all that needs to be settled—in his writing and outside it.

“I could write some more about the way the characters feel. You know, build more plot buffer. Or,” he gives half a shrug. “I could. Resolve it in a certain way.”

“A certain way,” Taemin raises an eyebrow. “What way?”

“Well. They could. I don't know. Fall in love, and—” the other is vehemently shaking his head before Jonghyun even finishes his sentence. “What? Why not?!”

“Too forced,” Taemin disapproves. “It would just be pandering to your readers, when the story doesn’t naturally flow that way. Consider everything that’s happened. There is no justification for them falling in love. All they've done is meet a few times and exchange... banter.”

“Sometimes that's enough!” Jonghyun defends, then softens. “Is... is it not?”

“You tell me.”

“No, you tell me!” Jonghyun insists. “Is it not enough for them to know each other? To enjoy the company? To... to feel comfortable with each other? That should be enough sometimes, right? Wouldn't that be enough for you?”

“Is that the real question—?”

“Yes! Yes, it is!” Jonghyun shouts, and as he does, he is painfully aware of the fact that this is not how he had planned for this conversation to ensue. He is conscious of the fact that he has made it a confrontation rather than keeping it within the bounds of an emotional exchange. There is a feeling of being put under an unannounced spotlight, its glare harsh against his face. He breathes hard, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter before him, doubling over in preparation for the rest of his episode.

“Yes, it is,” he repeats in a quieter, gentler tone. When he straightens up, he stares at the other with pleading eyes.

“What am I to you?” he repeats with some desperation.

Taemin looks satisfied at the question, like he has been waiting a long time for it to emerge. He remains relaxed despite the friction, despite the anxiety in his host. He continues to smile like an illusionist, continues to watch like a judge. “Before I answer that,” he begins in a calm, collected voice. “And I will answer it. But before I do, I need to you to tell me first: what am I to you?”

The reaction enrages him. “No,” Jonghyun warns. “No. Enough games. Enough running around in circles. You’re never honest with me. You only talk about this… this shit!” he angrily motions at the tablet the other had been reading from. “You can’t avoid this anymore. You have to answer me now.” He holds a hand up between them and counts. “Who are you? Why are you helping me? What do I mean to you?”

“Hmm,” Taemin rocks back and forth. “You really want me to tell you?”

Jonghyun makes wide, aggravated motions. “Who else will—?!”

“You want me,” Taemin clarifies. “To tell you. Who I am,” he raises his eyebrows. “You really don’t know? Have you really not known? All this time?”

“That’s why I’m asking—!”

“No, you’re not,” the protest is cut off. “You’re asking because other people are asking: what does he do in there all day, who is he with, who is this muse he’s talking about all of a sudden. You’re asking because you need to give them an answer. An answer that isn’t really the answer,” the corner of Taemin’s lip turns up. “Isn’t it?”

“Wh-what…?” Jonghyun shakes his head, the hair on his arms standing on end.

Taemin skips off his stool, meanders around the counter, advances on him.

Jonghyun’s breath sounds like an elasticized gong. His inhales are like rubber bands, stretching on for hours and hours. He is buzzing, like he sits inside something alive. Inside a heart and the lights decorating Namdaemun at night are made of lamps that glow soft and warm as if someone is holding him in an embrace and showering him with solace while their eyes are speaking to him in a different tongue in a speech of a foreign land where jinn live and grant wishes and there is nothing to see for miles except murders of crows carrying messages on their feet telling the world that the empire has fallen the world is coming to an end and the—

------

Mapo bridge.

It talks to him. It asks how he is, if he’s eaten yet. It tells him to turn his head up and look at the blue sky once. It tells him it loves him. It tells him that the brightest moments in his life are yet to come.

Jonghyun cries hard enough that his body shakes from the force. Minho stands very close, looking worried and reaching out for a hug. But he is told to wait. Not yet. He is told to wait, Jonghyun will need him soon.

Words are everything he is. Words are his life and soul. His bone and sinew. His drifting days and sleepless nights. Words have created him, penned him down—not the other way around. They have built him up, bound his loose pages and given him a spine. They have made him Kim Jonghyun. They have made him a writer, a poet, an artist. They have made him what he is. And he would never have realised this, were it not for Taemin.

Were it not for himself.

“I write for myself,” he claims to the sad and bloated waters of the Han, knowing the other is listening. Somewhere. From within the crevasses of his mind, Taemin is listening. “I write for myself.” It is a heavy claim to make. It is heavy as lead. It is tied to Jonghyun's feet as he trains to run his ink across a coastline. The claim is heavy enough to need lugging around on his hipbone. It is heavy, it is full. Like an earthen pot spilling its contents.

His face is drenched when he speaks those hefty words, when he acknowledges them. He sobs and his fingers tighten on the rails of the bridge, the place he would often visit when he felt sad and alone. But he isn’t alone. Minho is here for him. Eonsook and Gwiboon wait in a car nearby. And Taemin.

Taemin exists in the beats of his pulse.

Behind him, traffic swishes past. In front of him, the river hushes his crying. “I write for myself,” he lets go of the full pot and watches it splash, watches its shards rock a little on the ground, after they've separated from the whole.

많이 힘들었구나

He touches the words of the bridge and nearly answers out loud. He nearly says yes. Yes. It was tiring. It was terrifyingly easy to give up on my dreams. He rocks a little in place and finally Minho gathers him into a tight hold, stroking circles on his back.

It was awful, Jonghyun wants to say. But I found him. I found myself. I found contentment. I found it. And now I can walk away from you saying yes. Yes, it was tiring. It was hard. But now my breath comes easily. My heart beats easily. My life runs easily. I am alive. I am free. I am happy.

I love myself.

[thatfanficstuff]

The Light in my Darkness - 9

Pairing: Clint x Reader

Warning: nope

****

By the time Friday came, all of your furniture had been delivered and set up. You were even mostly unpacked, though that wasn’t much of a feat considering most of your belongings were art supplies. You’d even found time to pick up the books and supplies you’d need for the semester. And, as you predicted, Clint gave you entirely too much money.

It was midafternoon when someone buzzed to be let in. “Yeah.”

“It’s me,” came Wanda’s chipper voice.

You grinned and let her in. You already had the front door open before she arrived, arms heavy with bags and packages. “Holy crap, Wanda. Are you moving in or what?” you joked as you unburdened her of some of the load.

“I come bearing gifts,” she announced as she dropped the rest of the things on your sofa. “And to help you get ready for your date.”

