#its almost KINDA green under a certain shade

[skrs-cats]

Could you draw dovewing please?

yes

[uselesssomebody]

𝕗𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕪 𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕤 - eddie munson x sex worker!reader (nsfw)

complete masterlist | stranger things masterlist | eddie munson masterlist

“𝕚 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕙𝕖𝕣” - her | chase atlantic

words || 𝟞𝕜

summary || in which eddie spends a night with a woman of the night - who's also his ex best friend

a/n || it is so embarrassing that a white man has a chokehold on me like this. you're a special breed, joe quinn, you are. god put some garam masala in you for sure. also this is kinda dogshit hahaha. more eddie tho, so strap in ➵ ! allusions to smut ! , making in 18+ content. please do NOT interact if you are under 18 ➵ not yet proofread ➵ send me requests if you have ‘em. enjoy!

warnings || fluff/smutty for like a minute/angst ➵ like super non-descriptive smut for a minute (though it is still 18+ babe, don't try anything, minors)➵ !disclaimer! reader's a sex worker, so some things about that are mentioned. this is not a glamorous take on the life style, and it also bounded by the norms of the 80s. the opinions of the characters on sex work are not my own: it is a totally normal, real job that should be respected. understand that this is through a certain lens for the point of storytelling

her hands absentmindedly fiddled with the hem of the skirt she was wearing. it wasn’t exactly like the pristine, white and green clothes that the cheerleaders wore, though it was just as short. no, it was a dark navy, and it didn’t exactly have attached athletic shorts.

similarly, the tank-top she was wearing wasn’t exactly made for the september weather, with the occasional smattering of goosebumps appearing on her arms, even in the warmer classroom. she didn’t make any attempt to cover herself though; instead, she was reminded to stick her chest out just a little bit further and to fix her posture.

she could feel several pairs of eyes looking at her, and she placed a look of innocent focus on her face, staring up at the teacher, though she could not care less about what he was saying. finally, she turned her head just a slightest bit to see the guy next to her staring at her tits almost unashamedly, and, when he caught her eye, she tried to return his bright smile. gross.

but she supposed this was all part of it - the job. advertise the goods, reel in customers, get ‘em to really stick. it worked well enough, and she usually had the ability to rake in a solid income of 30 to 50 dollars on most days. it was enough to pay the bills anyways.

she heard the bell ring, and she was out of her seat smoothly. knowing the guy behind her had been ogling all lesson, she bent over slightly as she gathered the rest of her things, walking out of the room with a forced but subtle sway to her hips. just routine, really.

she reaches her locker with just a few glances thrown in her direction, and she almost immediately notices the upside-down envelope at the bottom of her locker. she doesn’t look at it right away, though, knowing its contents already, as she instead focuses on putting her notebook away.

finally, she flips the paper over, being careful to make sure it can’t be seen by any particularly curious passer-bys. the front’s also blank, so she slips her fingers into the unsealed opening, fumbling until she feels three separate pieces of paper. pulling them out, she realizes she’s holding two 5 dollar bills, and a note.

down payment. boiler room alleyway. - c.r.

it was from a regular, and she pressed her newly acquired 10 bucks into the bottom of her hand bag. the small mirror she had hung on the door of her locker was what she then used to fix her appearance, tousling her hair so that it fell better over her face, reapplying a thick layer of mascara to her eyes, and applying a darker shade of red to her lips. the product transferred easily - which was actually preferable for her, as guys adored seeing those red stains.

she had a slight headache as she walks towards the back alley between the school building and the boiler room. no one ever came in there, and it had become the base of most of her operations.

chase was waiting for her there, with a smile that screamed that he was just a little too excited. she placed her handbag down as she neared him, and let out a small ‘oomph!’ as he pulled her into a hug. he was always one of the more touchy ones, but she could hear the crinkle of bills in his pocket, so she breathed a sigh of relief as she let his hands travel from their conservative hold of her waist and down to cup her ass. she lets out a fake, playful gasp, as if he didn’t do this every time.

he ate it up, though.

he’d handed her the money as soon as he’d let her go, tapping his foot rather impatiently as she placed the remaining 30 dollars into her bag.

he’s always a little rough with her after that, not even pulling his trousers down past his ass and not doing much more than letting her unbutton the top two of her blouse, pulling her tits so that they rested over the constricting fabric. her knees hit the gravelly pavement with some force, knowing her tights would, at best, be quite dusty when she stood back up.

she knew his type, only paying for a blowjob and rushing his way through it, leaving her chin glossy and her jaw sore, with a lopsided, though satisfied, grin on his face. he worried almost as much about someone seeing them and his reputation being ruined as he did about actually getting his rocks off.

she had a packet of tissues in her bag that she reached for as he zipped himself back up, taking another moment to collect himself.

“goddamn, that was money well spent.” she smiled, but it didn’t really feel like a compliment.

“duly noted, chase. you know i have other options, right?” she did, with different rates for different acts. he never seemed to differ from this one, though.

“next thursday?” he ignored her prompt, and she pursed her lips at his response.

“if you bring the cash.”

when she was 5 years old, she wanted to be a fairy princess. she would prance around, swaddled in her blankets to mimic a ballgown, with a spoon in her hand to mimic a wand, and with a thick hoop-shaped toy from when she was a little younger balanced precariously on her head, to mimic a crown. her father would play with her as she pretended to enchant him, as her mother would add decorations to her adorable ensemble.

when she was 12, she wanted to be an astronaut, with galaxy-themed pictures littered all over her room. she’d read every book the library had to offer on space, and had watched vhs after vhs about the moon landings. she had just the ittiest, bittiest little crush on neil armstrong, but she found him more to be cool that anything else. her mother would walk her to the library to rent out the books, and her dad would go to family video to find movies centered on sci-fi and space, and they’d all watch star-trek reruns on the weekend.

when she was 14, she wanted to be a teacher, as she’d begun to tutor some younger kids. her mother worried for her, but she worried more for herself. her father didn’t care where she’d been. he didn’t care about anything except his younger colleagues anymore.

when she was 16, she wanted to graduate. she wanted to get into college, maybe travel and visit california, before settling down somewhere that felt like home, a small town just like hawkins - as long as it wasn’t hawkins. her mother would work late nights and curse at her as she tried to clean up the deteriorating house. her father had stopped calling a year ago.

when she turned 18, she’d been kicked out of her house with just a suitcase and 100 bucks to her name.

it wasn’t too bad, though, enough for rent for a few months in a house on the outskirts of town as she tried to figure out what she could do to work. she’d debated finding a minimum wage job - maybe a clerk, or a fast-food employee, or baby-sitting. that had been until she read about something in a rather taboo magazine - sex work.

she was, frankly, disgusted by the notion, until she realized how much it paid. if you had an audience - that is - and, unfortunately, she did. she was subject to hoots and whistles anytime she’d walk past her male classmates, her assets drawing the attention of every shitty guy in a mile radius.

that’s where it had started - teasing guys until they’d be willing to pay to have sex with her. word traveled fast, and her small business had become successful over the past few months. her clients included regulars, guys who wanted to lose their virginity, guys with frigid girlfriends, guys with no game, and guys who had a lot of money to blow.

the women of hawkins high hated her. the men degraded her. she clutched the bills in her hand a little tighter, remembering what it was all for, as the cold air sliced into her arms once again. her eyes prickled as she thought of that sweet 5 year old she once was, sighing softly.

being a fairy princess is overrated anyways.

eddie could tell she was cold.

he could tell that no one else was noticing that - and why would they? they were admiring her beauty, as he had done so many times before. he supposed it was different, though, as he knew their appreciation was one only interested in the superficial: the swell of her tits and the curve of her ass. he liked to think his was just a little bit more intimate, as he thought about how nice the slightly crude flower nail art was on her nails, or how her pencil was definitely tapping along to the rhythm of crazy little thing called love.

how did he know that?

well, because it had somehow remained a song that she loved for the past 6 years. impressive, he knows, but he gets it. queen does have that effect on people. he still remembers handing her the cassette with that song as the first track, watching her face morph from slight unsure to excitement as the song continued playing. she’d given him a big hug after that, joyously telling him that she couldn’t wait to hear the rest of it.

sure, they hadn’t talked for nearly 3 years now, but that wasn’t really anyone’s fault. some people just drift apart, you know?

she and eddie had never exactly been attached at the hip, but they did talk a lot in middle school. he’d been two grades above her, and he’d always acted as more of a guide than anything when they’d first met. feeling decidedly lost in one of the school hallways, he had been the one to help her back to class. when feeling unsure what exactly to look for in the library, he’d given her a ton of suggestions. and when she had sat on the hill behind the recess playground, crying because of a bully, he had tentatively put an arm around his shoulder, trying to console her with soft words and light jokes.

they had become close friends - as close as you could be in middle school, when you didn’t share classes. she remembered being heartbroken when he’d gotten a buzzcut, already missing his long, wavy locks. he remembered her, very poorly trying to play guitar, and him helping her to learn her first chord just as she was about to give up.

eddie sometimes wondered who the girl in his history class was, considering how different she was from his middle-school friend. she’d stopped speaking to him when he was about 16, and she was 14, and he’d noticed her coming to school with sullen faces, and ever-present, faint black mascara streaks on her cheeks. she stopped speaking to - well - everyone by then, and, to the rest of hawkins high, she’d sort of just faded into the wall.

not for him, though. he’d always wonder if she was alright, but she never gave him the chance to ask.

then, as she finally stepped up to join him as a senior, the student body collectively found a renewed interest in her. at first, he attributed it to her sudden change in style and behavior, but, through word-of-mouth, he was quick to realize that that was only a small, small part of it.

he had been shocked by the career choice, as he never really imagined the girl he knew - the girl that so badly wanted to be an astronaut - to make it. he didn’t really care, though - figuring it was her choice, until he realized - nay, remembered - just how sad she seemed all the time.

he remembered the genuine smile she’d beamed when he’d given her a small saturn keychain to her on her 13th birthday. he wished he’d see it again.

care to meet an old friend? you’ll find me at the forest clearing behind the football field, 3:30.

the note’s eccentric, and the handwriting’s a little erratic. she could tell this wasn’t one of her regulars, as they always tended to be more direct with their messages, and almost always made sure to include a down payment. this note had neither, and it ended up infiltrating her thoughts constantly through the rest of the day.

finally, when the clock had struck 3:00, she found a little bit of a bounce in her step as she made her way to her locker. she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something about the note screamed fun, exciting. she hadn’t had that in ages. and - to be quite frank - there was something childish about it all. she knew it was a little odd to think, considering what the she figured the note-writer would want from her, but she clung on to that innocence as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

without too much attention to her surroundings, she slowly - discreetly - made her way to the football field, around its fence, and to the small trail that led into the woods behind it. she listened to the soft crunch of leaves behind her feet, listening to the small melodies of birds in the distance.

finally, she finds the spot - a secluded, as described in the note, forest clearing with a bench at the center of it. she looks around and, seeing no one, places her bag down, sitting at the edge of the bench. she glances down at her nails, picking nervously at a hangnail. she cringes a little at the splotchy daisy design that she had attempted to make on them. when she’d finally finished it over the weekend, she’d been real proud of it, but as the days continued, she found herself hating it.

she’d spaced out, so she doesn’t have much time for a reaction between hearing footsteps behind her and whipping around. so, instead, her mystery guest places a light hand on her shoulder to guide her look at them.

she gasps in shock at the sudden touch, but she wished she’d saved it for when she’d actually seen them, as her jaw hung open at the face staring back at her.

his black, curly hair was the same as how it had been in middle school, and the smile lines around his smirk was something she still remembered. though, since then, he had grown quite a few inches, and he had just the slightest fuzz of facial hair on his obviously-not-shaved face.

“eddie?” it escapes her in a whisper, but it cuts like a foghorn through the silence.

she gulps, realizing that the job had finally caught up to her. as she looked into his big, doe eyes - the same eyes that she looked into whenever she needed guidance, help, or consolation - and she knew she couldn’t treat him like everyone else.

she couldn’t casually give him a blowjob, or have sex with him. it would hurt her heart too much.

“yeah, hi! how’re you doing?” oh, god, he was talking as if they were good friends, like they’d remained speaking for the past 3 years, like he wasn’t here simply to fulfill his needs. she felt her jaw clench just slightly, in the hopes of not letting a tear escape her.

“i’m fine. my rates are -” as she’s ready to list her regular prices, he stops her by a sudden gesture of reaching and digging into the front pocket of his jeans. he procures a very crumpled note that he’s then pressing into her hand. she looks down in shock, seeing a crinkly 50 dollar bill in her palm.

“uh, i hope that’s enough - i didn’t really know, uh-” she shakes her head, clearing her mind as she pulled her hair into a shallow bun as she reached to unclasp the buttons of her blouse.

“it’s enough, you’re fine.” she knows she’s being far too forward and - honestly - a little pushy, but she wants to just get it over with so that she doesn’t cry in front of him.

“wait - wait, stop.” he lightly grabs at her hands, that were making their way down to her skirt, and he’s got a look of shock on his face when he looks back up at her. his eyes are trained harshly on her hands, as if he’s trying very hard not to let his gaze wander to her chest, “you don’t have to do that.” her mouth falls open a bit in confusion.

“it’s - it’s what you paid for, munson.” he cringes at the use of his last name, the formality of her sentence making the air around them just a little bit more frigid.

“no, i don’t want to do that.” he finally lets go of her hands, gesturing that she can re-button her blouse, as he looks away, threading his fingers through his hair, “i’m paying you that money for your time.”

“my - my what?”

“your time. i just wanna spend some time with you.” the last part’s a little fumbled, and she knows why: this was far out of the realm of what she usually offered.

“spend some time with me? munson, i don’t know-”

“eddie, and you’re fine. i just need ya for a night.” she looked down at the bill in her hand, before shaking her head.

“i - uh, i can’t take this, please just-” she pressed it back into his hand but he didn’t grip it.

“how much will it be? because i really can’t afford over 70-”

“no, no - i can’t charge you for spending time with you! i’m not even giving you anything.”

“you don’t need to-”

“eddie-” he smiled at the switch of moniker, “you’re not paying for anything.” she tried to reason with him, not wanting to look at his face for fear of that soft, understanding expression being on it.

“i am.” she closed her eyes, sucking in a sharp breath.

“look, i’ll spend the evening with you. but you are not paying me.” she curled his fingers around the bill, moving back before he had a chance to give it back to her, “alright?” he looked at her with a small smile, before nodding.

“deal.”

he’d driven them out of the school lot after that, as she fiddled with her sleeves. they weren’t talking much - well, he was trying to start conversation: about his hobbies, about things to do together, about how she was doing. her answers were curt, as a bubble was growing in her throat, and she really didn’t want to cry in front of him.

but how could she stop it? she’d had the biggest crush on the senior since they’d met all those years ago, thinking that he was the kindest, funniest, most talented person in their school. he’d let her ramble and ramble about her various interests, he’d introduced her to good music, he’d entertained her as she, transfixedly, watched him play guitar. he’d been there when she’d been hurting - and even at the very beginning of her parent’s split, letting her stay at his place, or do things with him during those first few months of arguing.

but it was too much. when the arguments had happened once or twice a month, she wasn’t too guilty about sharing the burden with her close friend. but, when they started becoming a weekly (and then a daily) occurrence, she couldn’t continue exploiting his kindness. she couldn’t bear exploiting anyone, owing to her sudden seclusion.

the tape he’d given her - made by yours truly, as he put it - was what she’d listen to all the time, finding the music on the player give her a sense of soothing in her otherwise tumultuous life. it wasn’t as good as the sense of soothing he gave her but, once again, it felt like she was imposing on him.

and did it become so damn hard to see him in the school hallways, pretending she hadn’t seen him and, even if she had, that she didn’t care? it was the worst thing in the world, especially as she saw that the small greetings and waves he through her way fading until his only acknowledgement of her was the occasional glance in her direction. and she couldn’t even complain, as it was all her own fault.

“how’s your mom?” the question takes her out of her thoughts, as it rings out over the soft melody on the radio. when eddie had heard of her father’s initial actions, he’d tried to help her out, which included become acquainted enough with her mother in order to convince the older woman that he wanted to help her daughter. it had worked - which is why her mother had entertained the friendship for that long - and he was always asking to make sure both women were alright. of course, he didn’t know who her mother had become.

“i - uh, i don’t know.” her voice is quiet, and her words are mumbled. out of her peripheral, she can see a look of confusion wash over his face and, out of his peripheral, he can see that she’d become significantly more uncomfortable and upset, and he dropped the subject immediately. instead, he stopped his van in front of the middle of town, a little establishment she’d been previously familiar with in front of her.

“what movies you like? you still a fan of e.t.?” even after her astronaut phase, e.t. had been a comforting classic that he’d been kind enough to go watch with her in theaters. he doesn’t miss the fraction of a smile that graces her lips, nor does he miss the way her eyes light up. he’s quick to get out of his seat, walking over to her side and helping her out in his common, gentlemanly manner. he leads her into the building, ducking his head as he walks in.

immediately, he greets the two clerks, both of whom had been obviously goofing off just a few seconds earlier. there’s no one in there except the four of them, and he’s already striking up a conversation with them. for a moment, she zones out, looking around at the lined shelves of movie rentals.

“- and this is my friend-” he gestured to her, and then individually pointed out the two clerks, introducing them to her. they both smile widely at her, and she’s a little confused. she wasn’t used to positive reactions to her - and she knew that at least the blonde, robin, knew about her, as they shared a history class together.

nonetheless, the girl didn’t say anything, didn’t give any backhanded compliments, didn’t have any look of judgement that was present in her eyes.

“anything you guys’re looking for in particular?” eddie nods, placing his fists lightly on the counter as he tapped it along to the song playing over the speakers in the ceiling.

“yeah, can we rent e.t.? and, oh, do you guys have any suggestions for space or sci-fi movies?” as steve rung up his first request, robin began listing off movies like she was an encyclopedia. as she wrapped up, eddie looked back at her.

“whad’ya wanna watch? i’m personally leaning towards star wars, you watched it before?” she doesn’t say anything, shaking her head. the first movie had always been on her list, but she’d been just a little too young to watch it when it’d come out, “alright, we’ll take a new hope too.” robin nods happily, grabbing a copy.

soon, the two of them were back comfortably in the two front seats of his van, with her holding the two rentals and his hands on the wheel. at least she’s smiling now, even though she’s not saying much, and eddie feels like it’s been a success so far.

he takes her back to his place, knowing wayne won’t be coming back until the afternoon on the next day. he, once again, opens the door for her and helps her out of his car, and similarly helps her into his house.

not much has changed since the last time she was there, nearly 4 years ago. there’s still very basic - yet homey - decorations on the walls, and the kitchen and living room look the same. eddie’s room’s door is slightly ajar, and the multitude of rock band posters were still on his walls, though they were slightly more dusty now, and they were peeling at the corners.

he offered her a drink, which she declined, before lowering down to his haunches in front of the chunky t.v. box in front of the couch. she stands, rather awkwardly, at the front entrance, while he sets up the movie. finally, noticing her lack of movement, he’s quick to usher her in, offering her a drink on her way to the couch.

“no, i’m - uh, that’s alright.” shrugging, he nods, letting her find a semi-comfortable seat on the end of the couch and, realizing her hesitation, he sits down a small distance from her, propping his feet on the table in front of them and his elbow on the arm rest. he presses the on switch for the remote, and, in just a few moments, the opening scenes of e.t. start playing. he looks at her out of the corner of his eyes.

she’s got a bright smile on her face and, in that moment, she looked just like his old friend.

it hadn’t been too late when they’d finally finished the movie and, for the first half of it, they’d both been eerily quiet - her enjoying the movie and him being too worried about saying something to take her out of that joy. then, midway through, she’d let an off-handed comment slip about one of the events and, soon, they were maintaining a semi-frequent dialogue about their opinions on the actions, characters or special effects - the both of them occasionally gasping at or scolding character’s actions in unison. it made her chuckle, and that made him laugh along with her.

now, though, she felt her eyes prickle lightly from a new - yet lesser - wave of tears that overtook her as she remembered the ending they’d just watched. sure, she’d watched the movie tens of times before, but that didn’t stop her from choking up as the extraterrestrial said goodbye.

a thin white object appeared in front of her and, through he blurry eyes, she couldn’t exactly tell what it was. she took it off eddie - who was trying to hand it to her - anyways, and realized that it was a tissue.

“oh my god,” she grins, but the act of her closing her eyes makes her tear slip, and she can hear eddie chuckle slightly as she used the tissue to dab at the corners of her eyes.

“hey, at least you’re better than last time.” by last time, he was referring to when she’d bawled her eyes out in the middle of the theater, clutching his shoulder tightly to find some grounding in her misery. she didn’t know why she was so keen to watch movies that made her cry, but - then again - a lot of movies made her cry.

eddie didn’t think about it like that - he also knew that many movies made her laugh, made her excited, content, scared, or anxious. movies made her feel, and he was happy that he was bearing witness to that once more, as it reminded him of her all that time ago.

she went to reach for the next movie - as a silence had grown between them, and eddie also got up, offering her something to eat. she snorted at that, and he whipped his head around, confused by her reaction.

“i know we haven’t talked much, but i can guarantee you’re still a shit cook.” he scoffed in a playful indignance, waving his hand at her.

“hey, hey, hey! i make a mean tinned macaroni, i’ll have you know.”

“that’s not cooking! that’s just as bad as you saying you can fry an egg and call it a meal.” it’d been something he said when she’d come to him, looking for support from her parents, and he had decided to make her some comfort food. it seemed like a fantastic idea until, of course, he realized he couldn’t cook. so, instead, he’d fried her an egg, plated it, and had sprinkled some pepper on and hoped for the best.

she had loved it. of course, she teased him to hell and back for the lack of a meal in his meal, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t appreciated the effort.

she’s rolling her eyes at the memory as she’s coming down from her giggle, and she looks to see eddie smiling fondly at her. she couldn’t hold his gaze - knowing exactly why he had a look of familiarity in his eyes, and she didn’t want to address it. luckily - or maybe unluckily for her, he did.

“we don’t talk much anymore, huh?” he said it like it was a recent revelation. it was not, “why don’t we?” she didn’t look at him, finding herself more invested in the threads of her skirt.

“i - um, i don’t know why, ed.” that was a nickname she hadn’t used in a while, and it made him want to turn back time - to get back those years that he’d spent without her. after a moment, he moved closer to her: close enough to take her hand in his; close enough to pull her chin to look at him. her eyes were so pretty - so bright, so hopeful and so playful - but the deep sadness in them caused an overcast on his heart.

“i - i liked talking to you.” he sighed, unsure of a poetic way to say it, “i wish i could just do it more.” sure - it was direct, but it got his point across. she gulped, suddenly breaking away from him.

“no - no you don’t.” he looked at her retraction in shock.

“why not?” she looked ready to pack up and leave, but he found himself unable to understand if he’d done anything to provoke it.

“i - i’m not the kind of person you wanna be friends with. i’m - i’m too fucked up.” the last sentence is a whisper and, for a moment he can’t process it.

“you - what’re you talking about?” she crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly wildly self-conscious of the attire she’d chosen for her job.

“i’m - god, eddie - i can’t do this. i need to go home, i’m sorry.” she’d started taking her things, and he restrains himself from trying to stop her. before she reached the door, though, he spoke again.

“will you at least tell me why?” she looked at him with a pained gaze. she looked at the mess of hair in his head that she wanted to pet, she looked at the big doe eyes she could sink into, she looked at the full lips that she wanted to kiss so badly.

“i - i can’t be your friend.” her voice cracked, and she looked away, the bubble from earlier bursting and a tear falling down her cheek. he sprang up, careful not to come to close to her, but heartbroken to see her cry.

“oh, god - please don’t cry. look, i don’t - fuck, how do i say this - i don’t want to be your friend.” it sounded harsh, and he realizes it through her look of incredulity, “i - i mean, i don’t want to be just friends.” she blinks up at him, the saline in her eyes being slowly replaced by confusion.

“ed? i don’t-”

“fuck, look. just, you’re so pretty, and you’re funny, and hard-working - you have great taste in music and movies and you can be a little stubborn sometimes but - but goddamn. i like you.” the confession leaves her mouth ajar, as his face drops, hair covering his concerned eyes as he shook his head at his own stupidity, “fuck, i shouldn’t have said that, i’m sorry, i -”

“’re you serious, ed?” she looks at him with earnest - and he interprets - hope.

“as a heart attack.” it’s a whisper, as he’s anticipating her response.

“i - i don’t think you’re being serious.” she can’t believe him.

“why not?”

“because i don’t deserve that, i don’t deserve you.” it’s rushed, like it’s a sudden revelation, but the incredulity of the statement makes eddie tentatively approach her. He held out a hand slowly, and he threads his fingers through hers, until he finds a comfortable hold on her palm. he brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face, before smiling a wide, genuine smile at her.

“can i kiss you?” she looked at his eyes, and at his lips, and she nods - and he leans down to find her lips with his. hers are a little chapped, a byproduct of the cold weather, and she’s got a distinct cherry lip gloss on, the red on it smearing on his own lips and skin. she breaks away from his face, but not his body, her other hand clutching tightly at his forearm, as if it would be detrimental for her to let go.

“you can’t kiss me like that.” it’s almost playful, her sentence, but there’s a serious undertone to it. he looks at her in worry, scared he’d taken it too far, before she clarifies, “i’m the whore of hawkins high, nobody should kiss me like that.” he felt a deep sadness at her diminishing words.

“you - god, you are not a whore.” she laughs at the attempt to cheer her up, but he doesn’t let that falter him, “do you want to keep doing this?” he gestures to her outfit. she thinks about it for a moment.

“no. but, ed - i can’t pay the bills-”

“we’ll figure it out.”

“ed, you can’t just say-”

“i’m being serious. we’ll work something out. we’ll find jobs - i’ll find a job, and then we’ll get out of this hellhole. you and me.”

“just like old times?”

“just like ‘em.” she goes silent for a moment, pondering the idea. finally, she nods lightly, and he sighs in content.

“can you kiss me like that again?” she whispers it, and he obliges, kissing her with the fervor of passion.

it made her feel beautiful, feel elated, feel loved. it made her feel like she was wandering the moon and the stars.

it made her feel like a fairy princess.

[reigenhusband]

Psychic Wedding Time!

Art by @/cowboyologist

After months of holding back, we finally tied the ole knot! Me and the conman are officially hitched today September 10, 2021!

This silly little blonde anime man means an awful lot to me and its really more than I can say. These months with him have been a great help.

When I went through some of the roughest things I've ever gone through, I had him to think about for comfort. He is a little part in what keeps me going and I wish I could thank him for everything. He sparks a lot of joy so I think I'm gonna keep him!

I've never been happier and I'm so lucky to call him husband! He's had such a positive impact and I love him so, so much.

Special thank you to my friends and of course our son Mob who carried the rings!

Under the cut is a little fic about getting ready for the wedding. Thanks everyone for your support!

Reigen squinted at his reflection, dark eyes hauntingly focused on a strand of hair that didn't take to the product he put in it. A grunt of dismay rumbled low in his throat.

"Um…Reigen?" 

"Just a second, Serizawa. Almost got it."

The taller man's voice wavered but he managed to hold fast and keep his confidence. Reigen could almost hear his hands wringing. 

"Er...Well. Its just...you've been staring at yourself for a little over 20 minutes now and you haven't moved and…"

Reigen sucked his teeth and pressed his palm firmly to the side of his head. Damned strand of hair! Slick like the rest of it! Don't you know know day it is?!

"What I mean is..! Are you alright?" Serizawa finally asked, his voice heavy with concern. "Since it's your wedding and all I figured you'd be nervous but you seem really on edge. Is something bothering you?" 

The blonde twitched.

 "W...what are you talking about? Of course not! I'm calm and-" He stopped abruptly and slammed his hands flat on either side of the mirror, his eyes wide and bloodshot upon inspection of his suit. A fleck of black thread pervaded his white vest and he looked around frantically for the lint roller. "You thought you could hide but you can't best Reigen Arataka." He muttered as he furiously went over his all but pristine wedding attire. 

His best man scratched his own cheek nervously and looked on with clear uncertainty. "If you're sure." 

Once he was satisfied after a thorough inspection and having Serizawa scrutinize the back, he dropped into a chair. Nearby was a table decorated in what was probably a thousand congratulatory flowers from clients. He exhaled and stared a hole into the arrangement of colors. His heart was pounding. His brow, coupled with his hands, were visibly slick with chilled sweat. His stomach was full of stones. 

He met his own gaze in the mirror again. He looked well kept and yet...disheveled at the same time. Come to think of it, his face was flushed the shade of his usual pink tie. The last 3 days without sleep also hollowed out dark circles under his eyes. His shirt collar began to feel more and more constricting as time went on no matter how much he tugged on it. 

Maybe he really was scared. 

He didn't doubt that he loved Mitty. In fact, he wanted to be with him more than anyone. A case of cold feet wouldn't change that. It was himself he was wrestling with here. 

Spirits, monsters, and deadly espers. He'd faced them all and came out on top. But they were nothing compared to these looming expectations to be a person to rely on. This wasn't something he could bullshit his way through. This was marriage. Mitty was going to see the warted underbelly of when he was Reigen the man instead of Reigen the psychic. His fiancé was going to experience sides of him he only revealed when he was alone. Would he still like him even then?

Reigen was good at a lot of things but this had to be the one that counted most. Could he really be a good partner forever? 

Was he really going to cut it as a husband? 

"Hey, Serizawa?" Reigen asked, not looking at him. 

The man's shoulders lurched at his name suddenly being called. He straightened his back. "Oh! Yes sir?"

"Do you think we'll be good together?" 

Silence sat heavily for a moment. Every second felt longer than the last. 

His friend seemed taken aback by the question but nonetheless looked at the ceiling as though collecting the right words to answer. "Well…"

Another moment passed and Reigen waited with his hands clasped and breath baited. 

"I've never been with anyone so I can't say for certain what a good relationship is but," A compassionate smile spread across the esper's face before he continued, visibly more sure of his words. "I think you and Mr. Mitty understand each other. You always seem to know what the other is thinking. You motivate each other to be better and you seem happy when you're together. And...and you trust each other too. And I think that's whats important." 

Reigen looked at the velveted floor. "Then…"  

"You've become more honest by being with him and he talks like you're really important to him. So please...get married if it makes you both happy! I think you can really be something!" His friend was beaming with 

what Reigen could only say was genuine assurance. 

"I really believe you'll take care of each other." 

His co-worker actually really was resourceful. Maybe someday he ought to pay him more. The uncomfortable feelings waned slightly and his shoulders slowly slacked. Mitty was waiting for him so now wasn't the time to lose it. 

After a few seconds of letting his feelings iron themselves out, he stood and smoothed his hands over his suit jacket. "Well alright then. If thats what you think then I guess there's no backing out of this one." 

Serizawa pressed his hands together in delight. "YES! I've got your back, Reigen!" 

The door into the hallway opened and a set of black eyes peered into the room. "Master, It's starting. Are you coming?" 

The jarring announcement had him scrambling to fix the piece of hair he'd been fussing with. 

"OF COURSE." He jabbed his thumb into his own chest to feign total confidence. "Right behind you, Mob!" 

He held his breath. Alright, let's do this. 

Mitty POV

Teal eyes darted around the room carefully. 

"Hey...Dimple? You there?"

The whizzing of the spirit materializing buzzed next to his ear. 

"Yeah whaddya want? You're on soon, aren't you?" 

Mitty jabbed his right hook into the air where the voice was coming from. "AGH WHAT THE HELL?"

A swift flash of green dodged his reach. 

"HEY, why are you hitting me?! You asked for ME, remember?" The ghost clucked his tongue in disapproval and floated a few inches away for safety. 

"WELL MATERIALIZE WHERE I CAN SEE YOU, YOU BIG BOOGER! I'm on edge!" 

"On edge? What for? You're the one who wanted this, right?"

"W..well….yeah, sorry." He looked at his clenched fist and opened it. "...sorry." He said again more thoughtfully this time. 

Dimple raised a spectral eyebrow. "Whats wrong? Having second thoughts? I mean it's Reigen so who can blame ya."

Mitty scowled while straightening his tie in the mirror. "Hey! REIGEN'S…." His voice softened closer to a whisper. "A pretty good guy. Get off my case. Aren't you supposed to be my support? You're being kinda harsh!" 

"Well kid, something is obviously on your mind so let's hear it. Wedding starts soon right? Yeesh. Once you do all this he's your problem forever." 

"I'm not worried about him!! I'm more worried about...me."

"About you? What're you talkin' about?! You're too good for him!"

"Thanks for the flattery. You still can't have my body though."

"Well I didn't want it anyways, ya bastard. You're weak compared to Shigeo. I'm just being honest here!" 

Silence.

"So? Out with it, What did you want anyways? You're talking nonsense here!" 

Mitty wrinkled his nose in discomfort.  "I just needed to ask something. But you can't run your mouth off like you always do, you old gossip. You're like a knitting circle."

"TCH. like I'd blabber your business to someone. It's all so boring."

"Yeah, yeah just listen, alright?!"

Another few seconds passed. "So? Say it. We don't have all day, you know."

He was looking at his hands again like he was somewhere far off. "Well. D...D'you think I'll be good at this?" 

"Good at what, exactly?" 

"Being married." 

Dimple's form rippled with thought. "You're seriously worried about that?"

Mitty was going to make a sharp remark but his head dropped and his face buried into his knuckles. "Yeah."

Dimple deflated slightly in exasperated defeat. Humans could be so ignorant. 

"Listen. That fraud never shuts up about you. You think you're not good enough? You should hear him talk. It's annoying how you both don't realize things."

"Realize things?"

He sighed and shrugged his tiny arms. "I hear everything whether you like it or not. You two idiots never stop talking and moaning about the other is too good for the other. It's getting old, really." 

"HUH? He says that? No way! But he's always beaten me at everything! I always thought he was way out of my league." 

 "Kinda the opposite actually but...sure. What I'm saying is…! You're both seeing the best parts of each other. Keep doing that and it'll be smooth sailing."

"Yeah but...what if he stops seeing the best in me?'

"You planning on making things hard?" 

"Not really. I just know I can be difficult to deal with." 

"So is he. You really think you got this far because Reigen's all roses and sunshine? 'Course not. You've seen all the stuff he does and you still like him, right?" 

He certainly was flawed, that was for sure. Mitty spent most of Reigen's antics with his eyes rolled up in his head but that didn't mean he wasn't enjoying the moment either. 

"Right."

"Then it's the same for him. Sure it won't always be fun but that phoney won't give up on you just because you're annoying. He's way too persistent. It kind of ticks me off." 

I'm annoying???  That stung but he shook it off.

Reigen was going to have to deal with him for the rest of his life once they said the right words. But if Dimple was right...would it be so bad to annoy each other for the rest of their lives if the other was willing to put up with it? 

Reigen seemed okay with it so far. Mitty would just have to listen to him make a fuss about his coffee table clutter until he died. But really, he wouldn't have that any other way. His voice was kind of cute when he hit that inhuman octave he had when he was in disbelief. 

The door from the hall swung open and a blond clad in what was perhaps the most blinding and loud suit he had ever seen poked his head in. 

"Oh, You're still in here? It's bad luck to be late on your wedding day! Master Reigen is waiting. " He cocked his head to the side. "Or did you need some help with your suit? Its looking a little plain." 

Hanazawa. This kid would try to accessorize his suit in the worst way possible. He put up his hands to wave him off. 

"N-nah, kiddo that's alright. I'll be right there."

Hanazawa, after a few more attempts to get Mitty to let him help retreated back into the hallway. When it was quiet again he eyed Dimple. He was abrasive and unpleasant. He always had a motive for everything and rarely had something nice to say. 

But he came through when it mattered. 

"Hey Dimple?" 

"Yeah? What is it?" 

"Thanks." 

Dimple wouldn't meet his eyes and levitated towards the hall. He didn't want to acknowledge he was helping, he supposed. It was in character for that tsundere blob.

"You ought to get out of here now if you wanna make it on time." 

He stood and dusted himself off. 

"Welp. Here goes everything."

[styx1an]

A Chat about Chat

A short fic about how Chat came to be a singular being, written by yours truly. By all means, this isn’t canon, it’s just my interpretation of things.

Word count: 1,863

Fandom: RTGame, Miitopia (NGL I’m a little displeased with how I wrote the ending, but oh well!)

You know, there is this odd sense of irony in knowing how terrified Chat was of Magical John when they aren’t even human nor a singular being in the first place. Wait, so you didn’t know? Of how they became such a being in the first place? (They chuckle.) Then I suppose that means I’ll have to tell you their story. Well then, shall we begin the tale of Chat? (You see the twinkle in their eyes. They must’ve been waiting a while to be able to do this.)

> You nod. You’ve been waiting a while to understand Chat’s origins. Tonight, like many others, belongs to the storyteller.

> You shake your head. No thanks, you think you’re too tired. Dawn shall rise anew soon, and you will not waste your time with tall tales.

(They nod, pleased with your decision.) Then I shall begin to relay their tale.

Our tale begins in the vast lands known as Twitch, a domain that belongs to another, a far crueler being whose tale is for another time. It is a place where one is free to express their opinions and whatnot (as long as it suits the many whims of its Amazonian overlords, of course), and many are versed in the easy to learn, but difficult to master art of gaming. Many such masters have gained a large following, and even if they do not possess such skill, more often than not their humor and charisma paves the way to fame.

One example of the latter would be RTGame, a man of sizable repute. Aside from the frankly ridiculous story of the origin of his moniker, he is also known for doing some… questionable things for the sake of entertainment. There are still tales of his quest in the bathtub along with Gilbert (yes, the very same Gilbert on the quest to defeat The Darker Lord Khadgar!), the night of the Painted Wall’s Communion, the birth of Mr. Compost- But my dear, we are here for one of his lesser-known exploits, one that would change the world as we know it.

> You lean closer to the campfire, watching the storyteller with a renewed interest. Where does the tale lead? Where does it end? You need to know.

> It’s getting even later. You think some rest will be needed before tomorrow’s travels begin. Perhaps the rest of the story can wait another time?

It was a dark and stormy night. The then-Dark Lord Von Karma had just been unleashed upon the land, and I Want Die set along the path of salvation with his fellow party members, Mr. Bean the Warrior, Goofy the Thief, and Mint the Horse. He was pleased with the ease with which they vanquished monsters and saved (literal) faces, but the lack of actual conversation within the party had begun to get to him. Mr. Bean had nothing to offer other than a simple “Bean!” every now and then, and Goofy terrified him with all the “hyuck!” and talks of absolving the world’s many sins. Mint is a horse and therefore cannot participate in a verbal conversation unless you happen to understand what her neighs meant. She also happens to be the most normal member of the party, strangely enough.

Either way, I Want Die longed for a proper conversation.

And God took notice.

It was inevitable. The fourth party member was always going to join, whether he wanted one or not. It shouldn’t be notable in any way whatsoever, yet here I am regaling this tale to you.

It is not how Chat had come to join the party that I wanted to explain, but rather how they came to be.

Do you remember the man I had called RTGame? I hope you had not thought of him as irrelevant to our tale, as he is the patron saint of I Want Die’s adventures. Surely you know of the vast armory that belongs to the party? The various delicacies fed to the team? All his work. Along with his followers’ contributions, of course.

Chat was what he called his followers, the ones who watched his various endeavors as he traveled across the land of Twitch. Oftentimes the crowd would conversate with him (hence their name), offering jokes and sardonic commentary whenever he did anything remotely comedic. Other times, RT would have to tell them off for being such a rowdy bunch- the usual group of thousands could never keep quiet for long.

It happened that Chat witnessed I Want Die’s pilgrimage along with RTGame. They all looked upon him with a jolly sense of humor (after all, their master is well-versed in the art of comedy), some wondering where his travels will bring him. The others who knew how it would all end kept silent at the behest of RTGame. Either way, every single one of them was enjoying the show he had put on for them. 

And came the time to summon the fourth member.

As per usual, RTGame withdrew into his workshop, closing the curtains around him so no curious onlooker could see inside. But that did not stop Chat from yelling their predictions and demands.

“EDGEWORTH” one cried.

Another begged for a certain “End Mii!”

“CHAT CALM DOWN!”

“!uptime”

“69420toesucker just subscribed for 5 months!”

“TURG”

RTGame smiled at them. He wasn’t surprised at all at their reactions, rather it was something he had hoped would happen.

“Alright then Chat,” he said, “here they are!”

His pale, thin hands reached out to open the curtains-

And unveiled a faceless, empty husk of a being. 

Under any other circumstances, Chat would’ve rioted, demanded justice against the irony of sending a faceless doll to retrieve the faces of others. But they had no time.

Almost in an instant, the skies darkened. Clouds swirled up above with vibrant shades of violet, cobalt, magenta. Bright blue lightning strikes a tree and dissolves it into dust. Somewhere distant, something roars. The air feels thick- something magical, something electric is positively buzzing. Magic truly is in the air.

And thunder strikes once again. 

The crowd is gone.

Silence fell. All that is left is the master and the doll, no longer an empty husk.

> You look up to the storyteller, their eyes reflecting the blazing flames. You have a feeling that you know how this ends, but you’d rather have them confirm it first.

> You’re sleepy. As tempting as it is to continue listening to their story, you must admit that the very idea of slumber is even more tantalizing.

RTGame had managed to do exactly what he wanted. Chat’s consciousness, placed inside of a single, physical being. A puppet controlled by a hivemind would not be very easy to control, yes. But the idea intrigued him. And wouldn’t it be better than having a large gaggle of people constantly behind him, watching his every move? It could help I Want Die on his journey too.

So it is settled. It happened that one of the members of his temple had just crafted a rather nice puppet, in case RT needed one. And he did come to use it. It does look a little plain, as both body and head are painted in the same shade of bright white. However, the face was not white like how it was in the beginning, but a disturbingly pitch-black space. No, that’s not the right word.

Rather, it was like a void had formed. That’s also not the right phrase to describe it either, as there were drops of ichor dripping down onto the ground, dissolving the once green grass. But I digress. 

Chat broke the silence that had fallen between them, wailing as a cacophony of noises and emotions spilled out. Despite what RT had done to them, they were still determined to voice their opinions. Quite in character, really. 

“RT WHAT”

“NO NO NO”

“!uptime”

“I'M ON TV!!!”

“bazingabanana just gifted 5 subs!”

“that’s kinda meta”

As their voices grew louder, ichor kept pouring out of the void. As expected, RT thought to himself. He still needs to act fast. So with a quick snap, he fastened a wooden mask the temple-goer made; the same shade of white, a pair of beady black eyes almost as dark and soulless as the void, bright purple ears. 

The yelling and complaining didn’t stop of course. Still, as their voices were muffled by the mask, it was an arguably better experience than the previous ear-splitting wails. And it was less deadly too. Ichor had stopped dripping down onto the grass, which meant that the constant sizzling would finally stop.

Now, one last thing.

RT stared into Chat’s eyes.

This in itself wouldn’t have been quite a remarkable action had it been anyone else, but it’s Chat that we are talking about. The very sensation of doing something as simple as gazing into a hivemind’s many souls wasn’t anything ordinary, either.

It felt like you had just plunged one of your hands into ice-cold water in the middle of winter and not only are you freezing, you’re scared and you don’t know whether you’d come out in one piece.

They all stared back. Thousands and thousands looked upon RT, all different yet whispering the same things, each claiming to be an individual yet virtually nothing distinctive belongs to them. A true hivemind. It’s exactly what he wanted, but he wondered if perhaps other troubles would arise.

He let himself go from their gazes. It asks too much of him.

“Alright then, Chat. Ready?”

A gaggle of voices reply, sounding their agreements.

“OK then!”

--

I Want Die finally opened the inn door, after convincing himself that he’d like this new friend. That this one would be neither an anime villain, a comedy star or a horse. Someone with actual rational thoughts and words to speak.

In front of the door stood a short figure, clad in a purple mage’s robes. Their pitch-black eyes looked at I Want Die, and a chorus of voices came from their permanent smile:

“Hi, I’m Chat!”

And I Want Die wondered if he had forgotten to cross off ‘hivemind’ off his list of potential party members.

Chat’s introduction ends here, of course. But not their tale. The journey was far from over in fact. The party had yet to meet the Royal Court, witnessed the court’s love affair, or get kidnapped by the Dark Lord Von Karma. Even the party wasn’t complete, as it was only the first party I Want Die would encounter in his tale of redemption.

And it’s not the only story either. You haven’t heard of Magical John’s past life, or how Cupcake isn’t as pure as she seems. Gilbert’s fear of the kitchen. How Jefferson came to be, and Obama’s past life with Mr. Bean.

But I’m afraid I must stop here, for it is late already, is it not? Our journey must continue tomorrow. Let us rest. Goodnight, may the stars shine for you. (They head off into their tent, leaving you alone with the flickering embers of a dying fire.)

> You bid the storyteller goodnight. Perhaps they’ll tell you another one of their stories, underneath the moonlight once more.

[dennou-translations]

Violet Evergarden Ever After: Chapter 3

Please feel free to message me about possible corrections. If you can, consider supporting the creators by purchasing the official releases. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

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No one would imagine that a single drop could be the start of something so big. However, it would earn itself great meaning after a while passed. Should it continue pouring, it could also summon boundless blessings and curses.

Love was almost like rain.

   The Journey and the Auto-Memories Doll

   That one was a rain of betrayal.

It started with a calm morning, the sky unfolding without any hints of being enshrouded in dark clouds. Regardless, it did not take too long for the capricious rain brought by the heavens to turn into a downpour rarely seen in recent years.

There was no longer any sign of the rain that had started to fall like gentle kisses from paradise on the black hats of gentlemen walking around town, over the backs of cats dozing under the sun or onto the cheeks of children who opened their mouths and burst into laughter. The current season was the end of summer, and it was raining for the first in a long while in Leidenschaftlich, where the skies were constantly clear in summer, but had the god that controlled weather gone crazy? With time, as if a bucket had turned over, the city was hit by a flood.

This story is about an uneventful day, which did nothing but pass, in the lives of people who worked at a certain postal company.

   The rain and wind struck the entire building as if attacking it. The doorbell rang loudly because of this, a man standing in place and staring at it with unease.

Creak-creak, the door moved. Ring-ring, the bell resounded. Since it was ringing despite there being no customers, he had become concerned and found himself coming down from his residence in the top floor.

In the previous year, the building had been shot with rocket artillery, and not only had it earned an enormous hole but a fire had also occurred – however, thanks to the quick skills of workmen, the hole was now closed and the walls had been neatly rebuilt.

The man was a stylish redhead. He was the president of this company, which he had named after himself.

Claudia Hodgins had been left all alone in the empty postal office. Still, it was normal for him to be there, as it was both his home and workplace. However, since he was by himself at a time that would usually still be within business hours, no matter what, he looked like he had been abandoned.

The postal office had been in great turmoil because of the storm. Surely, so had its peers. With the deliveries stagnated, complaints were coming from the clients. Nevertheless, the transportation was not carried out by machines devoid of feelings. It was something done by humans, who had been given birth to by someone and who had families waiting for them when they returned home. In lieu of the unpreceded disaster, as the president, he had notified all employees that business would be closed for today.

To begin with, the customers had stopped coming in the middle of the day. If he had to say so himself, this might be the expected. Deliberately going outside amidst such strong wind and torrential rain was an act of sheer madness.

Curious about what was going on outside, Hodgins had approached the entrance from the side. He felt like attempting to open the large doors just a little. He wanted to see how inundated the ground was. Just when he slow and carefully reached a hand towards it, the door opened with force despite him not doing anything.

“Ow...!”

“Oh, my bad. More importantly, we’re screwed; it’s just impossible, Old Man!”