Your face heated. “It’s not a date.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Then I’m here to help you get ready for your not date.”

You sat the things in your hands on the table and shut and locked the front door. “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but you aren’t exactly what I was expecting when Clint said he would send me a dress.”

“I volunteered so I could help with your hair and makeup. Besides, I’m having fun tormenting him. He keeps waiting for me to yell at him for dating you. The more accepting and nicer I am about things, the more paranoid he gets. It’s amazing.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m still not trusting it entirely myself.”

“I have my reasons, thank you. Now, look at the dress.” She thrust a box in your direction.

After taking it from her, you sat it on the counter in the kitchen to open it. You tossed the lid to the side and peeled back the tissue paper to reveal a stunning royal blue dress. When you pulled it out to hold it up, you were surprised at the weight though that was undoubtedly due to the beads on the bodice. It certainly wasn’t from the light, airy fabric that made up the layered skirt. “It’s beautiful.”

Wanda nodded. “And there are matching shoes and a clutch. There’s even jewelry around here somewhere.” She glanced around at the boxes.

You frowned and tucked the dress back into the box. “This is a lot.”

She tilted her head and looked you over. “If it makes you feel any better, he probably had the personal shopper at the store pick out everything. That’s what he usually does.”

It did make you feel better, but also a little disappointed. You sighed. What the hell was wrong with you? “I’ll order pizza. You want the usual?”

She nodded and began hauling everything back to your bedroom.

***

Clint glanced at the time and tapped his fingers on his desk before checking his phone for the third time in ten minutes. He had expected to hear from you after the dress and things were delivered. He was worried you wouldn’t like it. He hadn’t given you enough time to find something else if you didn’t.

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He shouldn’t even be caring. Normally, he wouldn’t. Of course, he also normally didn’t tell the shopper what color of dress he wanted or take the time to pick out the jewels himself. He’d only done it because he didn’t want Wanda thinking he didn’t care about you. She’d seemed pleased so maybe it worked.

Or maybe she was just waiting until his guard was down to tell him he was a dirty old man for lusting after her best friend. It was a conversation he tried to have with himself more than once, but it wasn’t working. The chemistry between the two of you was too intense for him to care. He shifted in his seat as he remembered the last time he’d seen you. Work had kept him busy the last couple of days, though the two of you had still managed to text often.

Finally unable to take the suspense any longer, he sent you a text. Does everything meet expectations?

You responded almost immediately. It’s Wanda. I took her phone. She kept wanting to send you pictures.

He chuckled. And?

No pictures. She says everything is lovely and thank you.

That didn’t sound like you at all. He pursed his lips and wondered what his daughter was up to. Really?

No she says you spent too much. Must go.

Now, that sounded like you. His mouth twisted into a smirk as he imagined how flustered you’d been when you saw everything he’d sent. A glance at the clock had him wondering if you’d even seen the jewelry yet. Knowing Wanda, she’d keep it tucked away until you were ready to walk out the door.

***

“Well,” you asked as you spun for Wanda to take in the entire ensemble. She had managed to make your hair look like you’d spent tons at a salon and made your makeup look dramatic but subtle at the same time. She had a far more deft hand than you’d ever had.

She beamed and you couldn’t help but smile in return. “One more thing.” When she came over, she had a velvet box in her hands. She flipped it open and you gasped.

“Those aren’t real.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact. Because if they were real, there was absolutely no way you could wear them. Not only would it mean Clint had spent entirely too much money on you, but you would need an armed guard to make you feel comfortable in public.

Wanda frowned at them then looked back to you. “They aren’t? Because I’m fairly certain they are.”

You shook your head and took a step back.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped and you immediately stopped moving. Wanda could be scary when she wanted to be. She handed you the box and your hands trembled as you took it from her. “Now, put them on or I will put them on for you.”

You took a deep breath and gave her a nod of compliance. The necklace was an intricate design of diamonds and sapphires. The clear stones formed a vine of leaves that wrapped around your neck dotted with sapphire flowers. The earrings were simple sapphire teardrops. You looked at yourself in the mirror after you’d put them on and your fingers ran across the necklace. It was far more delicate than it had any right to be considering the amount of stones it contained. It was stunning.

That anyone thought you worthy of such a thing had tears coming to your eyes.

“No, no, no,” Wanda scolded behind you. “You will ruin your face.”

You laughed and wiped away the moisture before it could destroy her hard work. Just as you finished, there was a buzz. Your ride had arrived. Wanda buzzed back and let them know you would be right down.

“Come,” she said as she handed you the clutch that contained only your phone, keys and lipstick. After one last look in the mirror, you followed her out. You took the elevator, not caring to risk your neck by taking the stairs in your heels.

Wanda gave you a hug before heading to her car. Your gaze trailed her until she was safely inside and you turned to the car that was waiting for you. Scott grinned at you when you met his gaze. “You look great, Y/N.”

“Thank you.” A glance inside the car showed it to be empty. “Where’s Clint?”

“He’ll meet you at the venue. One of the company drivers is taking him. He had some work to finish up.”

You nodded and slid into the car, Scott helping you make sure all of your dress was tucked inside with you. A little lump of disappointment settled in the middle of your chest and you did your best to brush it aside. That’s not what this was. You knew that. It was a business arrangement. It was a mantra you needed to learn to repeat often.

You scrolled through your phone, reading over the texts between Wanda and Clint. You smiled then started typing one of your own.

***

Clint ran his hands down the front of his tux making sure everything was in place then straightened his bowtie. He had intended to meet you at your door, but a last minute contract issue had come across his desk that couldn’t wait until Monday. He preferred not to work weekends if it could be avoided.

A knock sounded on his door. “Yeah.”

It swung open to reveal Natasha. She smirked as she looked him over. “Looking sharp as always, Clint.”

He rolled his eyes. “Tell me again why I let you out of this event?”

“Because I send the RSVPs and I didn’t want to go. Besides, you’ve got your new girlfriend to accompany you. You’ll be fine.” Nat used to love to go to things with him. The two of them would hole up somewhere in a corner together and laugh away the night. Lately she’d been attending fewer and fewer.

He blamed Bucky. They’d known each other for years but had only recently started dating. Bucky didn’t do well around people he didn’t know and she was perfectly happy to just stay home with him. As long as she was happy, Clint tried not to complain.

“I actually have a purpose here besides ogling you in your tux. Did you rework the Johnson contract?”

He scowled. Johnson was a long time client who wanted to renegotiate his normal contract at the last minute. He had even threatened to take his business elsewhere if Hawkeye didn’t comply. Where he thought he was going to get merchandise of a comparable quality at the prices they offered, Clint had no idea. “It’s done and sent. I didn’t give him anything he wanted though I did compromise a bit. He either signs it or he doesn’t. I don’t like bullies.”

Nat nodded. “Perfect. That’s all I needed. Have a nice time on your date,” she said with a smirk and a little wave.

He wasn’t even going to bother to take the time to correct her. She only said shit like that to get under his skin. As he walked out of his office, his phone buzzed to let him know he had a text. He pulled it out and smiled when he saw it was from you. This really is too much.

He chuckled as he stepped onto the elevator. You’re welcome, he sent back.

Thank you, Clint.

He could almost feel your eyeroll through the screen. A glance at the time told him that you were already on your way to the venue. He didn’t like that you were going to have to mingle on your own for a bit, but he certainly wasn’t going to make you wait for him before you went in. He typed out a quick text letting you know he had gotten caught up and not to wait for him.

K

Your one letter response didn’t do much to convince him you would be fine until he got there. Rather than relaying all his fears to you, he slid his phone back into his pocket. He tapped his fingers on his thighs in an effort to keep from pulling it back out. This was fine. You’d be fine. You were too smart to say something you shouldn’t just because he wasn’t around. He’d also seen you shoot down more than one asshole that came on too strong so he knew you could take care of yourself.

It was almost forty-five minutes later before he arrived and a good half hour since Scott had let him know you’d been dropped off safely. Damn it. He straightened his jacket after he climbed out of the back then hurried up the stairs. Once he was inside, his eyes immediately scanned the crowd searching for you. It didn’t take long for his attention to be caught by the vibrant blue of your dress.

His heart sped and he swallowed past the lump in his throat. You were talking to some people he vaguely recognized, your head tilted back as you laughed. God, you looked amazing. He ran his eyes over you again, taking in every inch of exposed skin. The jewels he’d bought you sparkled in the light but they didn’t even come close to holding his attention the way that you did.

He ran his tongue across his bottom lip as he took the opportunity to just watch you for another moment or two.

“I see you’ve spotted her as well,” came a voice from beside him, interrupting him from his litany of impure thoughts.

He glanced over to find Tony Stark standing beside him, offering him a glass of something. Clint took it and turned back to his previous view. He made a sound of agreement but didn’t offer anything more where you were concerned. He sipped at his drink, enjoying the burn that distracted him from some of his more scandalous lines of thought.

“I don’t think I’ve seen her around before and I certainly would have made note of her,” Tony continued.

Clint clenched his teeth together briefly. He darted his gaze quickly to the man beside him before focusing on you once more. “What about Pepper?”

Tony shrugged. “What about her? Just because we’re engaged doesn’t mean I’m dead. I can still look and appreciate you know. And that one is stunning.”

Clint placed his now empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter and fixed his coat once more. “That she is. She’s also mine.” He headed in your direction without registering Tony’s reaction to his announcement.

When he reached you, he placed one hand on your hip and pulled you against his side. You were even more beautiful up close. He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “You are breathtaking, Y/N.”

You glanced over at him, a radiant smile on your face. “You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Barton.” 

[hovercraft79]

And Lay Your Finger Anywhere Down

Chapters: 1 (may eventually become part of a series)

Word Count: 2,509

Fandom: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: some alcohol consumption

Summary: The confinement is over and Hecate is free to see world beyond Cackle’s Academy. With Pippa by her side, she’s ready for her first adventure.  

Notes: Oh, the difference being away all summer makes! My Library AU will in no way be done on time, but I decided to put the week I spent at Tales of the Cocktail to good use. Hopefully, Pippa and Hecate will enjoy their trip to The Big Easy as much as we did.

Once again, I owe Sparky my thanks for editing and helping me remember the details of our trip.  I promise I will use those women from Pat O’Brien’s piano bar in a fic at some point. Any errors are from me fussing with it after Sparky was through.

The title of this story comes from the Indigo Girls song ‘Get Out the Map.’

Prompt: “have you ever done this before?”

“Do I look alright, Pip?” Hecate met Pippa’s eyes in the mirror as she nervously smoothed the floral sundress over her hips.

“You look absolutely stunning, darling. I knew that poppy pattern would suit.” She crossed the hotel room, stilling Hecate’s hands by taking them in her own.

Seeing their joined hands warmed Pippa’s heart and set her magic fizzing through her veins. She couldn’t believe that they were here - it had only been two weeks since they’d finally, truly reconciled. Sure, things had thawed after the Spelling Bee, but they’d definitely still been at odds when the Council had asked her to oversee Cackle’s. And Hecate had been even more reserved since the Founding Stone incident. But when Pippa had heard about the latest disaster at Cackle’s, where once again Hecate had been at the center of the danger, Pippa couldn’t stand it any longer. She’d transferred straight to Hecate’s rooms, dumping herself - and the contents of her stomach - unceremoniously onto the rug at Hecate’s feet. They’d talked for hours that day, Pippa holding Hecate through tears as she recounted everything that had happened with Indigo Moon and her subsequent confinement. She’d gone back every day since then. Sometimes they’d talked about the past, other times they’d talked about nothing really at all. And once, for a few blushing, heady moments, they’d talked about the future. Their future. 

It hadn’t all been talk, though. Pippa had accompanied Hecate on her first forays out into the world. They’d walked beyond the limits of the academy; they’d gone for tea in the local village. They’d even visited Indigo at the Hubble’s, enduring an awkward evening of pizza and Pictionary.

They’d also spent an afternoon looking through a scrapbook, of sorts, that Hecate had compiled over the years - page after page of places that Hecate had dreamed of visiting. The book held dozens of locations from all over the world, each page filled with carefully cut and glued pictures, meticulously researched descriptions, and a list of things Hecate wanted to do there. Finally, Pippa couldn’t take it anymore. Let’s go, she’d said, open it up to a random page and let’s go.

And in the biggest shock of a week of big shocks, Hecate had agreed.

So here she was, sitting in a hotel room in Louisiana, with Hecate. And they were friends again. Really friends. Maybe on their way to being more than friends. She hoped so. It didn’t matter that there were two beds in this hotel room. She was here. Hecate was here. The rest would come. Or it wouldn’t. She still had more than she’d ever thought she’d have again with Hecate. She had Hiccup back - a Hiccup who was suddenly worried about how she looked in a sundress.