Hodgins was teary-eyed as his precious nose took a hit. He was lightheaded for an instant due to the pain, but soon regained consciousness. After all, one of his employees had come back dripping-wet. Hodgins pulled him – whole body wrapped in rain gear – by the arm, bringing him inside and closing the door. Although it was only open for a few seconds, the entrance was already drenched.

The visitor took off the hood over his head, allowing his face to be seen. He was a splendidly handsome and fine man of sky-blue eyes and sandy-blond hair.

“Benedict...!”

Benedict Blue. One of the postal company’s postmen, who had been working in it ever since its founding.

“It’s impossible – actually, it’s absurd! Working under this rain is absurd! I look like I’m in the bath already. I wouldn’t have come here if I weren’t soaked... Making the staff pull out was the right choice,” Benedict said as if angry-yelling, shaking his head in the same way that a dog or cat would and splattering water splashes at Hodgins.

This wetted most of Hodgins’s shirt and face, but he was unable to reprimand his employee, who had been doing strenuous effort. He accepted it in resignation, wiping Benedict’s face with the sleeve of his shirt. “Okay, stay put.”

“Uoh, what’s with you? Stop.”

“Welcome home. I was worried. Good thing you’re all right.”

“O-Oh. What, hum... I’m back... You were worried about me?”

“Of course,” Hodgins said, to which Benedict turned away with an obviously embarrassed attitude after a moment of bewilderment.

Outside, vases and planters that may have been at the eaves of people’s houses, as well as shop signs, had been turning into weapons for a while now, dancing around the city along with the wind. Managing to come back unharmed and safely amidst this weather, where one could not know what would come flying their way, was something to be happy about.

“I’m just fine. This job’s easier than running around shooting guns. Anyway, I was left with the letters and packages of a guy who fell from his motorcycle and came back by myself. Was best to do that, right?”

“Aah, so someone got hurt?”

“That newbie, Clark. But he only scrapped his knees. He fell lots of times when he was learning how to ride, but for real, it’s surprisingly depressing when you fall off other than during practice. He was crying, y’see.”

“Aah~.”

Knowing who the person in question was, Hodgins pitied him. He was the youngest postman to join the company as of late. It was difficult to find human resources for postmen as they were quick to quit.

“He’s young, after all...”

“You call him young but... he’s already a grown man. I wonder if he ain’t lying to us about his age... I thought he was a baby or something.”

“You can’t compare him to a city boy fresh from the battlefield like yourself. I’m gonna get you a towel and a change of clothes now, so don’t move from there.”

“Why?”

“You’d wet the floor. Don’t tell me to go around cleaning up where you walked.”

“Clean it up,” he said while laughing, to which Hodgins’s shoulders slumped. He was a reliable companion, but also a young man who knew not how to show respect for his elders.

——Well, guess I’m a so-called doting parent for thinking that’s cute – no, doting boss.

Anyhow, they needed towels, Hodgins thought as he went back to his room. He grabbed a few large towels and held a pair of trousers and shirt that Benedict would apparently fit into under his arm. Then returned to the ground floor. By the time he did so, the number of people had increased.

“Uwah... Amazing, it’s like squeezing a rag.”

There were three more other than Benedict. If they were to be separated by types, one of them had evacuated after receiving a report of work, one had evacuated after finishing work, and one had been ordered to clock out, but all had come back halfway through, as their bodies were about to be blown off by the overwhelming storm.

“Please stop.” There was Violet Evergarden, whose golden hair was in Benedict’s grasp.

“Why? You said your hair was wet.”

“You just want to touch Violet’s hair, Benedict. Isn’t that right?” Lux Sibyl, who had given up on wiping her glasses and was glaring at the empty space.

“That’s not it. Don’t say weird stuff, Lux.”

“You knooow, my hair’s just as long as Violet’s.” And Cattleya Baudelaire, who scowled at Benedict with her arms crossed.

The members who had been there ever since the founding were Violet, Cattleya and Benedict, but Lux, having joined midway, was now a skillful secretary who covered up the schedule of the employees and president and moved them around like chess pieces. As the four people whose ages were close to each other’s came together, the conversation naturally livened up.

“You—You’re that kinda thing. If I touch you in a place like this, it’d be that kinda thing. This is our workplace, so there’s all that kinda thing. Morally speaking, it’s that kinda thing.”

“What do you mean ‘morally speaking’?!”

“I wish you wouldn’t say those things even if you think about them. Right, Violet?”

“‘Public morals’...? Benedict, what am I from your point of view?”

“V, you’re like a little sister to me... Aah, Old Man, gimme another towel.”

It was a terribly joyful thing that the company’s young aces had returned to it safe and sound.

“Everyone, don’t move from that spot no matter what. Hey, Cattleya! Don’t move!”

However, wiping all the water off the bodies of those four turned out to be a bone-breaking work.

   Out of kindness, Hodgins invited the four people who had gathered up at the postal company to his residence in the top floor.

The whole floor was his apartment, thus it was quite large. A family of five could live comfortably in it. The furnishings were arranged in wooden items and serene shades of dark brown and green. It was a relaxed, adult atmosphere, where was nothing particularly funny. It had a faint scent of the perfume that Hodgins always wore.

The invited four let out sighs of relief. The biggest reason for it, although there was also the fact that this was Hodgins’s apartment, was that they were able to escape the horrible situation outdoors. With the exception of Lux, three of them were tough enough to take part in the act of physically crushing other postal companies, but human beings could not win against natural disasters.

“Hey, what do we do? We can’t go home anymore, can we?”

“There’s nothing we can do. We got no choice but stay in Old Man’s place.”

“First time something like this happens, huh. But we’re all together, so... might be imprudent of me to say this, but... it’s a bit fun. Violet, are you worried about your home?”

“Yes, about the flowerbeds.”

“You should say ‘about the people back home’, V.”

“The two went on a trip, so they are away. I promised that I would take care of the flowers in their absence, which is why... I am worried about the flowerbeds. Besides, if that house were to be destroyed by this storm, this place would meet its end much sooner... We have little time left to live.”

“Don’t go from talking about your family to destroying the company, Little Violet. Hey, hey, everyone, you’ll catch a cold so get changed first. Put the towels in the laundry basket. Benedict, don’t throw the towels wherever!”

As told by Hodgins, the employees firstly decided to change their clothes.

Violet and Cattleya had just returned from a work trip of two days and one night, thus they had a change of nightclothes in their bags, but Benedict and Lux did not. Although there was a height difference between them, Hodgins had no issues with lending clothes to Benedict, who was also a man, but there was a need for careful selection when it came to Lux.

“Shirt... shirt, shirt; all I have is shirts.”

“Hum, President, I’m fine with anything.”

“Eeh... that okay?”

As a result, the boy and girl came into the scene wearing baggy clothes. Benedict looked almost the same as when he and Hodgins first met. When he was left to chance completely naked in a desert, he had borrowed a shirt and trousers just as he was doing now. He seemed pleased with it, however...

“Feels kinda naughty...”

...the problem was Lux.

“Benedict’s fine, but maybe it won’t do for Little Lux? Is this okay?” Hodgins asked everyone with a meek face.

They all had at last settled down, each seated in a place of their preference while sipping tea. The employees were relaxing as if they were in their own homes. Contrary to the peaceful state of the situation inside, there was still a sound of rain hitting the windows and a troubled noise of something colliding against the building outside.

“What is ‘okay’ supposed to mean?” Sitting on the sofa, Violet tilted her head. Being comfortably dressed in a dusty-pink nightwear gave her usually disciplined self a slightly soft and gentle air.

“Little Violet.”

“Yes.”

“Your nightgown is cute, huh.”

“The people from the household bought it for me. Well, what is ‘okay’ supposed to mean? Was there any problem?”

“Little Lux’s clothes.”

For whatever reason, they had the person in question standing in the center of the room. With everyone’s eyes on her, she seemed uneasy.

“Hum... why do I have to stand in the middle?”

“Little Lux, stay like that and don’t move.”

“All right.”

“What is wrong with Lux’s look? You mean to say it lacks adornment?”

“Why would that be the case, Little Violet?”

“You are the one who chooses attires for us Dolls and you have particularities regarding the clothing and accessories, so I concluded that you might deem the plain shirt as not enough.”

“No, no.” Hodgins flailed both hands. The things he was saying had a moral value to them, out of fear that her outfit was perhaps vulgar.

Benedict had dealt with it by securing her trousers with a belt, but as Lux had too thin a waist, the outcome was the belt falling off. In short, she was not wearing pants. Inevitably, she was dressed in nothing but a shirt. However, her short stature fortunately made it look like a shirt-dress.

As Hodgins explained his concern, everyone said, “I see.”

Showered with their stares more and more, Lux began to blush.

“It gives off a dangerous feeling when you think she ain’t wearing any, but on second thought, isn’t that the same for skirts? There’s actually an open hole in them, but it’s not visible, so they’re classified as clothes. No big deal, is it?” Benedict had been standing with his back against the wall just a moment ago, yet had suddenly drawn close to her and started examining her fixatedly.

“Don’t say ‘not wearing any’!”

“Well, I mean, you really ain’t wearing any... but that’s okay. No biggie. You’re probably not an option for Old Man, so no worries. Right?”

“That’s rude!”

“I’m saying you don’t need to worry about that kinda thing... Should I take mine off, then? I see; I’m fine with it. I’ll be the same as you. That all right? I’m gonna take it off.”

“Stop, stop, stop!” As Benedict put a hand to his belt while laughing, Lux repeatedly hit his chest with her fists to stop him. Lux was red up to her ears. “I can’t take this anymore! Violet! Take Benedict to over there!”

“Understood.”

“Owowowow, V, ouch, that’s not it; it was the Old Man who said weird stuff first. We’re friends, so I was showing that she doesn’t have to get hung up over something like...”

Caught in Violet’s arms, Benedict obediently sat on the sofa. Perhaps in order not to allow him to escape, she gripped his hands and sat next to him.

Cattleya cut through the silence, “The tea is delicious.” She was scattered over the bed. She must have been tired from returning from the Doll business trip. Her eyes were downcast. She might be sleepy.

“Cattleya, do you not have any comments to make? I want to hear lots of opinions.”

“Eeeh, me?” Cattleya joined the needless debate as if it were a bother. “Hmmm... if someone were making her wear this because it’s their taste, it’d be gross indeed, but there’s no other clothes for her... It’d also be horrible to leave her with just a towel wrap, so I think it’s valid. Speaking of which, President...”

“Hm?”

“You’re saying that even though you pick open-chested clothes for my Doll outfits? And the times you were choosing Doll attires for me, y’knooow, you were never so considerate to say ‘not this, not this either’ when discussing it with the people from the made-to-order store...”

Her manner of speech was somewhat thorny, but Hodgins did not make much out of it. “That’s because they look good on you.” Rather, he said decisively, with an earnest gaze and excessive confidence, “Because they look good on you. Is my judgement wrong?”

“E-Eh?” Being replied to so unapologetically, Cattleya’s reasoning jumbled up, to the point she found herself wondering if she was the one in the wrong.

The Doll outfit that Cattleya usually wore was composed mainly of a crimson dress-coat, so there was no mistaking that one could not wear it unless the person was remarkably stylish. In addition, there was also no doubt that it was lascivious. Whoever looked at her would find their line of sight momentarily going to her chest. Still, whoever looked at her would remember the woman named Cattleya Baudelaire at once.

“No... it’s not like your choices are wrong... but I only forgive you because you’re the boss. I was shocked when you first showed me that outfit! I didn’t use to wear something like that before.”

“Well, but y’see, an hourglass-shaped person looks more slender when the area around their collarbone is exposed, and it’s pretty.”

An evident question mark floated above Violet’s head at the unfamiliar word. Benedict pointed a finger at the tea set arranged on the nearby table. An hourglass used to measure the time it took to steam the tealeaves was lying there. Perhaps finding the similarity between it and a plump chest and dainty hips, Violet nodded as if convinced.

“You’ve got an hourglass-shaped figure with that slim waist, so I gave you a coat-dress that puts this on display. You can adjust it with the ribbon, so it’s not a pain, right? It has a wonderful line in mathematical terms, y’know? Plus, you also have a cheerful character, so it doesn’t look vulgar. That’s important. It means that outfit takes into consideration even the personality of the one wearing it. And the owner of that made-to-order store is famous not just in this country but abroad. The outfits of our Dolls are on a whole different level in comparison to other companies, aren’t they?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“I don’t want to bring this up, but they’re very expensive.”

“Eh, I’m sorry. S-Should I pay you back? Either that or you can dock my salary...”

“No, you’re my Doll, after all. Nobody waters a flower to get money off it, right? It’s fine, Cattleya. Just stay pretty. It’s exactly because I have obsessions over clothes that I don’t want to make a girl look vulgar. And it’s exactly because I like girls that I want to have them shine wonderfully. That’s also why I have a few complaints about Little Lux’s usual plain clothes, though...”

“I don’t know why you decided to run a mail service, President, but I accept that passion of yours. I’ll wear those clothes with care. But, President, I’m doing my best, so I want a new outfit. A cute one.”

Listening to the conversation of the two in silence, perhaps tired of going along with her superior, Lux looked at Violet and Benedict’s direction with a gaze that quietly asked for help. There was a gap on the sofa that seemed enough for one person to sit. Having locked eyes with her, Violet told Benedict to scoot over after a brief moment and patted the open spot. Lux sat next to them, looking happy.

“Violet, what’re you drinking?” Lux peeked at the teacup that Violet was holding.

“I wonder. I took the tealeaves that were in the kitchen. I do not know what type of tea it is.”

“Darjeeling.”

“Benedict, how did you know?”

“‘Cause that guy likes Darjeeling. All the tea cans he has are nothing but that.”

“Guess I’m gonna drink that too; my body got cold from the long time under the rain.”

“Heeey, the three of you who ended the talk before we noticed! Listen to what I have to say.” Hodgins put his hands on his hips, pretending to be angry.

“We were deviating from the main subject. We deemed that it was not a necessary conversation and took action prioritizing Lux’s rest,” Violet expressed with a clear voice tone.

“Besides, this talk’s about bedroom wear, ain’t it?” Benedict added a two-fold retort. The blond, blue-eyed duo that looked like siblings stared at Hodgins with questioning eyes.

“Ugh, I comply with you two no matter what you say when you both look at me at the same time, so cut it out. But I’m not giving up. I think she needs one more article of clothing.”

“Hum... President, I’m okay with this. I’m already thankful that I could borrow your clothes. Besides, when you make such a big fuss about it, things that weren’t lewd in the first place start to seem lewd, so to say,” Lux said, wanting to end this topic as fast as possible.

“The solution has come to me. Wouldn’t it be best if I took the shirt and trousers and had Lux wear this nightgown?”

However, Violet wound up rewinding it.

——Violet!

Lux hit Violet repeatedly in her mind.

“Ah~, that’s right. If that’s the case, I can do it too. But maybe my nightgown is too big? It’s a negligee just like Violet’s. The shoulder length might be the problem for this one...”

“Old Man, you gonna die if you don’t obsess over the stuff we wear? You ain’t. Give up.”

“No way. Days like this one don’t come by. All five of us are trapped in the company and we can’t get out. You’ve got no choice but stay here in my house, right? We’re having the best of parties, a pajama party. I want it to be a good one. But I can’t enjoy it when I’m worrying over Little Lux’s clothes.”

Benedict contemplated a reply to Hodgins’s words for a few seconds, but soon stopped. He was probably tired. He looked Violet’s way and asked, “Hey, you not hungry? I’m gonna take a look at the kitchen.

“Hey, don’t ignore me.” As Benedict stood up, Hodgins chased after him.

“Benedict’s gonna make something? Yay! You guys probably don’t know this, but he’s good at cooking.” Cattleya lined up behind them.

“I didn’t say I was gonna make anything, though... Well, if you’re hungry, I can do it.”

“I shall assist you.” Violet raised her arms, rolling up her sleeves. Her prosthetics made a creaking noise.

“V, you can cook?”

“To some extent. In the military, I used to make preparations for the cooking. Mrs. Evergarden... Lady Tiffany also trained me on it.

“M-Me too... I can peel the potatoes, and stuff.” Lux hastily went after everyone. In a trail, a big move to the kitchen began to take place.

“Lux. You don’t usually cook, do you? I can already tell by just that statement. I’ll teach you.”

“Most things get solved just by peeling the potatoes... Benedict, you’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“Am not, Potato Demigod.”

“Violet, Benedict insulted me!”

“Benedict.”

“Owowow! V—! Don’t poke my sides! A hit from those crazy-ass prosthetics of yours ain’t no cutesy way to poke anyone! It just hurts like it normally would!”

In the end, Hodgins was able to find a light feather-print sweater in his closet and gave it to Lux. As she put it on, with her short stature, its length became the same as that of a long cardigan, which Hodgins was awfully pleased with for how adorable it was.

   The madder-red sky was not visible at dusk, the outside morphing into evening with no changes in the rainy weather.

Benedict made a soup at random with the vegetables available in Hodgins’s kitchen, which had seasonings in abundance, while Violet and Cattleya supplied it with cookies that they had brought back as souvenirs from their ghostwriting business trip. Lux brought over small candy marbles that she kept stored in her desk at the company, and Benedict, instructed by Hodgins, reluctantly took an expensive bottle hidden on the liquor shelf of the latter’s room.

“Hey, let’s rummage through the desks of everyone in the company. There are probably gonna be other ingredients in them.”

“If it’s Mr. Anthony’s desk, I think there’s definitely something in it. Mr. Anthony always gives me sweets... We’re in a state of emergency so I’m sure he’ll forgive us for it.”

“There were sweets in the reception guys’ desks. Would they get mad if we took them?”

“Definitely seem like they would. But this sweet... is one of the tasty ones... I wanna eat it.”

Lux, who was still growing, and Benedict, who had missed lunch and did not have enough with just the vegetable soup, procured more food. The sweets that the hungry thieves sneaked from the company employees’ desks turned out as what could be considered a big catch, and so, the five people trapped inside during a day of usual rain commenced a night party.

The five of different ages, genders and positions were already at a state where they could be deemed as a single family through the many incidents they had overcome and the time they had spent together. They laughed a lot, talked a lot.

“You remember when Violet brought Lux over? She went to negotiate it directly with Old Man with so much might, like, ‘I have picked up a puppy. Please give me permission to raise it here. Now, hurry’. They were holding hands and she wouldn’t let go of Lux, explaining the situation all at length as if to say she wasn’t gonna move until he gave the permission. The way Old Man acted so suspicious back then was a real blast.”

“I remember~! He was like, ‘Eh, “demigod”? Eh, “abduction and confinement”? Have you told the military police about that?’... President was so troubled, walking in circles around the two. It was the funniest thing of that year.”

“Hum... I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologize, Little Lux. You’re our main player now, so you did what you could to get where you are. You really exerted yourself in this unfamiliar land. Work for us forever, ‘kay? Rather, for me. Little Violet does some unbelievable stuff sometimes, but she generally doesn’t do anything wrong, so back then, her first-time deed shook up even someone like me, with plenty of life experience. Saying no didn’t even cross my mind.”

“I knew that President Hodgins would give you a generous treatment. If I had not concluded so, I would not have done such a thing. Thank you very much for that time, President.”

“Little Violet... Little Violet’s all grown up too, huh; you’ve become a wonderful lady...”

“Well, she’s got you as her example of guardian figure, after all.”

“I was raised by both Benedict and President Hodgins. You are my examples.”

“Eh, so I’m Old Man’s son...? Gimme the whole company.”

“No way! Actually, you’re taking a part of the company in the future, so that much should be fine, right?”

“You were serious about that? If you split the company...”

“Yeah, I’ll be the vice-president. V, call me Vice-President Benedict.”

“Benedict will be... the vice-president?”

“Violet, you haven’t been to the company too often because of work, right? I’ll stay as President Hodgins’s secretary, but some of the employees will go to Benedict’s side. That’s gonna be pretty lonely... Still, the company will be built inside the country, so it’ll be close in terms of distance. But it won’t be the same building anymore.”

“Other people... will also be gone.”

“Did I tell you that my role’s gonna change too?”

“I have not heard about that.”

“I’ll be transferred to training the newcomers. Violet, you’ll stay as you are. Well, between you and me, if we were to debate on which one should be the instructor, it’d have to be me. I’m good at looking after others.”

“Cattleya will be... an instructor...”

“I’ll be here like always. The Doll department that Little Violet and the others are in will stay in the main office and you’re largely in charge of the numbers in our Doll department, so your role won’t change.”

“Sounds like I don’t make money when you put it like that.”

“No, it’s not like that... I’ve been keeping the right people in the right places since long ago, right? I asked you to do this because I thought you could be everyone’s big sis. Besides, wasn’t it you, Cattleya, who immediately replied that you’d to it when I said your pay would increase if you became an instructor?”

“Well, that’s because I don’t know how long I could keep on being a Doll. It’s a job you can do even when you get older, but walking up mountains has been hard lately. Probably because of my high heels.”

They truly laughed a lot and talked a lot.

In their feel-at-home looks, they played card games, discussed memories of their trips and laughed holding their stomachs at silly stories. The night went on and on and the heavy rain outside gradually subsided, but no one said, “Let’s go home, then”. Days like these were a rarity. They all knew this much.

“I’m having lots of fun today. It’d be great if it were always like this.” The words that Cattleya muttered with a big smile spoke for everyone’s feelings.

Whenever a fun feast reached its climax, the loneliness towards the fact that it was going to end would cross the corners of people’s heads. That applied not only to this day that God had granted them but also to matters in the long run.

Perhaps the company named CH Postal Company itself could also be considered a feast to the people gathered in it. “May this dream, this fun time go on forever,” they wished.

The dream had begun with Claudia Hodgins. He then picked up Cattleya Baudelaire, Benedict Blue and Violet Evergarden.

“Make sure to just lick it. So, how’s that?”

They had built the company office building in Leidenschaftlich and started it together. As the postal business was a privatized one and the competitors were many, nobody could predict at first for how long this company would continue to exist.

“This stings.”

A local customer then came, earning them a large-scale contract in the delivery business.

“Eh~, you okay, Violet? You’re better off as someone who can’t drink...”

Their Auto-Memories Doll activities began to stand out.

“But everyone is changing.”

“Doesn’t that have nothing to do with drinking alcohol? I drink ‘cause I like it. If you don’t, then stop.”

“That’s right, Violet.”

“No... Major has a taste for drinking during meals, so I had been thinking of learning to do it one day as well. You are all changing one after another whenever I blink. I have started eating with other people quite often at work as well. I, too, shall adapt...”

Along the way, a girl who would later become a brilliant secretary joined them.

“I see... Then I want to try drinking too. I’m a secretary, after all. I have to eat out with other people. What kind of taste is it, if you had to compare?”

Despite the major changes in the personal life of each, all of them had contributed to the development of the company, to the point that they spent every single day being busy.

“Close to that of a perfume. In that it is hard to swallow.”

There would surely be many, many more changes.

“Hey, I can’t approve that opinion. Big Sis here will introduce you to delicious drinks. Rather than being taught by a man, you should learn from me. Lux, you can’t yet.”

Surely, their fates would twist further.

“Eh~?!”

“Benedict, bring another one. And something to crack it open with.”

For people to gather up, an encounter had to have happened. That was what it meant.

“Aight, aight...” Benedict stood up from the sofa. He had been dragged into Cattleya’s scheme, in which she had planned the conspiracy of attempting to make Violet Evergarden consume alcohol, because he himself had complied with it.

“O-Owah. Old Man. You were here?”

“‘Were here,’ you ask... this is my house.”

As they came across each other in the kitchen, Benedict had let out a brash voice without thinking. The reason might be that he perhaps was seen grinning as he walked in. Despite his nihilistic attitude, he was happy to spend time with his friends.

“I-I know. I was thinking you were taking too long in the toilet...”

“Cigar.”

With the kitchen’s small window open, Hodgins was smoking a cigar. All of the women despised the smell, so he rarely ever let them see him smoking. Just when Benedict was thinking about how he had suddenly stood up and disappeared, there he was, smoking in secret.

——He only smokes when he can’t calm down, though.

There was no better day to relax with their companions, and yet.