Hecate rolled her eyes, pointedly ignoring the faint blush creeping across her cheeks. “That’s not what I meant.” She flounced the skirt. “Will I pass as Ordinary?” The fear of being discovered out in the Ordinary world never completely quit squirming in the pit of her stomach - no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise.

Smiling gently, Pippa turned Hecate away from the mirror. “No one who sees you would ever think of you as ordinary, Hiccup. Extraordinary, perhaps, but never ordinary.” She waved her fingers and Hecate’s pocket watch sparkled and shrank down to the size of a small necklace. “But no worries. No one will ever suspect that you’re anything other than a beautiful, intelligent, non-magical woman.” Pippa waited for Hecate to process what she’d said, squeezing her hands again once Hecate nodded. “Dinner first then?”

“Dinner first.”

Pippa magicked their purses into their hands and followed Hecate out of their hotel room and down to the street. It was hard to believe that they’d woken up that morning in their own beds in their own schools. Now, thanks to a bit of magic, here they were, walking shoulder to shoulder down Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Pippa certainly hadn’t expected New Orleans when they’d cast the randomizing spell. She wouldn’t expect Hecate to even have it in her scrapbook. Then again, Hecate had been nothing like Pippa expected since her confinement had been lifted. She’d thought Hecate would be…hesitant…overwhelmed… She’d expected to ease Hecate into her first tentative forays away from Cackle’s.

She did not expect to be dragged along behind Hecate as she rushed out to explore the world she’d only seen through books, television and the internet. It may have been unexpected, but Pippa loved every minute of it.

“Careful, Pipsqueak!” Hecate pulled Pippa out of the street just as a brass band fired up an exuberant rendition of ‘Down by the Riverside’, kicking off what looked like an impromptu parade. “Look! It’s a wedding parade! I was hoping to see one of these while we were here!” She pointed Pippa towards the bride and groom, still in their formal wear, holding hands and twirling fancy parasols as they danced down the street. Hecate bounced and clapped; her infectious enthusiasm soon had Pippa clapping as well.

The band, gleaming brass and crisp white uniforms, marched past, giving way to vibrant flashes of green and gold. Two young men, clad head to toe in elaborate feathered costumes, danced along behind the band. Pippa had never seen so many feathers! The man in gold blew Pippa a kiss when he caught her staring.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they, Pip?” Hecate looked down as a young boy in a tiny tuxedo tugged at her skirt, holding out a stamped handkerchief.

Pippa took in Hecate, smiling and relaxed in her summery dress, the late neon bar lights reflecting a rainbow in her hair. “Very beautiful.” Hecate glanced back at her, a shy smile on her lips.

“Flatterer.” Hecate waved her new handkerchief in Pippa’s face. “Come on, Pipsqueak, let’s take a stroll.” She grabbed Hecate’s hand and pulled her into the street with the rest of the wedding celebrants. “Isn’t this fun?” She waved up to onlookers cheering from the balconies above them. One young man tossed a strand of shiny green beads down to her.

Pippa twirled along behind her, enjoying the way Hecate’s hips swayed to the music. “We don’t even know these people!”

“Doesn’t matter!” Hecate waved her handkerchief at the people still on the sidewalk. “We can still be happy for them, can’t we?” She lifted Pippa’s hand and spun her around. “True love is worth celebrating!”

And waiting for, Pippa thought.

  “Have you ever done this before, sugar?” Beverly, their waitress,

Two sets of wide eyes stared down at the tray of raw oysters. “N-noooo…” Hecate poked at one of the gray blobs glistening in a bed of ice. “Do you just…eat it with a fork?”

“Well, you could…”

Hecate’s head bobbed up and down. “But that wouldn’t be the proper way to do it, would it?” Beverly shook her head ‘no.’ “Very well then, if you don’t mind explaining, we’d rather do it properly, right Pip?”

Pippa’s eyes jerked up from the tray. She really wasn’t sure about this anymore… “What - what are you supposed to do?”

“Well, if you aren’t sure, sugar, you can put the oyster on a cracker, add a little lemon and cocktail sauce, some Tabasco if you want it spicy and then pop that whole thing right in there.”

“And if you are sure?” Hecate asked, struggling to keep a smirk off her face. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Pippa quite so discombobulated.

“Keep it in the shell, add the extras and slurp it up.” Beverly pantomimed tipping an oyster into her mouth. She did enjoy serving oysters to first timers. She noted the dark-haired one had gone a little paler. “Just let me know if I can do anything else for you. Do you need another cocktail, miss?” She gestured at Pippa’s almost empty glass. “You had the French 75, right, sugar?”

“Yes, please,” Pippa thumped the table, “keep ‘em coming, I think.”

“Sure thing. I’ll let you two get down to it.” Beverly turned to go, then paused and turned back. “Don’t forget what they say about oysters, girls.” With that she sashayed to the bar to put in the order for Pippa’s drink.

Pippa still eyed the tray skeptically. “What do they say about oysters?”

Hecate opened a package of crackers, placing one on the small plate in front of Pippa. “I suppose she could be referring to their high zinc content and reputation as brain food.” She squeezed a lemon over two oysters and added a healthy scoop of cocktail sauce. “Or she may be referencing the myth that you should only eat oysters in months that end in the letter ‘R.’” She sprinkled both with a drop of hot sauce. “But my guess is that she’s talking about the lowly oyster’s reputation as an aphrodisiac.” She winked at Pippa and slid one of the doctored oysters onto the cracker on Pippa’s plate. “On three?”

Pippa sat up straighter upon hearing the part about the aphrodisiac. Not that she needed any help in that department – Hecate couldn’t be more attractive as far as she was concerned. “Well, you hardly need to ply me with oysters, Hiccup. Whenever you’re ready, I promise you that I am.”

“I know. And… thank you for being patient, Pip. I know we’ve waited our whole lives to be together, but…” Here her smile faltered. Putting her jumble of feelings into coherent sentences always seemed to be too much.

“Hecate,” Pippa covered Hecate’s hand with her own. “We are together. In New Orleans. About to eat oysters.” She gave Hecate’s hand a squeeze. “It’s more than I ever hoped for, darling. Now, before I lose my nerve. ONETWOTHREE!” Pippa scooped up the cracker and stuffed the whole thing in her mouth before she could change her mind. “Mmpf… not tha’ badth.”

Hecate scrambled to keep up, tossing her oyster back with enough force to send a bit of juice dribbling down her chin. She chewed…and chewed… her frown deepening. “Ugh…” Forcing herself to swallow, she grabbed the first thing that came to hand – her cocktail, a Sazerac that chased the oyster down with fiery rye whiskey. “That was… Merlin’s knickers, that was unpleasant.”

“Try it with the cracker,” Pip grinned, putting together the next oyster. “Maybe you’ll like it better that way.”

“Maybe after another drink. Or two.” She took a sip of her water before accepting her cracker from Pippa. It was going to be a long meal.

  By the time the third young man sloshed neon-colored alcohol out of what appeared to be a goldfish bowl on her dress, Bourbon Street had lost its charms for Pippa. She discretely cast another cleaning spell and steered them away from a pair of young women who were shouting at each other. Hecate was still looking everywhere at once, like a child visiting a candy store for the first time. Pippa gritted her teeth and grinned bigger, marveling at everything that Hecate pointed out.

The breeze shifted, cooler air blowing across Pippa’s skin. She looked up, but it was too dark to see if there were any clouds or not. She looked down in time to see a young man carrying a string bass disappear into a courtyard. “Look, Hiccup!” She pulled Hecate along behind her, “it looks like there may be a band setting up.”

They passed under a gate that read “Musical Legends Park” and it was like stepping into another world. Lush plants surrounded a small courtyard filled with wrought iron bistro tables and life-sized statues of famous musicians. A tiered fountain splashed merrily in the middle of it all. Pippa nudged Hecate into place next to a statue of “Fats” Domino and pulled out her cell phone to take a picture. “Shall we grab a table, Hiccup? They should be starting soon?” She pointed to the tiny stage where a band was indeed setting up. “There’s a table,” she said, lacing her fingers with Hecate’s and pulling her to the empty table nestled in the back. “Café Beignet… what do you say, darling? We haven’t had beignets yet. Shall I go order for us?”

“Oh, I think so. And… a coffee? An iced coffee.” Hecate pulled the two chairs at the table around to the same side so they could see the stage. A red and blue neon sign glowed ‘Steamboat Willie’ behind the band. She watched Pippa swish her way through the tables to the counter. Her stomach fluttered along with the hem of Pippa’s dress.

Pippa was back in no time, coffees and order number in hand. She settled in next to Hecate just as the band started up a jazzy rendition of ‘I Get A Kick Out of You.’  

Halfway through the song, Hecate leaned over and whispered into Pippa’s ear. “I do, you know, get a kick out of you.” Pippa turned, smiling back at her. “I’m so glad you’re here with me, Pipsqueak.” She leaned imperceptibly closer, glancing down as Pippa licked her lips. “I love—”

“Half a dozen beignets?” The scent of sugar flooded over them as the waitress placed a cardboard basket of pastries on the table.

Pippa groaned as she leaned back in her chair, the mood broken. “Thank you!” She mustered up as much enthusiasm as she could, but it wasn’t much.

“Our timing is as good as it ever was,” Hecate said, chuckling. “Why is there so much sugar?”

Pulling the basket closer, Pippa breathed in the aroma of warm sugar. “The real question is why doesn’t everything get this much sugar?” Waggling her eyebrows at Hecate, Pippa took a huge bite of beignet, promptly covering half of her chest in powdered sugar. “Oooh, Hiccup… iss wonnerful!” She spewed even more powdered sugar when she tried to speak.

Hecate nibbled at a corner of hers, keeping her dress immaculate. “It’s lovely.” She quirked an eyebrow in Pippa’s direction. “As are you. Even if you’re coated in sugar.”

“Especially if I’m coated in sugar?”  She bit into her pastry again – slow and sexy. Or would have been if she hadn’t ended up with powdered sugar on the end of her nose.

“Let’s find out.” Before she could lose her nerve, Hecate leaned forward and pressed her lips to Pippa’s, kissing her softly at first, then harder, letting the taste of coffee, sugar and Pippa burn itself into her memory. She broke this kiss when she realized her hands were sliding up Pippa’s thighs. “Yes,” she panted, “especially.”

Pippa roared with laughter, coming back for another quick kiss before laughing again. “Good to know.” She dragged a finger through the powdered sugar and booped Hecate on the nose. “You’re pretty sweet too, darling.” She jerked her chin towards the beignets. “Still think they have too much sugar on top?”

Reaching up, Hecate gently brushed the sugar from Pippa’s face, never breaking eye contact. “I think, Pipsqueak, that I’m ready to have a bit more sweetness in my life.”

[himboholhorse-moving]

1 2 4 7 8 9 13 18 20 26 27 29 30 32 39 40 41 43/44 45 46 49 51 53 55 56 57 59 63 65 that is. so many dghsdghsdgv I'm sorry I just see an ask meme and go crazy aaaa go stupid aaaa. You can just answer whichever u like from those!! also 69(nice): you seem rly nice and funny from your 🅱️osts and I appreciate u... I hope you can find better irl friends who aren't trash

HDSKFJKS I completely understand but lucky for u I LOVE to talk !!

1) How are you?

Pretty good, actually!! Which is a nice change of pace. I went to Walmart with some friends yesterday and got a few things, baked a family recipe that my friends LOVE, and finally did my laundry (it’s been a couple weeks we love depression and executive dysfunction dfhkjsfd). I went to Cracker Barrel with some friends and earlier and played a 4-way game of Tetris after. :3c

2) Post a picture of yourself.

Here you go !!

4) What is your entire name?

Sierra Alexis and my last name is something constantly misspelled so I’ll give you the name of a historical figure whose name is a letter off from mine: George B. McClellan, to whom I may or may not be related because last name variations are fuckin’ WEIRD.

7) Your zodiac/horoscope and if you think it fits your personality.

I’m a Capricorn sun and moon, and Libra rising !! And from what I’ve read on Twitter from various astrologers, like Milkstrology, I LOVE her, I’d say it’s pretty accurate with my personality!! I like to say Capricorn’s aren’t cold bitches but, I Have A Tendency To Be One !!

8) What did you do on your last birthday?

God what DID I do on my last birthday… it was in January, so like, I SHOULD remember… OH I went to IHOP with my friends !! I share a birthday with another friend and I got a JoJo notebook and something called a Fuggler! They’re stuffed animals more or less but designed to be “ugly.” I got one that looks like Philadelphia Flyers mascot Gritty because I LOVE Gritty… he’s so fun and funky.

9) What is one thing you’d like to accomplish before your next birthday?