“Hey, take a look outside. It’s so quiet after the storm... like the wind. Even though it was so loud before.” Perhaps due to him being a little drunk, Hodgins’s face was red.

“True... Hey, need more booze. Ain’t there anything easier to drink?”

“Eh, why? You can’t give it to Little Lux.”

“Cattleya wants to make V drink some. Well, ain’t it okay? I think it’s about time she learns the ropes. Dunno when we’ll get to drink with her again... and it’s better to have people you get along with teaching you this kinda thing, right?”

“Eeh... it’s still too soon. If you insist, isn’t it enough to drip a drop of rum into her tea?”

“Can you even call that a drink? Make it a degree higher.”

Hodgins gave a strained smile. “Hey, hey, her big brother figure shouldn’t be saying this...”

“I say it because I’m her big brother figure. I mean, we’re getting more rookies. She’s the highlight of our Doll department. Eating with people is part of having a big job. Before she gets involved with someone who wants to make her drink...”

“Does this have anything to do with me telling you to be the branch manager?”

Hearing a slightly icy voice coming from the president, Benedict blinked. “No... sorta.”

“She’s still a child, and I’ll definitely always be with her in those kinds of places, so it’s okay. It’s still early to teach her how to drink. Nope, nope.”

“A ‘child’, you say... well, she’s got a childish side, but she ain’t one anymore.”

“She is – you, Cattleya and Little Lux, too, are all kids to me. Because you’re quick to do this kind of thing if I don’t keep an eye on you... My, my,” Hodgins said, blowing out the tobacco smoke. Mismatched as it was for someone with such a mature appearance, Benedict could get a glimpse of childishness in him.

“You’ll keep trying to do that from now on too? That’s impossible; face the reality,” Benedict bit out incidentally.

Silence.

Benedict’s words were not wrong. The CH Postal Company was growing rapidly as a business. The fact that the postal company led by Salvatore Rinaudo had withdrawn from the postal industry in the previous year had a major influence in this. They now reigned at a pivotal position in Leidenschaftlich’s postal service. The CH Postal Company would soon account for nearly all of the commissions from the people living in Leidenschaftlich. Other than being busy with work affairs, there were even discussions about relocating the head office because of problems with waiting areas and break rooms due to securing new employees.

“Like, you and I are gonna get damn busy. The Auto-Memories Doll department is gonna be the main organ of the head office and my place will be ordinary mail, right? We’ll be teaching people how things go, and I’ll be doing deliveries too. You’re the one with the busiest role. Anything and everything’s gonna be relayed to you. Getting to be close to your employees like until now while doing all that is just...”

It was natural for a company that had become bigger to do a corporative split-off and for one of their employees to manage the branch office. Benedict was still young but had the power to bring people together. The task would not be an impossible one if they put a veteran of the head office in charge of taking over it. They could do this, Hodgins had decided, thus he came up with the proposal.

“The regular meetings and other stuff that I take part in happen in the head office... It’s not like we won’t get to see each other.”

“Everyone will have a different post and position. We won’t get to see each other. Same for you, Old Man.”

“If it’s work, I can adjust it. I’ll do my best to administrate everyone so that the employees can get a time every now and then to relax like this...”

“Old Man, even if you do your best, V’s dating that nasty-ass military officer, so won’t they get married someday? Dunno ‘bout it, but... that’s why it’s impossible to always watch over us in the first place...”

Silence.

“Hey, don’t clam up.”

What was being thrust at Hodgins now was something that he did not want to look straight at, despite thinking about and readying himself for it. That was what he was being told.

“Hodgins – hey, Old Man.”

It was something that Benedict Blue had the right to say, exactly because they had been doing everything together from the start.

“Hey, don’t take it in a weird way. I ain’t saying this to be malicious. You left the Auto-Memories Doll department in the head office ‘cause your wish to watch over V is a big deal, right? I get it. She’s special to you.”

“That’s not it; I—”

“But she won’t be a kid forever. She’s different from back when she started working, with you teaching her everything. She’s someone who’s gonna let go of your hand one day. She ain’t your real daughter or your girlfriend. Then, if you had to say what she is, at the end of the day, she’s your employee. You’ll part ways one day. If you don’t get ready for that now, will you manage to get over it if she marries into that bastard’s family and he makes her leave the company?”

“Will you manage to get over it?” The question ruminated in Hodgins’s heart.

Benedict had shot him where it hurt without mercy. He was a gun expert. His aim was precise and the bleeding made Hodgins want to hold his own chest down.

——Will I recover if I ever have to be separated from Violet Evergarden? Hodgins pondered earnestly over the question. ——I don’t know.

He truly did not know.

Bonds were things that could not easily break off once they had connected, yet reality, time and busyness unpityingly caused the existence of “friends” to grow far apart.

——To the point that I don’t know, I...

Surely, a day like this would not happen five years from now. Their place to return to amidst the rain would be somewhere else.

——It’s not just her, but also you and everyone else.

To begin with, they might not even be working in the company itself anymore until then. More of them would fall for someone, nurture their love and move their places to be in life to their “homes”.

Twenty, thirty years from now, it might be hard for them to even work. Or they would not be alive – there was also that possibility.

The one who was more aware of this than anybody else was Hodgins, the oldest of them all.

——I’m the one who’s farthest apart in age.

That was exactly why he did not know.

“I have no idea.”

He did not want to see it. Did not want to think about it.

“I have too many things that matter to me, so I can’t make a move anymore. Y’know, you... you might aught at this, but... rather than when you’re young, getting hurt becomes scarier when you grow older. You start losing the energy to do your best and heal. It’s tiring. Still...”

Hodgins had thought that the youth in front of him, who referred to him as “Old Man” on a daily basis, was probably going to laugh, yet Benedict was expressionless.

“Still...”

He did nothing but listen. His posture of properly listening at times like these somewhat...

——...looks like Little Violet.

“Still, I know I’m the one who has to get moving the most. I’m getting everyone involved in the things I wanna do. That’s why I do what I have to. I also counted on you, because I trust you. I left it in your care. But... that and my feelings for her and you guys...”

“I get it.”

“...are different things, right? Y’know, you’re... mean. I’m like a foster parent to you, and yet... Even if you understand my loneliness...”

While Hodgins spoke as if bursting out, Benedict put a hand to his mouth as though to stop him. “I get it.”

Time halted completely.

Was he supporting the flustered figure of the one who was like a parent to him?

“My bad.”

Before he had noticed, he was carrying a load of things he must protect. Was he doing this due to realizing that he had left Hodgins to chance, thinking, “That’s because it’s him”?

“My bad. That just now was on me.”

Silence.

“I didn’t have to pick today to say this. Isn’t that right?”

“You think I’m being lame right now, don’t you?”

“Nah, you ain’t all that cool in the first place.”

“That’s a lie; I’m a generally-acknowledged beautiful young man... no, beautiful middle-aged man.”

“You might not be cool, but well, that’s what’s good about you. Right?”

Silence.

“The cool thing about my Claudia Hodgins is his uncool side.”

Since Benedict was speaking as if to comfort a child, Hodgins told him to “shut up”, slightly annoyed, yet burst into laughter nevertheless.

   The rain caused all sorts of things to pour. The way that people were drowned by the drops trickling down from the sky inevitably made them think about something.

As dawn broke, Claudia Hodgins sat up, body heavy from not getting much sleep. When he peeked at his room’s bed, Violet and Cattleya were sleeping wrapped in the same blanket. On the sofa, Benedict was scattered about, snoring in a way that made him want to laugh.

Hodgins looked for where Lux Sibyl might be. He went down from the third to the second floor, and then from the second to the first floor. She was nowhere to be found.

While thinking it could not be possible, Hodgins opened the front door, and sure enough, he could see the figure of a girl walking down the street towards him.

The clothes she had put to dry yesterday were surely half-wet. What was it that she wanted to do outside so badly to the point of going this far? He understood when he saw what she had in her arms.

“Ah, President.”

Lux was holding a paper bag with a lot of bread in it. The amount was enough that the small girl’s face could not be seen.

“Little Lux... could it be you went to buy us breakfast?”

Thinking back, this young woman was the kind of person who was always quick to act when she was trying to do something for someone. That was all it took to be a considerate person, but without kindness in their heart, they would not turn out this way. The reason why Hodgins had nominated her his secretary was not just that she could do any sort of work.

“That’s so nice.”

“Yes, the bakery owner is very nice. I woke up a bit too early, and when I went on a walk to see how things were outside, the bakery was just about to open and they were getting ready... I went to take a look ‘cause it seemed so delicious and they told me to come in.”

“Ah, hm...”

“I was so touched when they said they baked bread for people who were hungry early in the morning, so I told them many thanks for selling them and bought lots of it. It’s the bakery from that street around the corner.”

“As expected of my secretary. Did you properly get the receipt?”

At those words, Lux showed him a smile that resembled a blooming flower. “Huhu, of course.”

For Hodgins, who had spent the night deep in thought about all sorts of things, that smile was a soothing one. It was like the water of a lake for someone who was feeling thirsty.

Hodgins wordlessly took the bag from Lux. “Little Lux, I’m seriously glad you came to us.”

“Only in this kind of situation, right?”

“All the time. Always. Little Lux, you’re still young, will probably keep working with us... and you’re such a good secretary... I’m the happiest CEO in Leidenschaftlich.”

“Are you going to hire me for life?”

“Eh?”

“Is that a no?”

“No, I could. But that’d mean working with me for life, y’know?”

“Is that bad? I have nowhere else to go.”

When asked with such an innocent look, Hodgins faltered.

“I won’t say the stuff Benedict does, like wanting the company for me.”

“Well, I might... end up giving it to you if you say that, so don’t ever. Hahah... Of course, keep working for us forever and always at my place. Huh, this is kinda like a marriage vow... Wanna take this opportunity and marry me in the future? Just kidding...” Upon thinking that the jest that came out incidentally was an unsavory one right after saying it, Hodgins looked at Lux’s reaction, only to find her staring back at him blankly. He had made himself into a caricature of an old man bothering a girl. “No, it was a prank! But hey. Little Lux, you might be the only one who can go along with me, so having this kind of small talk is... I-I’m not looking at you with dirty eyes, really! We’re too far apart in age, after all! We’re c-close enough that we can crack this kind of joke to each other, right?”

Lux pretended to think for just a few seconds. “Huhu, I can tell. That it’s a joke, at least. But not happening. We’re not getting married.”

And then, she flat-out rejected him.

“Ah, yes.” Although Hodgins would have been at loss if she had accepted it, his shoulders dropped somewhat.

“But President, I’m prepared to nurse you if you ever become unable to work.”

“Don’t... suddenly thrust such a cruel reality at me.”

“Eh, is it? From my point of view... this is quite a deep form of love. President, you’re the first decent adult who accepted me. I’ll devote my whole life to you.”

“Little Lux, you sure like me a lot. Gonna marry me after all?”

This time, Lux actually grinned and replied, “I’ll take that one home and consider it.”

“Amazing; that answer’s like the business talk at the company.”

“Because you’re teasing me... even though you’re well-aware that I don’t even know love yet.”

“Don’t know love yet”. The destructive power of those words caused Hodgins to regret his lighthearted proposal a little.

“Then, I’ll ask again in about five years. I should be at a nice middle age by then.”

“You say that, President, but you’re going on a trip with some hottie next week. I know it.”

The duo, who somehow seemed like they would or other be hanging together for a long time, returned to the office with bouncing chatter.

   In order to make breakfast for everyone together, Hodgins and Lux stood in the kitchen by themselves.

Besides the already-baked bread, they would need drinks and vegetables. Those were merely simple preliminary preparations, but Hodgins felt that just this was somehow enjoyable, unlike doing the work on his own.

“President, you have yours with one sugar cube and a slice of lemon, right?”

“And for Little Lux, it’s two sugar cubes with milk, yeah? I know it.”

While arranging the bread on a plate, they also poured water over the tealeaves and left them to steam. Perhaps due to the scenery that could be seen from the kitchen’s small window being a blue sky with not a single cloud in it, it was awfully dazzling.

“Good morning.”

The next person who appeared amidst the morning sunlight was Violet. Her soft golden hair was just a bit disheveled. Hodgins’s hand naturally reached out to it.

“Morning... You’ve got a bedhead, Little Violet.”

“Excuse me...” Violet looked back at Hodgins as he caressed her head, seeming a little embarrassed. Her eyes were just slightly red. She might have not been able to sleep very well.

“Morning, Violet. Are Cattleya and Benedict also up?”

“Benedict was awake until a while ago, but when I got up from the bed, he began sleeping again by Cattleya’s side.”

“Morally speaking, it’s that kinda thing. I’ll go give him a warning.”

Hodgins laughed a little, seeing Lux off as she walked away while rotating her tiny shoulders. He then turned his gaze back to Violet. Her bedhead, which he had supposedly fixed with the caressing, had returned. For some reason, both of them being alone like this in a kitchen bathed in morning sunlight struck him as extremely peculiar.

Just the two of them, having such a tender time. How many more opportunities would they have for that?

They were already at it. He should talk about something. That was what Hodgins thought, but the words did not come out of him. Not because he had no topic to discuss. He could come up with as many things to talk about as he wanted, such wanting flowers to decorate the table or that they would surely have many customers today who were unable to come yesterday.

But he did not want to spoil this morning. He felt that it might crumble if he spoke even one sentence.

Violet was there. She had her blue eyes directed his way, looking at him. It was no longer awkward for the two of them to stay silent. That was their relationship.

Perhaps still sleepy, she was in a haze. He wanted to watch her standing amidst this gentle time for a little longer.

As she would usually always seem wide-awake, Hodgins believed that she was laidback to this extent due to being in the presence of people with whom she could be at ease from the bottom of her heart. That he had played a part in this feeling of security of hers.

——Will you forget one day?

One day, the position that Claudia Hodgins occupied in the life of Violet Evergarden would become smaller.

——She only gets bigger on my end, though.

Going to the hospital numerous times. Pushing her wheelchair. Giving her a notebook and teaching her how to write.

——I for sure can’t forget. These moments, days, everything like this with you.

The fact that he had not stopped her from fighting in the war. That he had thought they could use her.

——I can’t forget.

Delivering to Violet an outfit that could hide her prosthetic arms, yet that would also make her look her most beautiful.

——I’m sure I won’t forget about this morning either.

About that quiet morning, which was much like the one from before everyone was caught in the great storm and barged in.

Hodgins touched Violet’s hair again. Although she had told Benedict not to touch it, with Hodgins, she all but slightly left a strand in his hand’s care and let him take it, almost like how a cat would do.

——Aah, I want to hug you.

He was not in love with her. That would never be the case.

However, if she were his real daughter, on days like these, mornings like these, he would have easily said, “Good morning, precious” and embraced her.

“I had a dream, President Hodgins,” Violet whispered out of the blue with a freshly awake, faintly hoarse voice.

“Dream...?”

The stunning young woman, who was no longer a girl, talked about her dream like a child, “Yes; in the dream... you owned a clothing store.”

“Huhu, that so?”

“I cannot make clothes. You told me that you did not need me, President Hodgins, if I could not make clothes...”

“That’s horrible of me, huh.”

“Even when I said I could polish the shoes, clean up or do anything, you did not listen...”

Unlike the real one, the dream version of Hodgins had apparently chosen to part ways with Violet.

“Little Violet, what did you do about that?”

“I asked countless times. However, you rejected it countless times. I thought about standing in front of the shop until you allowed me in, but it started raining like yesterday.”

“Hm. And then?”

“Major Gilbert came to pick me up and told me to come home with him, but...”

“Hm.”

“I waited for President to come out of the store even as the lights went out.”

“Hm.”

“Despite waiting and waiting, President Hodgins did not come out, and at some point, a passerby told me, ‘This shop has moved’.”

“Even though it was open until just a moment ago?”

“It was a dream, after all... And then – and then, I asked where it was and went after it. Benedict and Cattleya also appeared in-between, but they seemed to have other things to do, saying they would come after me later... As for Lux, she was the only one who had been hired by you from the very beginning, so she also asked you to hire me again, but in the end, you said no could do.”

“Hm...” Suddenly, Hodgins felt so pained about everything that it was hard to breathe. “And then, Little Violet, what did you do...?” His hand reached out to Violet.

“I kept looking at the interior of the store beyond the shop window from outside.”

Not towards her head, but towards her eyes, where her golden lashes fluttered like the wings of a fairy.

“Inside it, many people – people that I know and do not know – came and left... showing how lively the shop was.”

A sea had silently formed in them, which dissolved and disappeared once Hodgins’s index finger touched it.

“Major came to pick me up for the nth time and said you had told him that my standing there was causing him problems. But, for whatever reason, I at the very least knew that if I stepped away from there even for a moment, you would never let me in... therefore, I could not comply. But I did not want to trouble you, President, so I was unable to make a decision... I attempted to ask Major for instructions, but he was also gone before I realized.”

The sea – the teardrop – turned into a pearl and slipped down her cheek.

“I... I... ended up crying.” Violet stared at the sky, the look in her eyes seeming almost as if the scene from her dream was there at this very moment. “To think I would cry like that...”

“Hm.”

“That was why President Hodgins would not hire me, I thought... And also why Major had grown tired and left.”

“Hm.”

“Then, without my notice, you came outside. You looked the same as that post-war day when you went to visit me at the hospital. You were very surprised with my appearance, as I was soaked with mud and rain. And so, you said this: ‘Guess we’ll start with how to hold a needle’. You told me that you had not invited me for the new job because it would surely be difficult with these hands of mine, so I was extremely relieved... Then, then...” Violet’s words cut off at once.

Unable to hold himself back, Hodgins pulled her into an embrace as if shoving her little head into his chest.

While being embraced, Violet said with eyes that looked as though she was still dreaming, “...with some effort, I could still be helpful. I was able to confirm this, after all.”

Hearing her let out a relieved sigh in his arms, Hodgins forgot about both his and Violet’s positions, clasping her to his chest very, very firmly. “You sure are helpful... Was there anything about me that made you feel uncertain?” Upon realizing that his voice sounded tearful, Hodgins allowed the tears to overflow at the truth.

——Aah, I’m such an idiot. Got caught up in it and ended up crying too.

As the girl whom he thought of as his own daughter, despite her being an actual adult, had shed tears, he found himself crying along with her. Almost like a child. Even though he was supposed to conduct himself as an elder in this situation.

“I do not know.”

“But, has anything like that ever happened until now...? You had that dream because you were uneasy.”

“‘Uneasy’... That might have been the case. Yesterday night, I came to know that many things were progressing while I was away, so I have the feeling that I was quite agitated.”

“Sorry; we were doing things on our own accord. Even though we’ve been together since the founding.”

“No, I am often absent, and it is only natural for some things to be decided in the meantime. I am an employee. I feel that your judgement is correct. Employees must correspond to the changes of a company. My surroundings are about to change significantly. I am grateful to you, President, for letting me be here like always. However...”

“‘However’...?”

“However, I do not know if I can cope with it. With the matters regarding Major, the ones regarding the company... with the fact that Benedict will be going to a different office building. When I think about these things...”

“It’s okay.”

“When I think about them, I realize that the number of things I should prioritize has increased too much.”

“Little Violet.”

“The order of priorities...”

“It’s all right.”

“I have to deal with situations of every kind as I live, and yet...”

——Surely, Violet Evergarden wouldn’t be alive if she didn’t do that.

Always, at all times.

She had been living through corresponding to her surroundings despite being at loss regarding its circumstances, putting everything she could do to use while looking for a place to belong and an adult who would take care of her. She was not allowed to waver. For beasts, hesitation was death.

Violet did not know unconditional love. She now had at last earned herself this warm place through her efforts, but it was about to suffer a rapid change with the course of time.

After running, running and running, Violet – previously one such beast – was watching the nest she had finally found crumble down. Even when people knew they had to prepare to start running again, there would come a time when they would be short of breath and unable to move.

Violet had gone from wild animal to person.

Her human parts and animal parts co-existed, occasionally revealing themselves. When she was the animal, she simply did not mind how much a place changed as long as she could live in it. However, it was difficult to live while holding something better, more important.

Now that she had become a person through the increasing of her emotions...

“I shall fight. I can always be of use. President Hodgins, please forget this aspect of me that I just showed you.”

...she had turned into just a girl who was a little bit scared of the future.

“Please... forget about it.”

Who had made her this way? Gilbert was likely the first, but the ones who had done the finishing touches were definitely all the people in this place.

“No way, I’m not forgetting.”

At Hodgins’s words, Violet lowered her eyebrows, looking troubled.

“Don’t make a face like that; I’m not teasing. I meant to say that you don’t need to worry about it. You indeed might’ve gotten weak. But is that a bad thing? You had nothing when you met me for the first time. Not even your brooch, right...? But now you have lots of things. You went on a journey for a long time and got more stuff to shoulder while you were at it, so it’s no wonder that you’d end up in a dilemma.” Albeit knowing that Cattleya, Benedict and Lux were looking at them in shock from the shadows at the doorway, Hodgins went on, “You know... life is a journey. Little Violet, you’ll go on this journey, won’t you?”

He had already forgotten about his anxiety. The feeling of frustration at such things and the overwhelming wish to cling to someone were now gone.

“You started your journey with a little less luggage than other people, so you’re staring at your bag now that it’s gotten a bit heavy, wondering what happened to it. You don’t know what to throw away anymore.”

He was able to think, from the depths of his heart, that he had returned to his usual self. While embracing her, who was indeed still young and confused in the middle of her journey, he was finally able to think so.

“You need clothes and money, of course, and good shoes are vital. Right, and an umbrella too. When you look into your bag and realize that you actually have nothing that you can get rid of, it’s indeed a problem. Even though it’s a hassle because it’s so heavy. What do you think you should do?”

He could still be useful.

“Train... my physical strength... No, calibrate my prosthetics...”

He was still needed.

“You’re such a fool... Either leave it in someone’s care and continue the journey or have someone take half of it.”

Even if it were only for a short while.

“Gilbert will probably take half of the luggage. I can take care of the rest that you can’t carry over here. I’ll be in Leidenschaftlich forever, after all. Little Violet, no matter where you go, I’ll stay here and wait for you to come back, and no matter when you come over, I’ll welcome you. I’ll take care of the contents of your bag with pleasure.”

——Even if you only remember me a few times a year someday...

“Listen up: whenever you’re troubled, remember that I’m here. And then you’ll be able to go on a journey again anytime.”

——...I’ll ready myself to welcome you at any time of the year.

“Am I really supposed to leave my luggage here?”

——I’m the kind of man who can do that, and you need it for sure.

“Hm-hm, that’s not it. Y’see, this is about memories. All you have to do is to know. That I’m here. This is the way to make your luggage lighter. Whenever you’re having problems, bam, remember me. If you do that, the worries you have now will definitely decrease a little. Y’know, at the end of the day... people’s place to come home to aren’t places, they’re ‘somebody’. You should know that much. You’d have gone to any battlefield if Gilbert was there, right? Someday, yes, you might quit being an Auto-Memories Doll. You might not come back to Leidenschaftlich.”

——It’ll be great if this “someday” never comes, though.

“But your current memories are with me. I’ll be a representation of them. So that you, my dear... will be able to open your memories anytime. When this moment right now becomes nostalgic to you, come see me. I’ll always be here. Waiting for you. You’re feeling ‘lonely’ right now. But... Little Violet. You have me. You’re not alone.”

——I want you to remember.

“I do not understand very well... However...”

——I’m always protecting you.

“...you have always guided me.”

——Waiting for your return.

“I never doubt your word.”

——I’ll be waiting here.

“But, President Hodgins, I have only one wish.”

——I want you to show up when your journey ends.

Deciding to deal with the sobbing coming from behind the door later, Hodgins opted for staying like this for just a bit longer. Her lover might get angry if he saw it, but he had the right to do it, at least to some extent. After all, she was Claudia Hodgins’s dear employee.

Hodgins asked with a particularly gentle tone, “What would it be, Little Violet?”

Violet blinked and looked up at Hodgins. The last drop spilled from her eyes.

“If, only if... there comes a time when you will quit the postal company and start doing something else...”

“Hm.”

“...please call me. No matter where you are, I will rush to you.”

“Hm.”

“I will definitely be of help... Even if not, should your luggage become too much, please call me when you need someone to carry it for you. I shall hasten to visit you.”

“For real?”

“Yes. I, too, will carry President’s luggage. You should know it. I am strong.”

“Huhu, yep, definitely. One day, you’ll understand what I mean by ‘luggage’. Hey...”

No one would imagine that a single drop could be the start of something so big. However, it would earn itself great meaning after a while passed. Should it continue pouring, it could also summon boundless blessings and curses.

   “Hiya, I’m Hodgins. What’s your name?”

Silence.

“This kid’s such a taciturn.”

“She... doesn’t have a name yet. She’s an orphan with no education. Can’t talk either.”

“That’s so terrible of you. She’s such a beauty. Just give a name worthy of her.”

   “Little Violet, thanks for meeting me.”

Love was almost like rain.

[inkslingersworld]

Crowbar (Alternate First Meeting)

Hi guys! This here short story is my first participation in Adrigami Week! I was planning on posting it yesterday, seeing as it’s following the “Alternate First Meeting” prompt, but the time got away from me. Idk if it’s still eligible for the official reblog or not, but I still had a blast writing it all the same. Enjoy! (Contains very mild profanity)

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Her lip was bleeding. For whatever reason, Kagami chose to focus on this minute aspect out of all the other injuries she’d sustained. She dabbed it with a paper towel.

Kagami couldn’t recall how she’d gotten like this. There was so much she couldn’t recall, and the staggering immensity of all her forgotten experiences had weighed down on her for so long that when she found herself in a bathroom without a clue as to how she’d gotten there, she was able to handle the newfound situation better than someone who hadn’t been through what she had.

The only thing that confused Kagami was that her clothes were in perfect condition, despite her face being bloody and streaked with dirt. In fact, they looked as though they’d just been sewn by a master tailor. 

She brushed the puzzlement aside - she couldn’t linger here in this mysterious bathroom. Lingering got you killed.

The door opened easily at her touch, and Kagami examined the bedroom that it led into. The walls were painted in an eye-catching shade of purple, but the bed itself was small and plain. Kagami also noticed that there was no furniture other than a small nightstand and that the window was broken. It framed the outside world in jagged glass.

This aforementioned outside world was cloudy and bleak. Based on how damp the street appeared, Kagami concluded it must’ve rained recently. The buildings matched the clouds in their shade of gray, with windows just as broken as the one Kagami was using as an observation point. No street signs were visible. No vehicles, no animals, no people. Not even wind.

Kagami couldn’t care less about the lack of other individuals; her attention was pinpointed on the crowbar leaning casually against the building opposite. Without a second’s hesitation, she kicked away the rest of the glass and crawled expertly out of the window.

She didn’t know how she knew there’d be a fire escape, but resolved not to ponder on it, because every second she didn’t have the crowbar was a second where it could fall into the possession of someone else. Crowbars were tools; tools were extremely helpful.

By the time Kagami had raced down the stairs leading to the ground, she could notice how old and rusty the crowbar was. In retrospect, it probably wouldn’t be much use against some of the more contemporary weapons others owned, but in times like these, Kagami would take anything she could get.

In no time, she had dashed across the street and grasped the crowbar in her right hand. Flakes of deceased metal fell to the ground like rotten snow as she twirled it experimentally. Even if it fell apart in combat, it was nevertheless pretty maneuverable. 

“Drop it.”

Kagami turned around instead, searching for the voice’s master. She found the man in question stepping out the adjacent alleyway. His face was hidden under an old halloween mask, but Kagami could see he was wearing a green rain jacket and pointing a pistol in her direction.

Was it a pistol? Further examination led Kagami to realize it was no such thing; it was a water gun, and she almost pitied the hopeless idiot who brandished it at her.

“I said drop it!” the man shouted, though not very loudly.

“You know that’s not a real gun, right?” Kagami asked nonchalantly, deciding to break the truth to him.

The man lowered the toy firearm and hung his head. “Damn it.”

“Wait, you already knew?” said Kagami in disbelief. “Why on Earth would you use a water gun instead of, I don’t know, an actual one?”

“I’m a pacifist,” admitted the man, sounding guilty. “I’m a believer of nonviolence.”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but nonviolence fell out of fashion a while back,” said Kagami, not knowing where she’d heard it from.

“Well, I always favored the old styles over the new,” the man said. “You hungry? I’ve got some food.”

Kagami’s mouth fell open in spite of herself. Who did this airhead think he was? You didn’t just go around offering people food. But before she’d even responded, he started walking over to her, removing his mask in the process.

Based off his recent actions, Kagami was expecting him to look innocent and tame, and she was not disappointed. However, she hadn’t foreseen blond hair and green eyes. She hadn’t expected him to look this... well, attractive.

“I’m Adrien, by the way,” he said, plopping his butt on the pavement and taking off his previously concealed backpack. “What’s your name?”

“I’m not about to tell you my name!” Kagami cried exasperatedly. “I know nothing about you!”

Adrien, who’d previously been busy unpacking, looked up at Kagami closely for the first time. His eyes widened after locking with hers and he dropped the box of Ritz crackers he’d been taking out.

After a few uncomfortable seconds, Kagami demanded, “What?”

Adrien flinched violently and faced the ground, blushing. “Nothing.”

“Why were you staring at me for so long?” persisted Kagami.

“N-No reason!” Adrien stammered embarrassedly. 

“Then why were you doing it?”

“I don’t know!”

Kagami decided not to push the topic and begrudgingly sat down; she hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now.

“So...” began Adrien slowly, seeming to regain some of his previous placidity. “I never did learn your name.”

“We’re not there yet,” Kagami grumbled, snatching a plastic-wrapped sandwich out of his hands.

“Well, what are you doing ‘round these parts?” Adrien asked curiously, putting his chin in his hands.

“None of your business,” snapped Kagami, losing some of her intimidation skills to a mouthful of grilled cheese.

“How’s the food?”

“Awful,” Kagami replied, even though it was delicious.

Adrien laughed hard. “You’re funny!”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh, but you are!” 

“What’s your problem?” asked Kagami sternly. “You know nothing about me, I could’ve killed you without hesitation as soon as you came over here!”

“And yet you didn’t!” Adrien pointed out cheerfully.

Kagami took a deep breath, trying to keep her temper in check. “Adrien, wasn’t it?”

Adrien nodded and smiled, seeming delighted that she’d remembered his name.

“Adrien, I don’t know what miracle allowed you to survive for this long, but in our society’s current state, you might not be around much longer. I suggest you drop this puppy dog attitude and learn to fend for yourself.”

“Why learn to fend for myself when we can fend for each other?” asked Adrien earnestly.

The sincereness of this question, contrasting with the playfulness Adrien had exhibited, caught Kagami off guard for a moment, though she soon regained her bearings.

“Adrien, no offense, but you’d be dead weight,” she stated. “Even if I wanted to stick around with you, my memory kinda wipes itself clean every six hours or so, only holding on to the most treasured information - my name, my personality, how to speak, how to read and write, knowing what stuff is, and the like.”

“No way!” exclaimed Adrien, before Kagami could continue. “I have the same thing! That’s why I started a diary!”

He zipped open his backpack again and retrieved a worn leather-bound book. Adrien opened it and showed Kagami its messily written contents.

“I originally didn’t remember how to write,” he explained, flipping through some pages to get to the beginning, “but I was able to relearn! It took like a year, though.”

Kagami peered at the even messier scrawl of a younger Adrien. She was shocked to see his name spelled incorrectly with crayon.

“How long’ve you been on your own?” she asked uncertainly.

“About twenty years, I think,” Adrien answered dismissively. “I can’t know for certain, I didn’t relearn how to understand a calendar until someone took me in when I was... fourteen, maybe?”

“Someone took you in?” inquired Kagami.

Suddenly, Adrien’s face began filled with sorrow and loneliness. “Yeah... yeah, I don’t like thinking about that.”

Noticing how sympathetically Kagami was gazing at him, Adrien quickly plastered his old smile back on. “That doesn’t really matter. Now I’ve got you!”

Kagami hesitated. One of the instincts her memory’d held onto was avoiding people, but Adrien seemed different. He in the same situation she was in, and he’d shown her kindness. Besides, it’d be nice to have a companion, and Adrien’s diary probably contained scores of valuable information to help the duo survive. 

Even if not for all those reasons, there was something else, though Kagami wasn’t sure what it was yet. For whatever reason, Adrien made her feel relaxed, happy even. She didn’t know why, but he did.

“Okay, Adrien,” she said resignedly. “You can stick with me.”

Adrien’s face lit up with gratitude, and before she knew it, Kagami found herself buried in a hug. It was warm and comforting.

“Thank you so much!” Adrien said happily. 

“No problem, Adrien,” sighed Kagami, already having her doubts.

Adrien released her and scooped up his backpack. They both stood up.

“Where are we headed?” he asked.

“West,” responded Kagami mechanically. “It won’t make too much of a difference, but we need all the sunlight we can get.”

The two started to walk. After trekking for about a minute, Adrien spoke again.

“You never did tell me what your name is.”

Kagami smiled softly and rolled her eyes. “It’s Kagami.”

“Kagami,” repeated Adrien thoughtfully. “I like that name.”

\\\\\

@adrigamiweek

[pandoraimperatrix]

On the Sea

BatCat | Smut | 2,8k words | Read on AO3

Summary:  Bruce takes Selina to sail in his private island where no one can se them get busy on the deck. This piece belong to my Four Names ‘verse, but can be read independently, but if would be cool of you to check out the main story.

Selina knew she was being watched, and he knew she knew. It was all part of their game. Her legs swinging up and down blocking sometimes the view of the droplet of sweat that he was so attentively following. It slid from the nape of her head, between her shoulder’s blades and was now making its way all the way through her tanned skin to the small of her back; uninterrupted by the laces of her bikini because she had untied it ages ago when she laid to sunbath on the deck complaining she was bored. Bruce had not commented on her place of choice, that coincided to be right at his display, and continued to sail the boat, pretending to have all attention to the ocean and not to his tantalizing wife. That too, was part of their game.

She wanted him to be the first to break, and maybe he would, but it was too early to give up, and he had Selina’s natural impatience at his side.

“Hey, Cat” he called, and it took her a deliberately long moment to turn her face to him, lowering her cat eye framed shades to look at him with half-opened eyes “champagne?” he raised the bottle, before taking a sip without using a cup. He hid a satisfied smile when she swallowed dry.

Selina turned to her side, one hand supporting her head by the edge of her jaw, the other resting on the curve of her thigh. Breasts completely bare and adorned only by a silver medal hanging from her neck and twinkling in the sun. Bruce had to school himself to not choke, and he was pretty sure by the dirty smile on her face that she noticed him twitching.

He had married a witch.

“Should you be drinking and driving, I mean, sailing?”

Composed enough to be able to drink without embarrassing himself, Bruce took another sip.

“This bay is private, no other boats sail here, we’re fine.”

“No one?” she raised an eyebrow took off her shades, biting one temple tip. “Really? Interesting.”

And he knew for certain that she was not thinking about his reckless drinking. Damn, she was good, he could lose that one.

“So… Do you want?”

“Yeah, bring me a flute.”

She sat up, crossing her legs, the salty wind blew hair at her face, and she gathered her soft locks in a pile, using a strand of her on hair to tie it up, missing a few pieces that few around her face and neck. The sun reflected the golden tones of her curls giving her the illusion of an aura. When Bruce joined her sitting by her side with a flute and the bucket filled with ice and the bottle of champagne; he wished he had brought too paint and paper, but he knew that as much as he mastered the techniques, only a true artist could capture the vision Selina was presenting that day.

He rejoiced at the unadulterated pleasure that spread on her face when she took the first sip. Selina sighed, turning her face up to the sun, her leg touching his when her body moved, led by the swing of the boat. When she was actively trying to seduce him she could get everything from him. Made of him whatever she liked. But when she was like that, just her, just Selina, her smile earnest, just pleased by his company, in those moments, without even trying, that’s when he knew that, whatever seduction game they played, it was rigged against him, he’d lost from the start.

“What?” she asked with an amused expression.

Bruce leaned in, looking into her deep green pools, and slowly, erased the distance, capturing her lips. He barely registered the click of the glass hitting the wooden deck when she put her flute down to insert her fingers in his moist hair, while her other hand slid upwards his arm, kneading his shoulder before settling for his neck, rubbing his Adam’s apple up and down with her thumb. He dragged his tongue through the roof of her mouth until the fruity taste of the champagne faded and all that remained was pure Selina. She pulled away, breathing in and languidly offering her neck for meal, which he accepted, starving.

He kissed each of her beauty marks, there was so many of them, and maybe the sun had made new ones. Then, he tried to connect them with the tip of his tongue, pulling her close by the waist, her arms fell from his neck, and she relaxed. Lying down, Selina’s eyes locked in his, so lost in each other that neither of them noticed that her elbow tipped the glass flute down until they felt the cold bubbly liquid touching their fevered skin.

“Oops!” she said laughing and gently pushing him off her to look for the fallen object.

“Let it,” he groaned, trying to pull her back by the hips.

“Easy, big guy,” she said still amused, and standing up to put away the breakable items safely. “What if it breaks? I’m not risking a trip to the ER.”

Bruce sighed sadly watching her go, he lied on the deck, one arm under his head, waiting, when she came back Selina had a plastic bottle in her hand. He eyed it curiously.

“You are starting to look like a beet, and Alfred will have my ass if I don’t take good care of you.”

He made a disgusted face.

“Please never talk about Alfred having your ass ever again.”

Selina threw her head back in loud laughter.

“Dunno, B. Maybe I’m into silver foxes now,” she winked cheekily, kneeing down beside him and then throwing one knee across his hip and settling strategically on his bulging erection. Bruce licked his lips trying hard to not thrust.  

“Haha, so funny.”

She just smiled at that, and opened the sunscreen cap, squeezing product on her palms before starting to apply to his naked chest. And she took her sweet, sweet time with the task. She began with his solar plexus, spreading the white lotion upwards, feeling the roughness of the growing hairs, no reason to shave on vacation.

She kissed the scars she made on his left pectoral, and arched her body forwards to reach his collarbones, and neck, getting her face impossibly close to his and pulling away when he tried to kiss her. Ignoring his annoyed mutter, Selina, pulled his right arm up, carefully applying product from his shoulder to the tip of his fingers, then she did the same to his left arm. By then, he knew there was no way she wasn’t aware of how hard he was. She squeezed more product to her palm, and with the tip of her finger started to spread dollops to his face. He probably was looking funny, because he knew very well the twitching on her lips as she rubbed the bridge of his nose. Annoyed, he tried to steal a kiss.

“Bruce!” she chastised, trying to pull away in such way that instead of her lips, all Bruce could reach was her chin which he bit, eliciting a soft moan that made him realise that whole torture session wasn’t just wearing him down. Ignoring her protests, he propped himself up using his forearms and kissing her chin again, sliding his tongue down, following the paths of the droplets of salty sweat down the curve of her throat, biting her shoulder until he caught her nipple with his teeth. Selina gasped and pulled his head back roughly by the roots of his hair, forcing him to stare at her eyes. She was panting, and teasing to kiss him again, their lips inches apart.

“Let me finish,” she demanded.

“Eventually,” he retorted.

She let out a throaty laugh and pushed him back to the deck.

“Don’t make me tie you up,” she threatened.

Bruce shut his eyes, trying to control his own breath, Selina was still sitting on his erection, and in that moment he’d give her anything she wanted for a bit of friction, so, when he felt her weight shifting he almost cried in frustration.

“What are you- oh…”

He looked down and she was sitting on his thighs now, squeezing sunscreen directly on his abs, she spread the product meticulously with her hands while Bruce watched, he had never thought that such mundane action could be so sensual. Her brow furrowed as she worked, a droplet of her own sweat fell making a small pool in his product covered skin, and she dutifully wiped it again. Then, she reversed her position, giving him premium view of her ass while she worked on his thighs, legs and feet.

“Finished?” he asked, going mad.

She picked the cloth that he had used to protect the deck from the watermarks of the melting ice of the bucket he had brought the champagne in to relief her own heated skin, patting herself on her face and neck.

“I still have to get you back, don’t wanna lose you for something stupid like skin cancer.”

“Yeah?” he said sitting up and picking one of the remaining ice rocks and inserting in his mouth. “What about you?”

She smiled.

“Already applied before we came out.”

“Aw,” he pouted.

Selina reached backwards to his face, thumb rubbing his jaw.

“Don’t be sad, baby, there’s always after sun moisturizing.”

He took her hand and kissed it, trying to lead his kisses through her wrist, but she pulled it back and got off him.

“Belly down, pretty boy.”

“Come on, Selina, one kiss,” he whined.

“No, turn over.”

Sighing, he obeyed. Bruce felt her approaching, he thought her breath on his neck was just his wife being especially mean, but she sucked his earlobe making him yelp. She giggled.

“God, I hate you,” he groaned.

She clicked her tongue.

“Your nose will grow, Pinocchio.”

He chuckled charmed against his annoyance.

“Are you done?”

“Geez, I didn’t even start. And I told you to lie down, why are you sitting?”

“Kinda hard to lie on my belly now, Selina,” he deadpanned.

He heard her have a fit of giggles and rest her forehead on his shoulder to gather her bearings.

“Sorry,” she finally managed, applying product on his shoulders first.

“Are you though?”

“Nah,” she said shamelessly, as her hands slid through his back, paying attention to each corner.

“Just as I thought,” he muttered, sighing.

“Now, I’m done.”

“Hallelujah.”

“You are such a cry baby, Bruce, lie down.”

“Selina…”

“I told you to lie down. Belly up.”

He sighed an did as he was told, trying to imagine what she would invent to torture him now, but was caught completely under guard when in a quick motion, Selina inserted her hand inside his trunks and pulled his cock out, sucking the tip.

“Holy-!”

He shut his eyes, seeing stars, his ears ringing. When he opened his eyes again, he found he gaze on him, and Bruce needed all his hard training to not embarrass himself. Selina’s kisses went down his shaft, to it’s base and spreading kisses around the area, to his navel while her hand pumped. She liked upwards again, twirling her tongue around the head and kissing it lovingly without breaking eye contact with him. One of Bruce’s hands entered her hair, undoing the makeshift ponytail she had made before, scratching her scalp as she hollowed her cheeks, blowing him skilfully.  

“Love,” he called weakly. “It’s enough, please.”

She gave him a last lick before letting go, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Selina walked in her knees positioning herself in his lap, Bruce sat up and his time she didn’t reject his lips, holding his face with both hands while his explored her body, lovingly caressing the curve of her waist, kneading her rear, and pulling her closer by the curve of her knee. He bit her cheek weekly, and sucked the pulse on her neck, his hand grabbing one of her breast and guiding it to his mouth making her moan and thrust against him.

Sighing, Selina pulled his head up again, guiding him back to her lips, her chest only separated from him by the layer of perspiration. She kissed him for what felt like forever and never, never long enough. Pulling his bottom lip until it felt numb, and stopping just to look deep into his eyes every time they stopped to catch a breath.

“What are we going to do about your bottoms?” he asked before sucking her earlobe.

“What about them?” she answered, her voice barely audible.

“I could rip them off,” his hand already pulling the elastic.

She slapped his hand.

“Don’t you dare! I love this bikini, just work around it.”

“You could take them off…”

“Then I’d have to get up.”

He seemed to consider.

“Yeah. You are right.”

“As always.”

He snorted, and kissed her again, his hand changing directions to her centre, pulling the fabric to the side and sliding a finger up and down her vulva. Selina shut her eyes, her mouth falling in pleasure.

“Cat you are so, so wet.”

“Yeah?” she breathed.

“Yes. Is it all for me?”

She let out a suffering chuckle.

“Might be.”

“Oh,” he made when she thrusted against his hand, “does it feel good?”

“Can be better.”

“How so?”

Selina made an impatient sound.

“Just fuck me already, Bruce.”

“When you ask so nicely…”

She lifted her hips, hoisting herself through his neck, and, Bruce, pushed her bikini bottom’s all the way to the side with one hand and aligned himself to her pussy with the other, and Selina fell, joining the two of them together, finally. He groaned against her ear, hands dragging upwards to her waist and holding her hard in place.

“You are so impossibly tight.”

“If you are managing such big words yet, I can get tighter,” saying that she squeezed him, and Bruce cursed loudly, Selina chucked and started riding him. “Look at me, Bruce” she ordered, “look at me or I’ll stop.”

He did, and she smiled sweetly contrasting with how relentlessly she was fucking him, holding his face to look at her. Selina’s eyes shut, she arched her back. Her chin following her movements as she let out a loud moan dragging from the depths of her throat. Bruce held her strongly as she trashed, her thrusts getting erratic and without rhythm, slowing down, until they became just languidly undulations.

Soothing her with kisses, Bruce rose her limp body from his lap, and lied her down on the deck. She oversaw his ministrations with half-lidded eyes, relinquishing control for the time being. Bruce pulled down her bottoms, finally, throwing it at the cockpit’s direction. He dove, kissing her belly, grabbed her right thigh and sucked the soft skin of the inner part, kissing and licking his way to her knee and shin, biting the heel of her foot and eliciting a giggle from Selina.

Smiling fondly at her, Bruce, rested her leg on his shoulder, and then picked her left leg, giving it the same treatment. Then, he grabbed her by the waist, adjusting her body one last time before entering her again with a groan. Selina rose her hands to his face again, tracing his bottom lip with her thumb as he thrusted against her slowly.

“I fucking love you,” she whispered losing herself in the sensation, Bruce started picking up rhythm and talking faded. Coherence completely left when he started rubbing her clit without stopping his thrusts, trying to get her to come again before his own release became too hard to stop. He leaned more into her direction, seeking for more contact, and one of her legs slid down to hook around his thigh, the other one remained on his shoulder, providing an angle of penetration that only someone flexible like Selina could provide.

He kissed her to insanity, moaning inside her mouth, and when it became too hard to concentrating on kissing, he let out her bottom lip with a pop. Bruce, let go of her clit to support his weight against the deck giving him leverage and Selina substituted it with her own. He reached for the leg that slid down, pulling it up again and folding it to let him go deeper, the slight change of angle did if for Selina and she fell apart again, calling desperately for his name. Bruce didn’t stop, seeking his own release relentlessly until he too reached climax.

When his soul returned to his body, he opened his eyes to find her looking at him with besotted eyes, her hands roaming through his back slowly, giving him goosebumps. Bruce let go of her legs, letting her body relax, and he fell beside her, panting.

Selina turned to her side, propping her head on her hand and sliding her foot up his inner leg languidly.

“My knees are completely ruined,” she complained gleefully.

He chuckled.

“We’ll get you a pillow next time.”

She snorted.

“You are such a dork.”  

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

Guys, it's so hot, SO HOT, I can’t remember how rain felt like. So have some hot smut for all your BatCat needs. XOXO

[lorei-writes]

Fairy Tales for Bedtime

The King of Liars

Shingen x MC Fantasy AU (Fairy Tale-ish) Choose Your Own Ending*

Ahh, it’s finally done! I don’t even know what to say, other than I’m so happy. I can barely see now, because I wanted to edit it instantly after I finished writing it and then post it. Allow me to invite you into a fantasy setting of yet another type. You won’t regret it.

*- Fluff or Angst

Word Estimate: 4.5k

Content Warnings: kidnapping, food (main); none (Dream ending); death (Nightmare Ending)

Sweet wind played with her hair, clementine mist extending its reach over to the terrace, dispersing through air like ink droplets submerged in water. Her hands resting atop the railing, her feet rose above the ground – she could have sworn Shingen had to hold back a gasp, her upper body tilting forward as if she was about to fall. She stopped, however, only gazing into the depths below them, starts seemingly calling out to her. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered, the gentle hum of the sky cushioning her voice. “Would you want to see them from up close?” Soles of her shoes clacked against the tiles, her skirt swirling as she turned to face him. “Could you do that?” One foot on the railing, Shingen pushed himself up. Without losing his balance, he leaned forward and offered her his hand, the words she wanted to hear leaving his lips. “I don’t know.” Yes, of course.