Get all my requests in my inbox over on my writing blog done KJHFDJKSF it’s been a few months and life has been. Hectic to say the least.

13) If you could change your eye color, would you?

There’s so much weird as hell brown-eye-phobia so like… I think blue eyes would be pretty neat. OR PURPLE… give me some unnatural eye colors pls...

18) Do you have any tattoos?

Not yet!! I’m going to get one the next time I go back home for break. :3c And I have a few ideas for other ones!! I wanna get a big-ass “Dragon Age: Origins” tattoo that’s the dragon on the cover on my thigh. I also wanna get a DA2 and “Inquisition” tattoo… and the Joestar birthmark… too many ideas… 

20) Left or right handed?

Right-handed !! I could have been left-handed or ambidextrous if I broke my arm AFTER I started kindergarten, but alas that was before.

26) Something you are working on right now:

This !! But also the script for my next podcast episode that I record on uhhh Monday I think. Should probably figure that one out dsjfjhsf

27) Do you have any “rules” about food?

I answered that in the last ask !!

29) What would you say is your best quality?

I also answered this in the last ask !!

30) What do you think you’re really good at?

Writing, I’d say! And memorizing trivia about the stuff I’m super into. If it’s stuff pertaining to “M*A*S*H” or old movies or TV shows or actors or specific historical events, I will know that shit FOR LIFE. Don’t ask me to do math pls thank u

32) What talent do you wish you’d been born with?

I wish I was able to do stuff with music. That was never really in my blood, despite all the music classes they make you take in elementary school. I just never learned how to memorize or read sheet music. :/ I would have loved to play violin, tho… my friend plays and she says I would have been a good cellist.

39) Do you sleep with a stuffed toy?

YES… have for years. I still have my Care Bear from when I was 5, Gritty as mentioned above, a plush of my school’s mascot, and a little Fugo !! He’s so tiny.

40) What do you think about the most?

Everything and constantly and all at once. But the past really because I can never let stuff go and even the small things I mess up on haunt me forever… Wish that wasn’t the case but it is !!

41) Share two habits:

Biting my nails and having a very specific routine in which I get ready when I wake up. Like, I’ve gotta go brush my hair before I put my important cards in my left pocket, then put on my silver bracelet, then my beaded bracelet, then my earbuds in my right pocket, then put my earrings in. I HAVE to do it in that order…

And other oddities that include, like, if I need to go around something I HAVE to follow the urge to go one way and not the other, lest I feel the need to go back and fix it. And then which foot goes first before I reach a crack in the sidewalk, or up or down a curb, etc.

43) What are your career goals?

If I can just make people happy or get some kind of joy out of the things I do, I’d call that enough. :)

44) What is your ideal career?

Mmm, either a film historian or a film professor !! Preferably at the college I’m at right now but wherever the wind takes me, I’ll go! Or a Twitch streamer or YouTuber, it really depends on my mood jdhfjskf

45) Is your life anything like it was two years ago?

It was pretty much the same !! Freshman year was pretty lively, I didn’t have a job on campus yet though, or my podcast. Everything else is basically the same!

46) Do you replay things that have happened in your head?

CONSTANTLY… good or bad it’ll play back over and over and over again.

49) Do you have any phobias?

HOO BOY, DO I… fear of heights; fear of insects/bugs/arachnids/bees/wasps; I have a strong dislike of the number 13 but I don’t know if it’s a phobia, I just. REALLY hate it; the unknown, more or less what lurks somewhere beyond where I can see. Not so much a fear of the dark with that one, just what could BE in it.

51) Are you allergic to anything? If so, what?

I answered this in my last ask, as well!

53) Ever come close to death?

Two or three times, maybe? Two of them involved what’s called a laryngospasm, typically it can happen when your sick, which is what happened to me both times. Basically your throat just closes up on your for a hot minute and you can’t breathe. The first time I genuinely thought I was going to die (and my dad still sent me to school that day… HOE), the second time I was also sick and was losing/had lost my voice DURING A JOB RETREAT and it happened in the middle of the night so that was funny sitting there gasping for breath in the pitch dark.

At the FIRST retreat I went on for that job, you had to take pictures as part of a scavenger hunt, and the place used to be an old military fort, so there were still the old bunkers there. We had to take one on top of it and I was taking the picture, and it’s a wide shot so I go to take a step back but before I do I look behind me. If I hadn’t I would have fallen a good 10-15 feet down onto solid Civil War-era bunker concrete. I’d consider that being a “close to death” moment because I really could have died!

55) A random fact about yourself:

I have a half-brother !! My sis and I finally found him after her 23andMe results came back (which she decided to do despite us being like THE GOVERNMENT WILL COLLECT OUR DATA) and we didn’t think our mom would be happy she found him but she was !! My sis might reach out and contact him, she just wanted our mom’s permission first to do it.

56) What are three things most people don’t know about you?

Well, that I have a half-brother. I don’t mention it a lot. Aside from y’all on here and my sister, most everyone else doesn’t know I’m nonbinary! Everyone else knows I’m bi though lmao. And that there were times I’d stretch or bend the truth or lie about something just to impress someone else. It’s a… Bad Habit. Another thing is that most people don’t know I like coffee? Like I need to put a shit ton of creamer in with it because I’m a Bitch, but yeah.

57) An unknown fact about your life:

I wouldn’t call this an “unknown” fact but I’d used to go to work with my dad every now and again when he worked at the Home Depot and he was assistant manager. I’d either chill in the back room which was an office he shared with two other guys, or walk around the store with him. I had my own apron, too, which was my name with “Mini Mac” next to it, “Mac” being my dad’s nickname and something easier to say than my last name. I actually helped a few customers out so I wonder if I should have gotten paid for that despite being like, ages 9-13 when I’d go jshfkjd

And I guess I technically tested video games as a kid? Basically, when my dad was stationed at Fort Knox, they’d get demos of video games that hadn’t come out yet to test I suppose? and I still have a few somewhere. He’d hand them off to me and I’d play them so there’s that.

59) Five weird things that you like:

Eating globs of wasabi for no reason.

Scaring my friends also for no reason.

I wouldn’t say using cotton swabs to get wax out of your ears because it feels good is weird, just more medically inadvisable if anything.

When I was younger I’d like to floss really hard because the slight pain from it felt good. Young me was a #Freaque KJHDFJJDHF

I don’t know if being fond of alphabetizing and reorganizing things is considered weird but I LOVE doing that.

63) A quote you try to live by:

“It matters not how strait the gate, / How charged with punishments the scroll; / I am the master of my fate: / I am the captain of my soul.” It’s from the poem “Invictus” and the last two lines are what I’m getting tattooed !!

65) Weird things you do when you’re alone:

Practice the “Lucky Star” dance. I GOT THE LYRICS DOWN… JUST NEED TO DO THE DANCE NOW…

69) Leave me a compliment:

“you seem rly nice and funny from your 🅱️osts and I appreciate u... I hope you can find better irl friends who aren't trash”

Anon pls 🥺 I do my best to be nice but my friend really do test me sometimes... my feelings bounce back n forth like if they do something my feelings can switch to angry or like, hate, and then if they do something nice I’ll like them again. It sucks but ! I just take it one day at a time. Anon I care for u 💜💜💜

[keeblistories]

Love languages

I now have a website at sadiemcoley.home.blog. Follow me there to read more of my work!

“Glad to see you’re finally awake.” The hero’s voice jumps into the villain’s ears, startling them fully conscious.

“Glad to see your voice is still irritating,” the villain retorts. The hero grabs the villain’s face and squeezes tightly, a smile dancing on their lips.

“You’re the one tied up, so I wouldn’t be so quick to insult me.” That grin is vicious. The villain snorts and rolls their eyes which causes them to get dizzy. They clench their teeth so it doesn’t show.

“What are you going to do to me? Torture me?” The villain pulls their head back suddenly and sharply before biting at the hero’s hand. The hero manages to pull back before the villain can sink their teeth into them. In return, the hero slaps the villain harshly across the cheek.

“Ooh,” the villain taunts, “I think I liked that. Do it again.” The hero scowls and grabs the villain’s shirt, pulling them tight against the restraints.

“I don’t appreciate the attitude, honey.” The two are face to face and the villain can’t help but smirk. They look between the hero’s eyes only to notice a faint splash of pink washed over their cheeks. Then they notice the way the hero’s thumb rubs idle circles against the villain’s clavicle. How very interesting, they think, taking note.

“Oh really?” The villain purrs, leaning forward until they are brushing noses with the hero. They see the hero swallow, thick.

The hero smacks the villain again before storming off up a flight of stairs, slamming a door behind their self.

The next time they fight, the villain raises their fists in front of them. The hero raises an eyebrow, but before they can comment on the villain’s unusual lack of weapons, the villain is shooting forward and swinging their fists at the hero. Admittedly, the villain uses weapons for a reason: they aren’t coordinated at all. But their hypothesis had been correct because the hero seemingly backs off to account for the villain’s lack of skills instead of easily over taking them. This makes the villain grin wildly. They’ve found the hero’s weak spot.

This goes on for months: the villain fist fights the hero who goes easy until the villain runs off until their next scuffle. Then one day, the villain shows up with a tranquilizer and the hero has no time to process the change before they’re thudding heavily to the ground, unconscious.

The hero wakes up in a spotless living room with the villain on their lap, smiling slyly.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” The hero’s head lolls as the drugs slowly leave their system.

“How did I get here…? Where am I?”

“You’re at a super special, top secret location my dear.” The villain drags a finger over the hero’s parted lips and hums to their self. The villain tuts as the hero’s eyes begin to shut. “Stay awake for me, darling. You and I have special plans for tonight.” With that, the villain stands and walks over to a chic coffee table adorned with various weapons and dangerous tools.

“You know,” the villain begins as they toy with each item on the table, “it is simply astounding that you couldn’t catch on to what I was doing.” The villain picks up a knife – one of their favorites and freshly sharpened – and heads back over to the hero who is beginning to appear more lucid. The hero swallows when the villain resituates their self on the hero’s lap.

“What exactly is it that you were doing?” The hero’s eyes follow the languid swiping of the knife through the air as the villain shrugs dismissively.

“Discovering your weakness, of course.”

“My weakness?” Even if the hero’s face remains composed and cool, the villain can feel their heart pounding in their chest at the words. The villain nods.

“My dear, sweet hero. You let it slip when you had me in your grasp.” At this, the villain reaches out the hand not holding the knife and cups the hero’s cheek. Immediately and seemingly without thought, the hero’s eyes close and they tilt their face into the villain’s hand. “You never told me that your love language is touch.”  The hero’s eyes pop open.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” the villain purrs, “that you like me.” The hero looks aghast.

“I-”

“Shh,” the villain murmurs. “It was hard to tell for all of those years when we spent all of our time apart at the account of me typically using long range weaponry.” The villain grins a wide, toothy grin at the memories. “But you capturing me and blushing, God, it was absolutely adorable and downright stupid.” The hero’s eyes widen as a familiar flush of pink dots their jaw and down their neck. The villain uses the tip of the knife to guide the hero’s head back so they can examine the brilliant splotches with a contented hum. The hero’s throat bobs when they swallow.

“So what? I like you, you twisted bastard. Are you going to kill me for it?” The villain lowers the knife and traces their fingertips over the hero’s lips and down until it rests over their rapidly beating heart. They shake their head.

“Of course not. I like you, too, unfortunately.” The hero blanches.

“What?”

“I like you too, you imbecile.” The villain shifts on the hero’s lap and sighs before sliding the knife into the hero’s shirt and cutting a jagged line down the front from their navel to the collar. “My love language, in case you were interested, is quality time. And boy oh boy have we spent some quality time together over the years. I only just recently realized how morose I get whenever we’re apart for too long.” The villain swipes leisurely over the hero’s fast rising chest.

“Forgive me if this is a dumb question,” the hero starts, catching the squint the villain sends their way, “but if you like me, why exactly am did you tranqualize me and bring me here to tie me up and tell me this?” The villain laughs at this.

“Of course not, that isn’t a dumb question all. You’re quite astute.” The villain snickers and rests the tip of the blade on the hero’s sternum. “I brought you here because I decided that I want to try something out with you. I mean, we do both like each other, after all.” When the villain presses into the knife ever so slightly, the hero shifts uncomfortably.

“Then what is the knife for?”

“I want to brand you as mine,” the villain says without hesitation. The hero flinches. “I promise it won’t hurt for that long.” The villain leans forward to press a short kiss to the hero’s lips. Then they trace their free hand into the hero’s hair and scratch lightly at the hero’s scalp.

“Why?” The hero’s question goes unanswered as the villain pulls back and decides on where to put the mark. The villain finally decides on the hero’s left pectoral and digs the knife tip into their flesh until a small bead of blood rises around the knife edge. The hero breathes in sharply and tenses.