Long, long ago, when seas of grass heaved undisturbed by human influence, it was still believed that summer solstice held a special kind of power. It was celebrated as such, flames higher than trees attempting to touch the night sky while laughter flew abundantly over rivers, flower crowns being carried downstream. As day touched the night, humans seemed to awaken, pushing past the borders of the unsafe darkness, their voices daring to pierce through the harmonious buzzing of the forests. For an untrained ear, it would seem silence didn’t exist then, that it was banished outside the borders of the human realm and replaced by joy… Yet it lurked somewhere else, somewhere where the slightest mistake could be paid with the greatest of prices.

She stared into the well, silver moonlight being reflected at her from below. She breathed in deeply. Air seemed to electrify, prompted by her chants. “Mirror, mirror from below, Tell me tales I shouldn’t know, Show me days that are to come, Mirror, mirror, hear my call.” The water bubbled, a whirlwind appearing in the very centre of it, colours beginning to separate on its surface. She leaned it closer, her eyes shining with curiosity, images of the future forming to answer her pleas. Her lungs begged for the air, not even a breath being invited into them as she strived to stay perfectly still. Just a little longer, just until she saw it, and then she’d be able to let it go, to let time flow the way it’s supposed to…

A leaf flew past her head, swirling in the air before being sucked into the well, her eyelids twitching as she failed to stop them from moving. Her eyes opened wider as terror overtook her. She sprung back, her clothing already twisting, pulling her towards the water. She tore it – to no avail, her entire body being swallowed with force she couldn’t oppose. In her descent, she turned around, lush greenery emerging from the silver water, sliding up the walls of the well as if to cushion her fall. A scream died in her throat, consumed by everlasting silence that seemed to have taken a permanent residence within her.

The world around her morphed, initially fading into darkness and then erupting into a sea of vivid streaks. Trees hung suspended in the air, endless ocean of azure spreading far below her, carnivorous clouds rushing underneath the surface of the water. Sun chasing them around, they took shelter in reefs of long branches extending from above, phasing through the jewels growing in place of leaves. The reality slowly making itself known to her, she began to panic, her hands combing through the air in a desperate attempt to find anything to grasp onto. Her heart stopped – the sky exploded in pink mist, its edges spilling in various ripples around her.

“A human? Poor soul,” a voice vibrated through her.

Initially stunned, few things escaped her attention, her body only later catching onto the change in its position. Buzzing in her ears drowning out all sounds, she hid her face behind her arms, her eyes suddenly beginning to burn. She coughed – and just as it started, it was over, her head spinning as she snapped it to look up. She shouted, her body jolting back, strong hands keeping her in an embrace. “You don’t want to fall? Keep on doing that,” the person laughed, huge irises in shade of lime green piercing though her. Instect-like wings fluttered behind their back, colours of the sunrise being seemingly enchanted in the thin membrane spreading between each resemblant of a bone part. “Azla!” another voice called. “King said not to bring any new spoils back. Just let her fall.” “The clouds aren’t hungry,” they whined. “What a pleasant time, really.” “I’ll gladly listen to your problems later, please, pour your heart out.” Her arms trembled, her gaze travelling from her captor to the man, confusion flooding her senses. A pointy nose almost brushed against her cheek, ultramarine hair falling onto her face. “You’re kinda cute. You make me want to eat you.” “Please, do,” the person holding her replied. “Now.” She winced, yet no harm came her way, wind beginning to hum in her ears anew.

The travel was fast, fast enough to be both deafening and blinding, pushing her further into a state of deep confusion. Lost and certain only of the fact that the rules had been broken, she did not even attempt to look around, the watercolour-like mists with acidic smell being sufficiently dooming for her mind. The world could have very well frozen, time nearly stopping as she struggled to stay in touch with reality, her heart racing – and only beginning to pick up its pace after they landed. An ivory palace emerged from a forest of vermilion roots, wide trunk extending deep into the navy sky below them, shining starts losing themselves in orange reefs of branches during their never-ending chase. Undisturbed by any predatory moons, they adapted different tactics, some staying in constellations while others opted for a solitary hunt, burning bright as to provide the light for the palace, membranous windows allowing for it to sneak inside. Her captors setting her down, she trembled, soles of her shoes clacking against the glass ground. She focused, willing her mind to take a step forward – yet she stayed still, her body refusing to obey any of her commands. A hand fell onto her shoulder. “Backwards, take your time,” Azla demanded. “I...I can’t,” she forced out, a knot tying itself inside of her throat. The fairy groaned in reply, pinching the bridge of their nose as their gaze focused on the ground. “Feet, pretty please, carry the guest to our King, thank you, have a nice time and enjoy your day.”

Charmed, she rushed forward, barely managing to hold her back upright, each step bringing her closer to collapse. Exempt from her will, her legs acted on their own, speeding past the castle guards and then through the halls, azure carpets eventually disappearing as ornaments became sparser, wood replacing the ivory. Golden window frames turning to metal, gusts of wind snuck inside, each floor being less resemblant of a rich palace than the previous one – until she finally reached the very top of the estate, the last corridor leading directly to what seemed to be a wall taken out of a completely different building. Rather frugal and solid, balks rested firmly atop each other, a door standing in her way. Fearing her feet may not stop, she leaned forward to knock and press the handle, as not to let herself get hurt.

Her body passed the doorstep, her legs instantly collapsing under her weight, no longer supported by magic. Her lungs burning after the run, she breathed in deeply, too tired to notice the pair of grey eyes staring at her from over the table. “What do we have here?” the human-looking person hummed, causing her to snap her head up. Scared, she tried to get out, the door closing behind her back. “An angel? Please, allow me to soothe your worry, you are completely safe now.” “Who are you?” “I am the one in control of the entire realm, the king… Although just for you, I’d suggest using ‘Shingen’ instead,” he explained, offering her a hand. She accepted it, still too shaken to question an existence of another human in the land of the fairies, much less his position or role – and only once she was standing by herself again, did she notice the hem of his sleeve rolling up, burnt sienna marks creeping up the man’s forearm, something deep within his skin shining like copper.

***

The days passed, her existence being contained to the borders of the king’s quarters. Initially assuming she’d meet her end there shortly, she opted to stay by herself, the solitude of the room assigned to her providing her with an odd sense of comfort. Much to her surprise, however, nobody came, only the low humming daring to sneak inside during each meal time, the king himself setting a tray in front of her door. At first, she guessed it would be poisoned… Yet there was little difference in dying from starvation or as a result of a scheme, if anything the latter being preferable in its length. Desperate, she gathered her courage to taste the food.

It was safe, although perhaps a bit too savoury for her liking, some vegetables being additionally somewhat overcooked. She accepted it regardless, her stomach ceasing to growl for the first time in days – and her mouth watered as she reached for the cake, the pastry being perfect in its taste. Encouraged, she gathered the dishes and set them outside, still too cautious to let herself be lured out for longer.

The pattern repeated for few weeks, her senses slowly beginning to adapt to the unusual movement of the sun and the eternal day. Feeling she might be prepared to learn of what was to happen to her, she got up from her bed and walked to the door, ready to open it… A knock came from the other side. “Can we talk?” Shingen asked. “Y-Yeah,” she stuttered.

Following her host, she walked down the corridor, taking careful note of the paintings hanging over the walls, the frames being seemingly out of place. Having seated himself in one of the armchairs, Shingen gestured at her to rest too. He rolled up his sleeves, symmetrical markings spreading up his skin – her eyes widened. “I thought you were a human…” she spoke absent-mindedly. “Have I ever said that? Few humans have managed to live here before, yet I am not one of them.”A faint smile appeared over his face, as if he tried to comfort her. “I… I see. What will happen to me?” “Plenty and precisely nothing.” “I think I don’t understand.” “The well will open in a year and one day, counting from the day of your arrival. I will arrange new quarters for you.” “That’s… That’s not necessary!” she exclaimed, rising her hands in a protective gesture. “I am fine living here.” “Oh, I insist. This year will most likely be a long one for you,” he hummed, something shining deep within his eyes. She did not look close then, though, completely convinced that opposing his command would cost her dearly. As such, she retreated into her room once more.

However, no change happened, Shingen only inviting her to explore his quarters, his private room excluded. She asked for explanation, yet got no reply, her reach slowly expanding until she had seen all parts of the castle at least once. During one such trip, when she ventured out onto the terrace to watch the sentient stars, a fairy landed by her side. “Boo!” Azla exclaimed, his wings fluttering happily as she jumped. “Azla!” Botchka scolded him, soon finding himself by their side. He turned towards her. “My lady, please punish this...Person of the greatest intellect,” he ground through his teeth, causing her to laugh. “Apologies accepted. Or should I say, ‘perish’? I have noticed some of you seem to speak in opposites… But it is different with the king. I don’t think I have it quite figured out…” she trailed off, hoping they’d provide her with enough information to resolve her confusion. “Fairies must speak only truth and king is the only one able to make it sound like an utter and complete lie,” Botchka answered without a hint of hesitation, reaching to entwine his fingers with Azla’s. “For example: I absolutely hate this great, scholarly personality.” “I won’t make a cat poop in your shoes for that,” they muttered, unmoved by the confession.

The woman nodded in reply. “So it’s that simple? I wonder then…”

***

Her suspicions having been confirmed, she chose to learn more, asking the king whether he’d mind if she joined him during the meals. He disagreed, which she assumed was a sign she should try regardless, preparing the table for the both of them. She glanced curiously at him. No reaction. As such, she brought out the stew and the dessert, soon reaching for the bowls to fill them – and yet, one disappeared straight out of her hand, Shingen suddenly materialising in his spot and cutting himself a hefty slice of cake. Content, he sat down, already digging into the crust as she laughed: “This isn’t really a balanced diet.” “I presume you’re right, my angel. After all, I consume human food for the nutritional value alone… Yet I can’t seem to stop myself.” Not quite, my angel. I don’t consume human food for nutritional reasons… Although I could have spared that piece of cake, she tried to understand. “Fairies eat different things? Then why bother with human stuff?” “I’d rather save that story for another time,” Shingen stated, smiling a polite smile. I’d prefer not to share the reason as to why. The woman nodded in reply, her brows knitting together. Her face relaxing a moment later, she rose her gaze and looked at him, the corners of her mouth curling up. At least she was beginning to adapt.

It seemed each day their talks lasted longer, soon exceeding past the meals, the empty plates listening in to the joyous laughter and words of explanation, sometimes hours past their serving time, the king only taking note of them once the next meal came. The dining table soon losing its role of being the bridge between them, it was released from its duty, the pair moving to the living room – and when that ceased to suffice too, they opted to stroll around the castle, her eyes gleaming with curiosity as he revealed the secrets of the fairy realm to her.

Sweet wind played with her hair, clementine mist extending its reach over to the terrace, dispersing through air like ink droplets submerged in water. Her hands resting atop the railing, her feet rose above the ground – she could have sworn Shingen had to hold back a gasp, her upper body tilting forward as if she was about to fall. She stopped, however, only gazing into the depths below them, starts seemingly calling out to her. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered, the gentle hum of the sky cushioning her voice. “Would you want to see them from up close?” Soles of her shoes clacked against the tiles, her skirt swirling as she turned to face him. “Could you do that?” One foot on the railing, Shingen pushed himself up. Without losing his balance, he leaned forward and offered her his hand, the words she wanted to hear leaving his lips. “I don’t know.” Yes, of course. She accepted the invitation, soft breeze nuzzling against her ankles as sudden warmth spread through her body, causing her to feel lighter. His fingers closed around hers, her eyes meeting his – and she followed his gaze, few shining steps appearing in front of her. Mesmerised, she climbed them, soon standing by Shingen’s side, holding onto his arm as not to fall.

Words were unreliable, all things he could have told her being too heinous as lies, the sweetest thought having to turn into poison if it were to leave his mouth. As such, he did not dare speak, instead guiding her with his eyes, her breathing hitching at every stolen glance. Carefully, Shingen took a step forward, the initial fall stopping as platform emerged below his feet. Shingen looked up, his lips parting, but he hesitated to talk. “Yes, please,” she whispered in reply, his hands finding themselves onto her waist as he lifted her. Perhaps it was just a habit, perhaps she forgot herself, her arms crossing behind his neck – and she could not avert her gaze, her body pressed to his, her tiptoes hoovering just above the ground. Her blood started to rush, familiar tenderness sneaking into the grey irises for a split second – yet it was over so very soon, black lashes falling to hide it away as Shingen set her down. With a gesture of a hand, he urged her to go forward, the next platform being only a step away. Silently, she did as instructed, entwining her fingers with his once more. Slowly, they descended to the very border of the night sky.

She saw the light – only a moment more, Shingen setting the last platform in place. The woman swallowed thickly, releasing a deep breath out of her lungs a second later, unwilling to let her fears hold her back.  His hand resting atop her arm, she looked from Shingen to the very sky below them, air being ocean-like in its structure, licking the edges of their step – only to evaporate in pleasant breezes, carrying up smells of fruit, flowers and summer days. Notified of their presence, a myriad of stars swam their way, crowding at the edges of their shelter, sparkly tails following them through the depths. The woman crouched town – and much to her surprise, the king knelt by her side, dipping his hands into the fabric of the sky. Seemingly playful, celestial bodies swarmed to them, as if begging to be invited into his palm, few that got inside buzzing against his skin excitedly. He trapped them inside with his other hand.

The king straightened his back, the droplets at his fingers bursting into the scent of sandal tree. “I… I wouldn’t dare to ask you to hold your hands out,” he let out. Blush spreading over her cheeks, she did as he asked – and he opened his fingers, the smallest universe she had ever seen falling into her grasp. She gasped, her eyes shining brightly. She looked up at him. “On any other day, I’d like to have it back… But since tomorrow is the last day of your stay here, I suppose I’d like for it to be the one thing to remind you of the fairy realm.” Her eyes crinkled. “Liar. I’d rather take something else,” she chuckled, leaning forward… He touched his finger to her lips, an odd sense of hurt dimming his eyes. “No,” he grunted, the markings on his forearms lighting up, his face growing paler. The sky crept onto the platform.  Shingen rose to his feet fast, pulling her up by her hand. “We could stay a little longer, on some other day. On any other day.” We must go. She did not understand the rest.

They ran up the platforms, each step being shakier than the previous one – until they reached the terrace, Shingen collapsing to his knees, his back pressing against the railing as he clutched onto his chest. She dropped next to him, pressing onto his shoulders to get a better look at his face, liquid copper flowing below the skin of his hands. “Shingen?” “I’m fine.” It hurts. “How bad?” “Not at all.” It can’t be described. “What should I do?” “Stay.” Leave me to myself. “I can’t. I will take you to your room, okay?” “No.” Yes.

Her shoulders supporting his weight, they hurried back inside, the corridors seemingly shortening themselves as to let them reach his quarters sooner. She pushed the door to his personal room open, helping him to sit on the bed. “Any medicine?” “Left drawer.” “Right!” she thought aloud, already rushing to open it and search through its contents. She almost froze, a solitary bottle of human medicine staring at her – yet she did not let herself waste any time, instantly turning around with it in her hand. She unscrewed the lid, pouring the liquid into it and soon pressing it against his lips. Shingen drunk hurriedly.

The king fell onto his back, copper shining withing the markings growing calmer to eventually completely subside and resume peaceful slumber. “Why do you have human medicine?” she asked. “Why, indeed…” Shingen panted, his face relaxing. “I want to know.” “I will tell you on the last day of your stay.” I won’t ever be able to tell you. The woman frowned, her feet carrying her towards the corridor. “Well then,” she huffed. “I will make you.” The door closed behind her back.

Her night wasn’t a peaceful one, no dreams daring to come her way as she tossed from side to side. Uncertain whether she felt more concern or anger, she got up, the clock having struck a quarter past midnight. She shook her head, letting the thought of rest go freely. Hoping to at least calm her mind, she got up, her feet carrying her to the very terrace they… What exactly had they done the prior night? Explored? Spoke? She laughed to herself – how truly odd was this world, submerged in deep navy yet also bright, sunken in light. She could not even classify it in any clear category, her mind failing her at understanding the nature and what happened to her alike. Wings fluttered behind her. She turned around.

Azla and Botchka landed, gazing at each other in solemn silence. Puzzled, she irked a quizzical brow at them. “Is something a matter?” she asked. “No.” Yes, Botchka replied. “We certainly did not want to talk.” “It’s only that we felt obliged to,” Azla gulped. The woman leaned against railing, her fingers growing white as she clutched on it. “Well, I’m all ears.” The fairies glanced at each other once more. “Do not listen to us at all.” Listen to all we say very carefully. “We can repeat ourselves.” We won’t repeat it. “The well opens precisely one day after the solstice,” Azla stated, turning their attention towards their partner. “The well opens precisely one day before the solstice.” The woman frowned, her eyes growing wider in fear. “It opens today.” “It hasn’t already.” It already has. She gritted her teeth, her heart beginning to beat faster. “Thanks, I think I must talk with somebody now,” she blurted out, breaking into a run.

She understood, fairies lie – yet she also knew Shingen was very well capable of suggesting where the deception began. Fearing he may send her away without giving her the chance to talk one last time, she knocked onto his door, opening it before he could react. Her heart sunk – he was there, lying in bed and basked in the light that somehow felt dark, his skin pale as his face twisted in pain, his hands grasping onto the sheets. She ran up to the drawer, her fingers curling around the familiar medicine bottle.

Empty.

Dream:

Content Warnings: none

Slowly, she sat down by his side, her fingers pushing damp from sweat hair out of his face. “You’re burning up,” she noted bitterly, her lips brushing against his forehead. “You have been unwell all this time. And you’ve never told anybody, have you?” “It’s only solstice,” he rasped. “Huh?” “It’s only solstice. It makes our worlds touch… And then… Humans were not meant to live in this realm –” A cough tore through his chest. “But you’re not a human,” she noted, letting her fingers stroke his cheek. She shook her head. “And all you say are lies. How am I to trust any of that?” “Not fully, not yet… The solstice… The solstice allows for truths to be said without a punishment.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, she nodded. She reached to hold his hand in hers. “I want to trust you,” she whispered. “So I will… And if this world is hurting you… Come. Come with me.” “I can’t.” “Why?” “If I’m not here… If something goes wrong… The well may close before you pass. I don’t know what will happen to you then.” To his surprise, she stayed calm, emotion draining away from her voice. “Then what should I do to get back?” “Stay still… And recite your spell, starting from the last verse…”

Silence fell thick between them, the woman eventually moving to stand up. “Thank you. Thank you for everything,” she uttered, seemingly accepting his wish. Slowly, she stepped into the centre of the room, her eyes fixated onto the last drop of medicine in the bottle. Her chest rose as she breathed in deeply, her eyes electrifying. “Mirror, mirror, hear my call, Show me days that are to come, Tell me tales I shouldn’t know, Mirror, mirror – ” Strong winds broke out, drowning out her words, her clothing beginning to twist as an overwhelming force began to swallow her. The king smiled – in his defeat that happened to be a lesser victory…

Shingen blinked fast, the pain in his chest lessening as his hands grew transparent. Her voice vibrated through his mind, sending chills down his spine. “ – save my love,” she spoke, the incantation being complete.

***

Buzzing in his head grew stronger, each breath filling his lungs with an unfamiliar substance – something he both craved and couldn’t identify. Shingen opened his eyes slowly, black sky, so unlike anything he had ever seen before, spreading above his head. He blinked fast, the events of the night reawakening themselves in his mind – he shot up, frantically looking from side to side until his gaze fell over her body. Fearing the worst, he rushed to her, his knees failing him.

Gently, he turned her onto her back, cradling her head as not to cause any harm – and he leaned down, hoping that she was still alive. Her breath tickling his cheek, he sunk back down, waves of relief flooding him on the inside. “The stars…” she mumbled, seemingly awoken from her slumber. “Yes, my angel? What about the stars?” “I could never tire of watching them,” she giggled weakly, tiredness sounding off in her voice. “And yet they can’t measure up to even a fraction of your beauty.” “Cruel, aren’t you?” Shingen propped himself on his elbow and gazed down at her, the faint gleam in his eyes proving her wrong. “It is the truth.” Her hand cupped his cheek, the fever she felt seemingly only a moment ago having disappeared completely. “Then… Would you mind giving me the one thing I wanted then?” she asked, although the answer was already known, they lips being mere inches apart. She gasped as they collided, her wish coming true– and she couldn’t have helped thinking it was dearer than the universe he had granted her then.

Nightmare:

Content Warnings: implied impending major character death.

Slowly, she sat down by his side. “You’re ill and you haven’t told anybody, have you?” she spoke in an empty voice, her hands clutching onto the empty bottle. “It will pass,” he rasped. It won’t, she understood. “If… If it’s terminal… Can I help you?” she uttered, looking away as not to let him see her despair. A shadow of surprise swept over his face – and then he realised, she did not know he could tell truth for once, during that one special day a year. “No.” Yes. “I wish I would never hear those words… Could you erase them with a song?” “A song?” she hummed. “Any song?” “From the human realm… I was always curious… What do you sing to get into my domain?”

She laughed bitterly, her head shaking as she swept her hair forward. “Mirror, mirror from below, Tell me tales I shouldn’t know, Show me days that are to come, Mirror, mirror, hear my call,” she started, her voice breaking a few times. A moment of pause. “It… It does go on like so,” she sobbed – and it shattered his heart, as he knew she was convinced it could be the end. “Mirror, mirror, hear my call, show me days that are to come, tell me tales I shouldn’t know, mirror mirror from below – ”

Silence consumed her voice. She grasped onto her throat, unaware of what she had done – and then she looked at him, her lips parting to say “no” as his turned into an apologetic smile. “I lied to you one last time,” the king admitted. The universe around her twisted, collapsed onto itself… She was gone.

Tag list: @datenoriko, @nad-zeta, @tsubaki3192, @missjudge-me, @ikemencrossedmyth, @nuttytani, @thesirenwashere, @milas-imaginarium, @kisara-16, @yukas-clover, @alerialumina , @cheese-ception , @iamryxx, @cottonfluffballofdoom, @ozziegrl71, @silhouette-of-a-dream If you want to be tagged under my future works, let me know (any way works)! ^^ Also, if you have some preferences (for example: you’d rather not be tagged under some series, etc.), please, tell me.  If you don’t want to be tagged anymore - please, do not feel bad about it, just say so :)

[eternalglitch]

Like Father Like Son: Chapter 3

Prologue Arc 1: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Mikey let out a small sound in the back of his throat, bending down to pick up the odachi by its hilt, hands shaking slightly. His reflection stared back at him, eyes wide and face a paler shade of green than was normal, pale enough that he could actually see his yellow freckles that oh so rarely showed up. “Guys?” he whispered. “Has Leo ever gone out without his weapon?”

Read it HERE on ao3.

Chapter Specific Warnings: no specific ones (please see the general ones listed in the prologue)

Chapter Three: All Green and Blue

“He’s not picking up. Why isn’t he picking up?!” Mikey demanded, looking up from his phone. The youngest couldn’t help but shift from foot to foot, a sort of buzzing energy from his anxiety making him want to move. Why couldn’t his brothers walk faster?

“Yeah, it is odd he wouldn’t answer either of us…” Donnie agreed, squinting at his wrist tech. “I can’t locate his phone’s location, either. It’s either out of battery or broken.”

Finally, Mikey thought with relief, Raph’s pace noticeably quickened, his brothers right on his heels. “Okay… okay. First, we’re gonna backtrack the possible routes to the pizza place, and then we’re going to check any place he could have ended up. Donnie?” The leader of the group glanced at the purple turtle, gaze expectant.

“On it, I’ll hack any nearby cameras and run a scanner through social media looking for buzzwords,” the technological prodigy replied, typing quickly. “I’ll compile a list of people that might’ve gone after him as well.”