“Relax,” the villain murmurs. They massage into the hero’s scalp until the hero’s eyes are closed and their head is heavy against the villain’s free hand. Then they cut a sharp line. Fast. Without hesitation.

The hero jerks up against the restraints and lets out a hissing ‘fuck’. The villain threads their fingers through the hero’s hair before following the first slice with two more successive cuts until their initials are scrawled and bloody into the hero’s chest. The hero heaves and pulls against the restraints as tears well in their eyes.

“Shh, you did so well. Now we’re done.” The villain continues shushing the hero as they drape their self over the hero’s front, letting their hands roam and touch over every inch of the hero until they hear nothing but gentle breathing filling the room.

The villain is startled when arms encircle them and pull them into a tight embrace. They try to look up, but the hero holds them firm against their chest.

“I think we should have some quality time together now.” The hero’s voice rumbles from out of their chest. The villain tenses and attempts to pull away. “It’s only fair that I mark what’s mine as well, don’t you think?”

After that night, the hero and villain still fought, but on dark nights tucked away in distant places, they would satisfy each other of their needs with scribbled letters of initials carved into each other’s chests and their differences put aside until the next battle.

[katalyna-rose]

Infuriating

Just a bit from DnD yesterday with @zanidragon @empresstress13 and @shiftyarchfey that I felt the need to write. We had to make a deal with an asshole to get a vengeful ghost contained and put to rest, but since the ghost used to me my character’s friend she won’t leave it alone because she doesn’t trust anyone. It led to a fun little bit about being trapped in an inn room with a hot guy who has some issues, and I just needed to write about it.

---

The room was stifling, and far too small, and Naema wasn’t even allowed to touch anything. There was so much stuff! She just wanted to see, and she knew better than to take any of his things; she’d never get away with it. But her hands were idle, fiddling with the strands of various bits she liked the texture of that she wore in lieu of a shirt, and it was awful. Her strings of “beads” weren’t enough to keep her occupied any longer, even the ones she’d braided into her hair for added textural interest. She gave up on the beads and paced like a trapped tiger, but her seemingly eternal companion did not seem to notice.

You did it to yourself, she reminded herself as she scowled at the back of his head. You could have just given him the damn Jar of Ghost and hung out in the inn below. Could have asked Val to- No, not Val. Val had been dragged through way too much already. Val deserved a break, to go home and not have to deal with this latest shitstorm. It was why she left Val behind whenever she left town; she was too likely to get herself hurt, and couldn’t stand the thought of Val getting hurt too. Well, still could have just hung out downstairs, anyway. But now that I’m here, now that I’ve made this choice, I”ll be damned if I’m leaving.

She plopped down on the bed for a while, playing with the frayed edge of the blanket, but she made herself stop before she ripped it apart. Sliding to the floor with a sigh, she started stretching, hoping it would help her feel a little less trapped. Twisting her body, contorting into whatever weird shapes might make her feel better once her muscles were loose, was entertaining only for a little while. She hopped back up to her feet and trotted over to look over her companion’s shoulder for a while, careful to keep enough of a distance that his fucking snake didn’t try anything again. But whatever he was doing wasn’t something she was familiar with and it looked like he was reading what was essentially gibberish to her, a bunch of random letters strung into words interspersed with actual words, at least in the parts that were written in a tongue she knew.

Boring. He wasn’t this boring before. He was aggravating and haughty and intentionally obtuse, but not boring. She could at least be entertained by thoughts of throttling him, but now she didn’t even want to do that anymore. She sat on the windowsill beside him and lowered her upper body through it before he could complain that she was in his light. At least if he tipped her over the edge she’d have something to do as she fell…

But he didn’t seem to notice her. She sighed heavily as she gazed at the street far below, still absolutely covered in vermin for no apparent reason. She stayed there as the tingling in her head got more intense because at least it was some sort of sensation, something to think about for a while. She had to cross her arms to keep herself from losing any of her strings of “beads” to the nastiness below, but she stayed there and scowled at them as her face grew redder with pooling blood. Until she remembered the ravens. Oh, yeah, they were staring at her, all eight pairs of those creepy and too-intelligent eyes trained on her because she was the only one dumb enough to be seen outside, probably. Time to nope out of that.

She sat up too quickly, her vision going dark as she slid back down to the floor. She rubbed her eyes as sight returned and glared at her companion, but he was still absorbed in his work. He hadn’t even stopped for lunch, though she’d eaten something out of her bag. Finally, she decided it was enough. He wasn’t supposed to be this boring, and it didn’t suit his pretty face to be so still and focused.

She crawled over to him and ran her hands up his calves. “You’ve been at it for ages,” she purred. He didn’t acknowledge her. Her hands massaged their way up his thighs. “Aren’t you tired? Aren’t your eyes crossing from all the reading?”

“No,” Kharvas finally growled, the first acknowledgement of her existence since he chucked her out of his bed after mentioning their odd dream that morning.

Naema pouted for a moment before trying again, getting to her feet to drape herself carefully across his shoulders, hoping his snake was somewhere else. She ran her hands across his chest, warming him with her body. “Everybody needs a break,” she breathed into his ear. “Even weirdos reading strange books acquired from suspicious individuals.”

He looked at her for the first time that day, one brow raised and a smirk tugging at one corner of his lips. “This is how you attempt to seduce me?” he drawled lazily, and she grinned because she had his attention. “By calling me names?”

She trailed her fingertips lightly over his lips, watching the way the soft flesh yielded to the slight touch. “If I attempted to seduce you with flattery, you’d accuse me of being false. And you’d be right. Isn’t it so much more refreshing to be honest about certain things?” she asked, leaning close to speak above his mouth. “I want something from you. You want something from me. Right now, you could use a break. I want you to take a break with me because I’m going out of my head with boredom.”

“You don’t have to be here,” he began, but she put her fingers over his lips again.

“I know that,” she reminded him, now nibbling on his jawbone. “But here I am, and here I will stay, because I’m too stubborn for anything else. You need a break, I need a distraction. You’re an ass, but you’re also really hot. So here we are.”

His eyes danced and his lips curled. But he gave her what she asked for, and when her lips were swollen and her body was sated she laid peacefully on his bed while he resumed his work and was content to draw patterns in the drying sweat on her skin for the rest of the evening. “Ah, much better,” she sighed to herself, smiling at the back of his infuriating head.