“People that went after him?” Mikey asked, now even more nervous, his voice rising a pitch or two until it cracked completely. “You think the foot clan or Big Mama is behind this? What if they’ve hurt him?” Mikey reached out and clung to Donnie’s elbow, staring over at Donnie’s screen as stats whizzed by. The other turtle tolerated it, but didn’t stop typing to pat his shell or head. That was a sign things really were serious. “What if he’s all alone and scared or… or I don’t know! I can’t even begin to picture him being scared!”

“Again, Michael, I’m sure it’s really nothing, we’re just being thorough—“ Donnie finally started to reassure him, but his eyes never moved from the screen until a loud clatter rang out. Donnie froze, Mikey almost stumbling as he was also pulled to a sudden stop. They looked down.

Leo’s sword was lying, innocently forgotten, all alone on the sewer floor.

Mikey let out a small sound in the back of his throat, bending down to pick up the Odachi by its hilt, hands shaking slightly. His reflection stared back at him, eyes wide and face a paler shade of green than was normal, pale enough that he could actually see his yellow freckles that oh so rarely showed up. “Guys?” he whispered. “Has Leo ever gone out without his weapon?”

“I’m sure there’s a reason… or… or an explanation,” Donnie grasped at, but after he glanced at Raph, who shot him a panicked look, Donnie bowed his head, his eyes flicking back and forth as he thought.  

It was Raph who spoke next, his voice low and urgent. “If something did go down– someone must’ve been inside of the sewers– I’m not sure Leo even made it outside for the pizzas in the first place.” The eldest scratched his head, his expression slowly darkening.

“So they came here purposefully looking for us and somehow we didn't even notice them brothernap Leo from right here?” Mikey looked around at the ground, eyes flicking up and down the sewer walls like the name of the culprit would be left behind with a clean, neat note. He needed someone to tell him flat out that it was going to be okay, he realized weakly, hugging the sword close. Someone to crack a bad joke about the situation, or know what to say. He needed… he needed his brother.

“I’ll call April,” Raph said, phone already out. He already had her number pulled up as well, finger hovering over the green button to call. “We’ll need eyes in every possible place, including checking to see if this was on Leo’s way to or from the pizza place.”

“I now have generated the list of most likely suspects,” Donnie added, pulling up a screen that had a numbered list of the names of their many yokai nemeses. At the top of the list were the various yokai that constantly fought with them on the regular, and the list continued down until it ended with a Warren Stone, although Donnie must have added him just to be safe; in reality, Mikey barely remembered the guy. “It looks like the first name my algorithm came up with is those mutant crabmen we came across recently- apparently they sometimes linger in this area.”

Raph nodded, pulling his phone away from his tympanum and giving them a thumbs up. “April’s in,” he confirmed. The way he said it was heavy; the air shifted, and the panic is forced down until Mikey only has to concentrate on being efficient and focused. “Now, Mad Dogs; let’s move.”

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The floor framed between Leo’s hands was swimming; sweat dripped down and splattered onto the negative space that the floor was made up of, and he was dimly aware that his arms shook under the pressure of holding himself up. Get up, he told himself. Get up, you have to do something. Anything. Just get up, Leonardo.

“Get up,” Draxum echoed his sentiment, voice expectant.

The repeat was like a slap to the face; Leo could only lift his chin to stare at him, a bitter laugh being swallowed before it escaped his lips. Sure, he knew he needed to do that, but it seemed a bit ridiculous for the guy with the metaphorical big red button to ask him to as well. He had a concussion and had just been fried; what did Draxum expect him to do-

The collar let out a shrill buzzer sound, and Leo only had a split second to think what? before the collar lit up for a third time. His arms gave out and he hit the ground hard, and even though he knew what would happen if he screamed, he couldn’t help but do so anyways. The result was exactly as expected. His mouth felt dry.

“Don’t you think the shock’s intensity is too high, Boss?” one of the gargoyles asked from above him. Leo couldn’t see which one; stars danced in front of his hazy vision. “He looks kinda dead after just four zaps.”

“Yeah. And it’s probably going to take a lot of these shocks for it to sink in,” the other agreed. “He keeps making it worse.”

Draxum scoffed, and Leo flinched slightly at the sound, hands weakly rising to shield his head from any more attacks. “Well. I just set it to what he should be strong enough to take. It’s his own fault for being weak. He’s lucky; I don’t have the advanced setting on yet.”

Leo felt Draxum’s nails dig into his bicep as the yokai reached down and hauled him up to his feet, Leo swaying as he tried to lean away from the yokai. “Stay still,” Draxum ordered, and Leo bit down hard enough on his inner cheek he tasted copper, barely accomplishing the feat.

Draxum circled him, hands clasped behind his back. Leo’s head felt foggy, and he didn’t even bother watching Draxum; his head kept drooping forwards, like when he was watching Donnie’s favorite Jupiter Jim movie without Raph around to liven things up. Everything hurt so badly. His hands wrapped around himself and Leo shrunk a bit under Draxum’s assessment.

“You’re slower to catch on than I would have thought,” Draxum said after a moment. “But let me spell it out now, just for the sake of ‘fairness,’” he added with his fingers punctuating the last word with air quotes. “The collar has three things that you will be shocked for. Any vocalizations, or any failure to follow my exact orders as well as… well. I could always just order it to go off.” Leo flinched, his fists tightening. Was Draxum enjoying this? April had taught them the meaning of the word sadistic at one point, after their first prank day on her where no one had told her it was coming. And that was the only word Leo could think of at the moment when he glanced up and into Draxum’s eyes.

This was sadistic.

“It was quite the impressive invention, really,” he continued. “Somehow a simple shock collar had a complicated A.I. that understood the situation at hand enough to correct situational humor. Not to mention it didn’t even need to feel the vocal chords vibrating; it could be programmed to listen for a certain individual’s voice and go off regardless of if it was being worn or not. A bit overkill, if you ask me, but who am I to judge?” A smug smile crossed his lips. “Your brother must have felt quite strongly about this to have put so much work into fixing your flaws.”

He didn’t know anything, Leo told himself. Donnie was just like that, he had made his dorky and kind of insensitive gifts for everyone, he hadn’t been trying to single Leo out or anything. Of course not. Even if Mikey and Raph’s inventions hadn’t caused them any harm at all when they used them, just tried to prematurely stop them from doing it. Even if Leo and Donnie were the main two that squabbled, he never would have… Leo shook his head, one hand slowly rising to press against his forehead.

He couldn’t think like this, he needed to bounce his ideas off of someone for it to be useful. Had Dad ever taught him what to do in a situation like this? A quick scan through memories of Splinter handing him his first pair of swords, of noodle fights and throwing stars, and the only thing Leo could come up with was the advice “stay with your brothers. You will protect all of them, and they in turn will all protect you. And if you get separated, stay in one spot until we can find you.”

Yeah, great, but that advice had been from when Leo was seven. When Splinter had first let them wander a bit farther into the sewers to explore with just the four of them. This wasn’t getting lost in the sewers, this was- this was something more. He was starting to have to face the knowledge that this was something serious, even.

“Pay attention when I am speaking!” Draxum suddenly snapped, and Leo went rigid when the collar let out a low, almost inaudible chirp, his eyes darting down to where he could see the blue rim of the machine before back up to Draxum. The collar didn’t otherwise react, though, but Leo kept still, wondering when the proverbial shoe would drop. “How will I teach you anything if you keep zoning out?”

“It miiiiiight be the concussion,” Muninn offered, one hand on his chin. “We’ve seen a few guys get hit before, Boss, and they also had that spacey look to them.”

Draxum threw up his hands. “Well, he should learn to deal with that. Injuries are something to be powered through.” The yokai took a deep breath, and the two gargoyles dipped as his shoulders slowly became less tense. “But. Very well. Before I forget, a few rules,” he said, voice suddenly back to the flavor of ‘calm with an undertone of smugness.’ AKA the most punchable tone of voice Leo had ever heard. “No trying to escape from me.” The collar let out a soft beep and Leo winced. “No trying to take the collar off.” Another wince. “And, other than attacking, absolutely no contact with any other turtles.” What? That wasn’t- he couldn’t just do that. Leo opened his mouth, keen to argue, but Draxum just raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms and waiting.

On second thought, Leo had nothing to say. His hands curled into tight fists.

“Excellent. And now that I have…” Draxum trailed off, pausing. He fixed Leonardo with a puzzled gaze. He leaned closer to Muninn, holding up one hand to loudly whisper to the gargoyle. “What was this one called, again?”

Muninn blinked, turning and glancing at Huginn, who shrugged back at him. “Uh… ha, wow, Boss, wait, you don’t know?” The gargoyle asked, chuckling nervously. “Didn’t you hand pick him, though?”

Draxum’s eyes widened, slightly flustered. “No! Well, yes. But…” All three villains turned and stared at Leo, who crossed his arms as he stared back at them, lifting his chin slightly in a challenge. This guy had been after them long enough to at least know their nicknames, he thought, somehow still finding it within him to be annoyed.

“Wasn’t it… Larry or… Lawrence?” Huginn weakly offered up, but Draxum rested his chin in one hand, thinking.

“No, it wasn’t that. What was it again…” Draxum trailed off, frowning.

Muninn suddenly perked up. “Hey, wait, why don't we ask him? Hey, turtle! What’s your name?” he yelled, and Leo felt one of his eyes twitch. He glanced down at his shock collar, and both gargoyles made little ‘oooooh’ sounds of understanding.

“That’s right, it was Green!” Draxum suddenly said, hitting his fist into the palm of his other hand. He smiled, brushing some of his hair over his shoulder. “I remember now, how silly of me to have forgotten.”

“What? But- but he’s the one wearing blue.” Huginn darted around Leo, pulling at the bandana tails behind his head. It was a light touch, but even just that made Leo sway, his arms having to slightly go forwards as he forced himself to stay standing. He didn’t know if he would be shocked again if he fell, but from the way black dots swam in Leo’s vision, he couldn’t afford to risk it. “I don’t know, Boss, I think his name would be Blue if he’s named after a color.”

“Nonsense, I’m sure of it,” Draxum declared as Leo weakly shooed the gargoyle away from him with one hand. “It was definitely Green. Besides, that’s but a small detail. I could call him whatever I wanted, really. More importantly, we need to decide how to go about making him my ideal warrior before any of the others show up.”

Leo flinched, one hand absently reaching up to rub at the collar. The skin underneath it already felt raw and uncomfortable; he wondered if it was going to leave scars.

He then wondered if he’d ever be able to even see if it had.

“Ooh, why don’t we inject him with some more ooze?” Muninn suggested, clasping both hands together excitedly, wings fluttering as he hopped slightly into the air. “That seems to make everything better! Think of the possibilities: spikes, a tail, and our personal favorite—”

“Fire-breathing!” The two gargoyles sung at the exact same moment.

“A tempting idea, but no,” Draxum said, shaking his head. “Physically speaking, his body is as good as I had hoped for, it’s the rest of it that’s the issue. Respect and obedience should come naturally with the aid of that collar, but as for training techniques…” Draxum circled Leo yet again; was he trying to make him dizzy enough to fall over? “With the level of sheer incompetence that I’ve witnessed, it would take far too long for me to train him myself from scratch. And I don't trust you two to be in charge of it, either…”

“Ouch, Boss,” Muninn said, one hand over his heart. “That really hurts.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Huginn flapped harder, shooting over to Draxum. “We actually know exactly how to do this! I mean, not to flex or anything, but Muninn and I did do our fair share of training in school.”

“Uh,” Muninn stammered, looking lost, but a quick elbow from Huginn and he blinked and also smiled at Draxum. “Yeah, absolutely. So…” he trailed off, shooting his friend a nervous glance.

“What faster way to train someone than to just give them a bunch of experience! You know, the good ole ‘learn as you do’ method!”  Huginn finished with a flourish.

“Hmm, you do have a point,” Draxum considered. He stopped walking. “Surprisingly.”

“Why thank you,” Huginn trilled, bowing.

Draxum’s gaze went back onto Leo, who couldn’t help but shrink away, hands nervously reaching up to hold onto the top of his plastron. “And that gives me the perfect idea…”

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“Draxum!” Raph bellowed, kicking open the door, Mikey and Donnie flanking him on either side. The turtle huffed, glancing around the lab as he searched for his target.

The third name on Donnie’s list had to be it, right? Surely. It had taken them far too long to hunt down the Sando Brothers and force them to tell them anything, and the next yokai they had tried had had similar results. April hadn’t found anything, either, but the pizzas had been paid for so… so…

Ugh! Raph couldn’t put these pieces together right now. He just needed to find his younger brother and save him from whatever mess he had found himself in this time.

There was the sound of slow clapping, and the sheep yokai appeared from around the column of ooze, one gargoyle perched on his right shoulder. “Well, well,” he greeted them, a smile on his face. “It’s quite rare for you turtles to come and seek me out. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Cut the cr—“ Donnie started to say, but Mikey beat him to it, bounding in front of his brothers. Raph almost reached out to pull him back, but he stopped himself; he understood Mikey’s point of view enough that he had also barged in, weapons ready to go.

“Where’s our brother, you creep?” Mikey demanded, his weapon already spinning in his hands.

“Ah,” the yokai replied, blinking at them. The gargoyle snickered softly, and Draxum glanced at it, some message passing between the two of them. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The way he said it- it was casual. Too casual. That was suspicious, right? Raph couldn’t possibly be the only one to think so. “You’re lying,” he snarled. “What did you do with Leo?”

The gargoyle perked up, about to say something, but Draxum covered it with one of his hands. “Really,” he said, sounding exasperated. “Whatever you silly children are accusing me of, I don’t have any involvement. Search my lab, if you must, but I’m in the middle of some very important experiments. I’d really rather not fight today; but I will, if you insist. That is,” and the yokai sneered at them, eyes flashing. “If you have that kind of time to waste. Whatever you’re up to, it sounds very... urgent.”

(Chapter Four –>) 

[swan--writes]

Beetlejuice’s Big Halloween Party

I thought about writing a Dewey Halloween, but let’s be real, there ain’t room for the both of these boys in this here holiday.

And listen, it is 2:30 AM and I just finished writing this. I wrote it all in one go. I’m not editing it. Please reblog though! Happy Halloween and Blessed Samhain!

Warnings: elements of horror, blood mention, eyeball mention

Words: 3,070

You screamed.

“Beetlejuice!”

Your demon laughed at you from the rafters of your barn. Ever since you had moved out to your farmhouse, Beetlejuice had been hanging around. Sometimes literally. Normally you found you didn’t mind the demon’s antics – he kept things lively when there wasn’t much going on out where you lived. Sometimes he donned an old sheet and floated around the house. Sometimes he went out into your backyard and howled at the tree line. And sometimes he dropped live bats from the rafters of the barn, directly onto your unsuspecting head.

Frantically, you waved away the little menace. All you could see were glimpses of a wrinkled snout and long teeth. It seemed to be flapping its wings as fast as you were flapping your hands, and by the time it managed to fly off, Beetlejuice was hanging upside-down in midair and cackling.

“Wow, what a jumpy breather,” he said, wiping a thick black tear from his eye. You thought you heard it sizzle as it fell to the worn wooden floor.

“Knock it off, Beej.”

“Yeah, sure I will.”

“Seriously!” You shook your head, fighting off a shiver. “There’s gonna be screaming hordes of children here in, like, an hour. I cannot still be cleaning up your messes when they get here. So, lose the bats and the bugs and the…whatever else you’ve got.” You narrowed your eyes at his tattered suit jacket.

“Relax, babes, I got it all under control.”

Without thinking, you took a step back as he righted himself in the air. “I don’t like the way you said that.”

“Hey, take the help or don’t. I’ll be here all night.” With that, he zoomed up to the rafters, dropping beetle carcasses in his wake. You shrieked and leaped back. “Beetlejuice!” you complained, only to hear his laughter.

It had been less than a year since you moved into your creepy old farmhouse. You still weren’t entirely sure if the creepy old dead guy had come with the property, or if he had followed you there. But when you found his name traced over and over again in the dust of every reflective surface in the house on the first night, you had almost left.

In the end, it was one of the movers who had summoned him. You had had two burly men helping you move your things inside. One of them had remarked on the odd name, Betelgeuse. The other had just happened to be an amateur astronomer. Before any of you knew what was happening, lightening was striking, thunder was rolling, wind was blowing, and the two big, strong movers were scrambling back to their truck. Thoughtfully, they did hurl the last of your furniture from the vehicle as they peeled out of your shaded, and winding driveway. Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse…

“Okay, Beetlejuice, fine! Yes! I do need help.” You grumbled the last to yourself, trying and failing once more to move a heavy wooden table. It had been half an hour since the bat incident, and almost all of it had been spent on this table.

“Well, I don’t know…”

“Beetlejuice.”

“I’m getting kinda tired, y’know…”

“Beetlejuice!”

“A’right, a’right, fine! Taskmaster, jeez.” The demon floated down from the rafters, snapped his fingers, and the table you had been struggling with walked itself over to where you had been trying to move it – against the wall, centered under a window.

The barn was a decent size. Average by northeastern standards, but tall as hell. Or, the Netherworld, you supposed. The structure of the thing was entirely wood, worn down and lightened with time. The posts were a richer color than the floor, which was covered in scratches and the occasional hay straw. There were windows all around, installed sometime within the last half-century, and the sun shone in brilliantly when it was up.

Now it was dark, even at 5:00 PM. As you watched, the decorations you had strewn haphazardly across the space leapt to attention. Miniature pumpkin lights snaked their way around the rafters and posts, along with actual snakes. A layer of fog coated the floor so thickly you could no longer see your own feet. What looked to be a hundred flaming tealights sprung up from every table – some with black flames, others green. The overhead iron-wrapped pendant lights dimmed and aged noticeably, some flakes of rust falling to the floor and becoming lost in the low gloom.

The jack-o’-lanterns you and Beetlejuice had carved the day before lit up abruptly. Paper bats and bloody eyeballs on strings dropped down to hang from the rafters. A soft, eerie music began floating through the room, and when you looked up you saw a greenish gray skeleton manning the DJ setup on a slightly raised section of the floor. It gave you and Beetlejuice a thumbs-up, its other decayed hand on a headphone positioned just a few degrees south of where its ear might have been.

“Thank you, I think--whoa!” Before you could finish thanking your demon, you heard a loud BANG. All the window shutters slammed shut.

“No problem, babes, but what are you gonna do for me?” Beetlejuice waggled his eyebrows at you.

You rolled your eyes. “Politely ask you to open the shutters back up, please? It’s a full moon, we should be able to see it.”

Beetlejuice bent backwards unnaturally far and groaned. “Fine.” A flick of his wrist and the shutters swung open meekly. A few thick, black tentacles with a faint green sheen slithered in at the corners of each window, not breaking the glass but rather bending it open around themselves. The demon dusted off his hands and fixed his tie. “Happy?”

“Very.”

“How’d you get roped into doing this, anyway? I thought you hated kids.”

“I don’t hate them, I just don’t like them. One of the community theater guys asked me to.” You started for the barn door. Beetlejuice followed you, the tips of his shoes dragging the fog.

“Why?” He wrinkled his nose.

“Because the new, mysterious stage manager has a big, scary house in the middle of nowhere that no-one’s ever seen, that’s why.”

“Huh. Is he gonna be here too?” You didn’t have to look at Beetlejuice to know he was grinning.

Before you could warn him not to do anything dangerous, you opened the barn door to find your first chaperone. You weren’t sure if it was a state rule that a gathering of kids under a certain age needed adult chaperones, but knowing Beetlejuice, you were happy to have the help. This one was a theater mom. You barely knew her, but she said she would bring cupcakes, so you had shrugged and given her your address.

“Stephanie, hi,” you said, only mildly startled to see her so early.

“H--oh. Uh, hi,” she replied, now openly staring at Beetlejuice.

“Hi.” Still grinning.

“Um, who is this?” she asked, barely containing her horror.

“I’m–”

“Oh, this is, uh–”

“I’m her, uh–”

“Lawrence!” you said rigidly. “Lawrence…Beetleman.” You pulled at the demon’s arm and he dropped to his feet, stumbling to your side. You knew you should have rehearsed this.

Beetlejuice held out his left hand stiffly. “Nice to meet ya.” You elbowed him as surreptitiously as you could, and he dropped the hand, holding out his right instead.

Stephanie cautiously met his hand, then dropped it immediately. “Oh, I uh…you too, Mr. Beetleman?” Beetlejuice flinched and gagged noticeably.

There was a long silence.

“So…” you tried.

“Right! Yes, I, um…well, I came to help you decorate, but it seems like you have it all taken care of?” Stephanie glanced around you, coming away looking somehow even more horrified.

“Oh yeah, we got it covered, Stevie.” You tried to elbow Beetlejuice again, but he dodged. Moving forward, he took Stephanie’s arm at the elbow and led her into the barn. “Here, lemme show you where to put those cupcakes.” He nodded to the box she was carrying.

“Oh, okay. It’s Stephanie, by the way,” she said nervously.

“Sure.”

“Beetleman,” you cautioned haltingly, frowning at him.

“Don’t worry about it, babes. Don’t you gotta go put on your costume?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Stephanie spoke first. “It’s fine, I’ll just, um…”

“Yeah, she’ll just um. Go on,” Beetlejuice cajoled. Tightlipped and wide-eyed, you turned and stalked out of the barn, leaving the door open behind you just in case.

Surprising yourself, you managed to get into your costume in under thirty seconds. The makeup, on the other hand, was more of a challenge. There was something about the creaky sounds of wood settling and the draft through the second floor of your house that was making it more difficult than usual to keep your hands steady. But then, you had never been much of an artist.

So, you headed back to the barn in your broken shoes and your torn clothes, perfecting your shamble as you went. The door was still open. Stephanie had her back to you and seemed to be sizing up the tentacles on the far window, but Beetlejuice caught your movement as you tentatively stuck your head into the barn. You motioned for him to come towards you. He followed your lead.

Once you were both just outside the barn door, you turned fully to face him. “Hey,” you whispered.

“What’s up, babes?”

“I’m having a little trouble with my prosthetics. Could you do anything to make me look a little more…” You searched for the right word. “…horrifying?” Seeing Beetlejuice’s eyes light up, you held out a hand. “Without killing and/or maiming me.” You paused. “Or making the children cry.”

The demon gave you a look. “What, on Halloween? Huge cliché, what do you take me for?” You raised your eyebrows, but said nothing. He snapped his fingers and within an instant, you could feel your face and sections of your clothing stiffen with what you hoped was fake blood. “There: instant zombification.”

“Great, lemme just go check–”

“Sweetheart, trust me, you could strike terror into the hearts of any ghoul.”

“Do ghouls have hearts?”

“Whatever you do, never ask a ghoul that.”

You gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Mr. Beetleman.” Almost compulsively, Beetlejuice gagged again. You laughed and led him back into the barn. Stephanie turned to greet you, then turned away again. Your demon gave you a sidelong, self-satisfied look. You shook your head at him, but couldn’t force the smile off of your face.

The kids started showing up minutes later. Stephanie’s wife brought their two sons, then the community theater director came with his daughter, and on and on. Before 6:00, the barn was full. Nearly half of the children had entered the costume contest, which you had begrudgingly appointed Beetlejuice head judge of.

It wasn’t so much that you had invited Beetlejuice as it was that you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep him from staying. Short of banishing him, he would not be left out of your Halloween activities, and the last thing you wanted to do was banish the demon. He could be awfully cranky when he felt ignored, worse when he felt betrayed. Best to keep a close eye on him and leave it there. Shockingly, though, he seemed to be on his best behavior.

That wasn’t saying much, but you appreciated the effort.

He kept the live animals to a minimum, only ate one of the eyeballs hanging from the ceiling, and judged the costume contest as fairly as he could. Fortunately, there was a clear winner: a young zombie whose costume rivalled your own. The judge committee gave him a small skeleton trophy and a candy medal, took some photos with him, and you privately wondered if he had his own ghost-zombie at home to help him with his makeup. Then you shrugged it off and watched – half-mortified, half-impressed – as Beetlejuice summoned a few dead cheerleaders to sing a surprisingly smooth rendition of Time Warp. You were fairly certain a few of his bones came loose during the dance, but you let it slide. The kids were duly impressed, the parents were a suitable distance that they hardly noticed.

It wasn’t until 11:00 PM that all of the adults in the room realized that Beetlejuice had removed the clock that had previously hung on the wall opposite the barn’s door. It took the better part of a half hour to corral the kids to their parents’ respective vehicles, and most of them insisted on hugging you. Warily as ever, you eyed the ones who tried to hug ‘Mr. Beetleman,’ but he somehow managed to turn all of their affections into a high five. Despite yourself, you found yourself smiling.

Once everyone was gone, you turned from the door to assess the barn. It was a disaster. The jack-o’-lanterns had remained lit, as had the candles, but those were the only decorations at thirteen-and-under year old level that had remained undisturbed. The bottles you had placed on the tables, with their faded potion ingredient labels, were toppled over. There were drink puddles and food stains on the floor and half the fog had dissipated. Some of the eyes and bats had come down, others were tangled with the lights on the posts. Somehow, even the pendant lights were flickering slightly.

Beetlejuice did not need sleep. Maybe he could get tired, maybe he couldn’t. You certainly could, and by the time the party was over, you had maxed out your entire energy reserve. So, when your demon told you he’d clean up the next day, you agreed and gave no thought to the fact that it would take him all of two seconds to clean up that night.

Once you had seen off the last of the kids and all of the parents, you trudged back up to your big, scary house. All the light in the barn went out behind you, but you paid it no mind.

Somewhere between the barn and the house, Beetlejuice disappeared. Again, you ignored it. It wasn’t uncommon for Beetlejuice to vanish without telling you, and on Halloween night you imagined there were a hundred more fun things for him to be off doing than watching you get ready for bed. Especially when you caught sight of yourself in your entryway mirror. It was the first time that night that you had seen yourself fully zombified beyond a brief glance at your dim reflection in a darkened, tentacled window.

Your face alone had several large patches of what looked like gaping wounds, and you could see more peeking out from your formerly white collar. You had been going for Proper Academic Zombie, and you looked like you would need a degree in showering to get all this gunk off of yourself. At least you could reuse the costume, maybe disrupt a seminar or two.

Shaking your head, you flicked the light switch beside the front door to turn off the overhead light. Instead of just that light going out, however, the table lamp under the mirror went out as well. So did the hall light over the stairs to your left, the kitchen down the short hallway in front of you, and the living room light beyond that. You tried flicking the switch again. Nothing.

Suddenly, a slam. Several slams all at once. All the shutters you could see swung closed forcefully. From the sound of it, all the shutters on the house closed.

You cleared your throat hesitantly. “Okay, very funny. Beej, that’s you, right?”

Silence.

“Beej?” Though you couldn’t yet hear your heart, you could feel it struggling against the walls of your chest. There was a slight ringing in your ears – the ever-present remnants of your teenaged years. Outside of that: nothing. You took a step, and the creaking of the wood seemed to echo through the whole house. For a brief, crazy moment, you thought about going out to your car. But it seemed the porch light was out too, and being inside a dark house was better than being outside on a dark night.

So, you took another step. Then another. You cursed your shortsightedness in leaving your phone in your room. You reached the stairs. You climbed them, you turned the corner. The wood settle beneath your feet with a deafening creak each step of the way.

There must be a short circuit. There had to be, somewhere. There was no reason for you to have simply lost power. When you reached your room, you saw that your alarm clock was still lit and showing the time, and it was plugged into the same wall outlet as your dark lamp. The box was in your basement.

No way were you going into the basement.

You reached out for your phone. It was dead. You looked over to one of your windows. Of all the windows you’d passed, this seemed to be the only one whose shutters hadn’t closed. Slowly – more slowly than you had moved all night, you crossed the room to look outside. You could see the full moon in all her red-orange beauty. Then, you let out the breath you had been holding. The moon wasn’t going anywhere, even if all the other light was gone.

You should have known better.

A shadow dashed across the moon then, but not at the surface. Through the air. Close to your window. Very, very close.

There was a muffled thud somewhere behind you. You jumped and whirled around to look. When you noticed the light from the moon fading, you slowly turned your head back and saw the shutters swinging closed. Before you could reach out to even open the window, they were completely shut.

Another noise, closer this time.

You couldn’t move. Your heart was racing. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t breathe. You thought about jumping for your bed, some childish thought of pulling the covers over your head before the whatever-it-was could reach you running through your head, but even in your fear you knew it was foolish. It was too late – too close. Your stomach dropped, your hands shook, your legs felt like splintering wood.

Yet another noise. You heard the hinges of your bedroom door waver. It was pitch dark in the room. All at once, a ragged breathing rushed at you across the squeaking floor.

You screamed.

“Beetlejuice!”

.

.

Seriously, please reblog.

Tags List: @skiddyyo @a-okay-rj @geeky-marie @darkblueeyedperson @hannah-de-lioncourt @ironmansuucks @missihart23 @ballerinafairyprincess @thewolfisapartofmysoul

[whump-tr0pes]

HB4-29/Whumptober day 7

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3.

AO3

Masterlist

~

Sam burrito with forehead kisses requested by @endless-whump and @butwhatifyouwrite

Content warning: permanent injury, nerve damage, past torture, mild dissoci@tion, flashbacks, pain medication mention, self-blame

~

Sam groaned and rolled onto their back. Finally – finally, after almost two weeks, how did Isaac cope with this? – they could lie on their back without pain shooting through them. The whip marks were healing. The wound in their arm was healing.

The nerve they were almost certain was severed, was not.

An afternoon breeze rustled the curtains in their room, making the room waver light-dark-light-dark as they billowed in and out. Their gaze moved slowly over the ceiling, the thirteen dark wood beams that stood out against the white. Thirteen, from one end of the room to the other. They’d counted them so many times in the time they’d spent holed up there.

It was… exhausting, sometimes, to be around the others. Not that the others were doing anything wrong; it was just so hard to look at each of them and seen pain tighten in their eyes every time they looked at Sam. Watching the guilt drag at them all, especially Isaac, with his own wounds healing to scars, was like trying to tear a bullet out of their chest with their bare hands. Never fully sure if they would tear something vital as they did. Wondering if maybe the guilt was something that would stay buried in this family forever. Something they should just get used to, learn to breathe past.

They couldn’t take the guilt. Couldn’t take the way everyone’s hands would jerk towards them when they went to stand, as if they needed something to help them balance every time. They couldn’t take how the others would trail off in the middle of a sentence, their gaze fixed on Sam, as if stunned into silence by the magnitude of Sam’s pain. It was more than frustrating, it was maddening.

Edrissa treated them the same as she always did.

Sam’s stomach growled. I wonder when dinner is?

Their stomach growled again, and louder, as if protesting the notion of waiting until dinner to eat. Sam groaned and pushed themself upright.

They were getting better at it, now, moving with only one hand. Their right arm was still slinged, and the surgical cut Finn had made was nearly closed. The infection was gone. Finn was encouraging them to do small, simple exercises, more just letting their arm hang and slowly using their left hand to move the arm in its socket. Finn said it would make healing progress better.

I don’t think it’s going to get much better than this.

Slowly, they stood, savoring the feeling of the rug beneath their feet. They’d slept on concrete for three weeks, the only respite being when Colleen had forced them to kneel on the soft plush rugs wherever she chose to chain them down. Chain them down and strangle them or beat them or drown them or whip them or—

They shuddered and shook their head. No. No. Can’t fall in. They adjusted their arm in its sling – made of very nice, light fabric, and blue, Edrissa made it for them herself – and walked to the door. They pulled it open and were greeted by the soft brrp? of the black cat sitting right outside.

Sam smiled and bent to pet him. “Hey, Nata,” they said softly. Nata pushed with fierce adoration into Sam’s hand. “Hey, sweet boy.” They straightened, and steadied themself against the wall as the hallway went black for a moment. They breathed slowly through their mouth as their vision returned.

They wandered down the hall towards the kitchen, shivering slightly in their thin shirt and shorts. The house stayed so cool during the day, even though summer was around the corner. They didn’t mind, though. It made it easier to sleep. The heat made Sam’s wounds itchy. They rounded the corner into the living room and stopped.

Isaac and Gavin sat on the couch, their heads together as they looked at the puzzle on the coffee table. A new one – Finn and Ellis had been finishing a puzzle about every three or four days since they’d arrived north, and Gray had an entire closet filled with more. This one was of a seascape, the sun glinting off the water in a thousand different colors if you looked closely at the brushstrokes of the painting that had been printed onto the pieces. It was the hardest one yet, mostly blues and greens, with only a single sailboat to break the design of the ocean waves.

“Ellis will kill you if you mess with that puzzle,” Sam said with a gentle smile.

Isaac’s head snapped up, and his look of shock and near-terror at being caught near the puzzle made Sam burst into a snort of laughter. The laughter drew out into a groan as their cracked ribs throbbed in pain.

Isaac shot to his feet and took a step towards Sam before they could even draw a breath.

“I’m okay,” they gasped, holding their hand out in front of them. Isaac hesitated and fell back a step. “Wh-what are you guys up to? Other than taking your lives into your hands breathing on Ellis’s puzzle?” Sam’s lips quirked into an unsteady smile.

Isaac rubbed the back of his neck. “Um… no, pretty much just that. Just finished up sparring practice with Vera and Edrissa, and I just… kinda zoned out looking at the puzzle. It’s nice. I don’t know if it looks like the actual ocean, but…” He shrugged. “What’re you up to?”

“Um… I was gonna get some food,” Sam said, glancing behind Isaac and meeting Gavin’s gaze for a moment. For once… for the first time since they reached the north again… Gavin didn’t look down and away. Warmth and relief spread faintly through Sam’s chest, like bracing for pain and receiving none.

“I was getting kinda hungry, too,” Isaac said, and glanced at Gavin behind him. “Gav, you want—” Isaac’s mouth snapped shut and he flushed a brilliant shade of red. Gavin’s cheeks flushed to match, and Sam could feel heat on their face, too.

Gav? How did we get here? They bit their lip as for a moment, a memory swept through them, Gavin grinning as he forced their head back where they sat in a chair, their hands tied behind them, holding a knife to their throat as they sobbed and pleaded…

Sam shook their head to clear it. It was a slippery day today, and Sam kept sliding back into their memories.

But I don’t hurt as much today. Please let me stay here…

Gavin got to his feet, his cheeks still pink, his hands buried deep in his pockets. “I could, um… V-Vera showed me how to make eggs benedict last weekend. I could… um…”

Sam’s stomach grumbled loudly in the quiet room. The three of them burst out laughing. Sam winced and bit down hard on their lip.

“Eggs benedict for lunch,” Sam said tightly, counting their heartbeats and waiting for the pain to fade. It was all they could do anymore, now that Finn was slowly weaning them off the morphine and Vicodin. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six… Slowly, the pain in their ribs eased. On the next breath, it would hurt again, but in this precise moment…

Appreciating precise moments free of pain was the only thing that had kept Sam going for almost two weeks.

They looked up at Gavin and Isaac. They were both looking at Sam with almost identical expressions: worry, grief… guilt. Both of them, blaming themselves for the pain Sam felt every day. Both of them, the reason Sam was alive.

Sam couldn’t push that little voice down forever, though: the voice that said that if Gavin had never hurt them in the first place… and if Isaac had killed Gavin in his warehouse, when he was unconscious and bloody…

They gritted their teeth. They hated those thoughts that had crept through their mind more and more, ever since they’d been shot. The pain was poisoning them, and twisted, bitter thoughts had crawled out of that festering place inside them that never felt any relief. Maybe if they had just a day without pain, an hour, a minute, they could push those thoughts away, sweep them out of their mind completely. But they hurt, they hurt, and the only thing that made them feel better were the pills that were slowly, slowly being taken away.

The pills, and Nata. And seeing everyone safe. Seeing Tori when she was herself, tucked under Vera’s arm with a fragile smile. And feeling the wind on their face after three weeks of chilly, stagnant air in their cell. And tasting real food again, Gray’s cookies and Vera’s spicy beef stew and Edrissa’s fresh-baked bread. And looking out over the lake, bigger even than the lake at their first foster home, where they’d chased frogs and swam after spring melted the thin crust of ice over the surface…

All those things made them feel better, too.

Sam blinked, and realized none of them had said a word. They smiled, and the expression felt… tight, but like something they’d been good at, a very long time ago, and were just now trying again. The smile felt comfortable.

“Eggs b-benedict for lunch,” they said again, their tone softer. “Sounds good.”

Gavin let out a gusty breath. “Good,” he huffed. “Because it’s one of the only things I know to make on my own.” He turned and headed for the kitchen. Isaac took a step towards the kitchen as well, then paused, as if realizing he’d moved.

“Gavin,” Isaac said. “Do you want… do you need help, or…?”

“No!” Gavin said, and nudged him back towards the living room. “I can do it. I can… I can do it, Isaac. Stay with Sam.” He blushed and turned away again, and disappeared into the kitchen. He was visible again a moment later over the counter that made a sort of window between the kitchen and the living room, lined with barstools looking in.

Isaac turned back to Sam, a hint of pink still on his cheeks. He flushed darker when he saw them staring at him. “What?” he said weakly, and sat down on the couch near the puzzle.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. “‘Gav’?” they said with a grin as they made their way to the couch and slowly eased themself down.

Isaac rolled his eyes, smiling back. He sat down on the couch beside them. “It just slipped out, okay? I didn’t… I haven’t been—”

“What, you haven’t been calling him Gav-Gav when you’re alone?” Sam said with a laugh.

“Oh my god, Sam,” Isaac whispered, his face turning an almost painful-looking red. He buried his face in his hands. “No.”

“Thank god,” Sam said, and nudged Isaac with their left shoulder – their good shoulder. “Because I don’t think I could have tolerated that.”

Isaac snorted and looked up towards the kitchen. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Neither could I.”

Gavin was visible over the half-wall of the counter. He was bustling about the kitchen, wearing a look of intense concentration as he gathered the ingredients, wearing… an apron. Edrissa’s baking apron. Sam tried to suppress another snort of laughter.

Isaac nudged them back, gently. “What?” he said softly, his cheeks burning.

Sam grinned and shook their head. “Nothing,” they said, returning their gaze to Isaac. “He’s just…” Sam shrugged, gently, careful with their arm. “He’s… different.”

“He is,” Isaac said, and sat back against the cushions. Sam shivered slightly. Isaac’s eyebrows pulled together. “You cold?”

“A little,” Sam admitted. Something inside them bristled, just the slightest bit, at Isaac’s concern.

He was like this with me before I got hurt like this. He’s always been like this, with everyone. He can’t turn it off.

“Me, too,” Isaac said, and reached for the thinner blanket draped over the back of the couch. “It’s just been so hard to get… warm since…” He trailed off as he shook the blanket open and laid it over both their laps.

Sam pulled the blanket up around their shoulders and leaned against Isaac. Isaac automatically opened his arm to them and they cuddled against his side.

Just like before.

“S-so,” Isaac said softly, and Sam’s heart ached at the familiar sound of his guilt. “How’s the arm?”

“Um.” They squeezed their right hand into a fist – or tried to. Their thumb and first two fingers twitched, and their thumb shook as they forced it to bend. They bit their lip and grimaced, straining with all their might to just make a fist. Something they could do without even thinking with their left hand. But their right… Maybe there had been a little bit of improvement over the past few days. Or maybe there hadn’t. They couldn’t tell, not with the pain that drilled into their arm every minute…

But the pain was fading. Every day. Some days were worse than others, but every day there was a moment that hurt less than all the other moments. And every day, that moment was better than the day before.

They looked up and saw Isaac looking warily at them. They cleared their throat. “Oh. Um. Honestly, it’s… it’s better.”

Isaac’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? That’s… that’s great. What’s been different? Has the feeling come back yet? Have you—”

“N-no,” Sam said, and stared at the pattern of the blanket over them. “Not like that. It just… doesn’t hurt so much all the time.”

Isaac blinked and sat back. “That’s still great, Sam.”

Sam chewed their lip. Tears formed in their eyes. They didn’t know why, they were just there. They sniffed and wiped their eyes with the blanket.

“Hey,” Isaac said gently, and he… god, he really was starting to sound like himself more and more. More of the kind person Sam knew before… all this. Not that Isaac wasn’t kind now, but there was… a desperation to him. There was a sense of terror under his every movement, like he was one wrong touch or loud sound away from losing himself and hurting… anyone that got too close. That had been going away, too, though.

Sam glanced up at Isaac, just to catch him gesturing with his chin at Gavin. Sam hadn’t even realized the kitchen had gone silent until they looked over at Gavin, who was standing stock-still in the opening of the half-wall, his apron and the English muffin in his hand seemingly forgotten, looking at Sam with grief written plainly over his face. He jumped and hurried over to the stove, where Sam could hear the eggs poaching in water.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” Sam said, swiping at their eyes.

Isaac snorted. “Whether I give you the list chronologically or from best to worst, it would take too long.” He wrapped his arm around their shoulders again, but didn’t squeeze. Sam was grateful. Although, out of everyone Isaac probably knew best how to avoid whip marks… except possibly Vera.

“No, it’s just… nothing’s going on now…” Embarrassed, Sam pressed their face into the blanket, the more they tried to hold back, the more their eyes seemed to leak tears.

“Doesn’t have to be,” Isaac said evenly, and Sam relaxed slightly with his even tone.

“It’s stupid,” Sam mumbled, and blushed with their voice broke.

“Sam. Hey.” They lifted their head and forced themself to meet Isaac’s eyes. He smiled and gently ruffled their hair. “You’re fine.”

Sam shrugged as they wiped their nose. They could smell the butter, could hear the ham sizzling in the pan as Gavin worked.

Isaac laughed weakly. “It’s… good to see you, Sam,” he said, sadness lacing the edges of his voice.

Sam grimaced. “I’ve been around.”

Isaac dipped his head. “You have. But… in your room a lot of the time. Which…” He held out his free hand in a supplicating gesture. “…if that’s where you need to be, you be there. Okay? It’s just…” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to their forehead. “It’s just good to see you out.”

Sam picked at the seam of their sling. “Yeah. I… I’ve been… hurting, and—”

“I know. And you aren’t obligated to see us. Ever.” Isaac leveled his gaze at them.

“I… I know. It’s just…” Sam bit their lip and pulled their knees in to their chest under the blanket, tucking their arm against their chest. “It’s just…” They shot a glance at Gavin, whisking something now, and back at Isaac. “So much of… I mean, you guys…” Sam huffed out a breath. “You all just look so… guilty. When you see me.”

Guilt crossed Isaac’s face. Sam braced for their own guilt, and disappointment, and… then Isaac’s face changed. He smiled ruefully. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Sam gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Which, you know… I… It’s hard. And… and I feel guilty, too.”

Isaac’s eyebrows pulled together. “For… what, Sam?”

Sam tilted their head back against the couch cushions, tears brimming in their eyes again. “Same old, I guess,” they murmured. “I just… so many of you have been, um, hurt. Because of me. And I… I know that… last bit, with C-Colleen, when she…” They winced as the healing whip marks on their back suddenly burned. “…when she, um, made you say those things. And when I, um, got shot. I…” Sam gulped, and they were helpless against the tears that rolled back into their hair. “If it weren’t for me, you… would never have gotten hurt in the first place. With, um, Gavin. And I… I wanted to come on that mission. I know you didn’t want me to, and I went. And I… when we got taken, all I could, um, think was…” Their eyes slid closed, sending a stream of tears down their cheeks. “Um… all I could think was… ‘please let it just be me this time.’”

Isaac blew out a forceful breath. Sam blinked their eyes open and looked at him. “Oh,” he croaked, his own eyes faraway. “That’s um… exactly what, what I thought, um… too.”

“Well, um…” Sam swallowed the ache in their throat. “Yeah. That’s… that’s why I’ve been, um, in my room a lot. Because, uh… I hate seeing your guilt. And it makes me a hypocrite because I, ah, hate feeling, um, guilty.” They shrugged. “When I see your scars.”

Isaac turned his free arm over, and his gaze moved over the scars there: flat, silver marks from the heated blade of Gavin’s knife, and dozens of thin, pink slashes from his shoulder to his wrist, where Gavin had cut him at Colleen’s house. Those were healed, now, along with the fading ring of pink scars around his wrists where he’d been handcuffed, and fought against the restraints, every single day. Fighting to get to Sam.

“There are a lot more, now,” Isaac said softly, his voice trembling.

“We all have a lot more, now,” Sam said.

Isaac looked at them. “Sam, I… I know, I’m, I’m sorry…”

Sam glared lightly at Isaac. “You’re doing it again.”

Isaac blinked. “Fuck,” he breathed. “I don’t… I swear to god I don’t even… notice…”

“I know, Isaac,” Sam said sadly. They reached out and gently took Isaac’s wrist in their hand, moving their thumb over the scars on his wrists. “It’s just… what you do.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Isaac whispered, his eyes unfocused, like he wasn’t aware he was saying it out loud.

Sam’s lips pulled into a smile. More tears rolled down their cheeks, but they didn’t try to force them down, now. They leaned forward and pulled Isaac into a one-armed embrace. He held them gently, his breath huffing warmly against their hair.

“Um…”

They both glanced up to see Gavin standing over them, his eyes shifted down, one plate in each hand. The smell of Hollandaise and English muffins and ham and eggs washed over them. Their stomach grumbled again, and louder than before. Sam grinned and sat forward.

“We should probably eat at the table so we don’t, um, disturb the puzzle,” Gavin said, eyeing it. “I guess I…” He wandered over to the table and set the plates down. “I guess I could have, um, set that there, and…” He hurried back into the kitchen to grab one more plate and a handful of silverware.

Sam pushed off the blanket and got to their feet. “Smells good,” they said quietly.

Gavin’s head shot up as he set the third plate on the table. “Thank you,” he breathed, wide-eyed.

Sam sat in their seat, watching the curls of steam rise from the plate. Their mouth watered. Almost without thinking, it seemed, Isaac reached for their plate to cut up the food.

“Isaac,” Sam protested weakly. “Yours will get cold. I can, um, I can wait.”

Isaac froze, Sam’s knife and fork already cutting into the eggs benedict. Bright yellow yolk oozed across the plate.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Isaac said. “I didn’t think about it. I’m sorry. I can…” He glanced up at Sam. His lips slowly pulled into a smile. “How ‘bout I alternate? Cut a bite for me, cut a bite for you?”

“That sounds okay,” Sam said quietly.

Isaac cut a bite, carefully spearing the English muffin, ham, and egg, and sauce. He pushed the plate and fork towards Sam and cut a bite for himself.

Gavin had a bite almost all the way to his mouth when he shot to his feet. “You guys eat this with hot sauce,” he gasped, and sprinted to the kitchen. He was back in seconds with the bottle of hot sauce Gray had bought from a woman who grew the best peppers in Crayton – she said so.

Sam took up the fork in their left hand. Even that had gotten easier in the past two weeks. They lifted the fork to their mouth and took a bite, their eyes sliding shut at the hot food. It was delicious.

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @whatwhumpcomments, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @justwhumpitwhumpitgood, @justplainwhump, @moose-teeth, @slaintetowhump, @finder-of-rings, @inky-whump, @thatsthewhump, @orchidscript, @insanitywishes, @this-mightaswell-happen, @newandfiguringitout, @whumpkitty, @pretty-face-breaker, @cinnamonflavoredhugs, @inaridriscoll, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @endless-whump, @grizzlie70, @oops-its-whump

[junosartsthetic]

Rohan Headcanons

Here’s eight pages of Rohan shit I wrote late at night. I should stop doing that. But alas, I won’t.

Okey

HeS a lil shit

That’s canon

But

He’s also kinda 🥺🥺

Heavens door also is 🥺🥺

if Rohan isn’t in the mood to give affection heavens door will gladly hug you for hOUrs

like

It’ll just nestle up against your chest and sorta,,,, fall asleep almost?

N ur like Rohan it’s asleep on my tits

N he’s like,,,, god I wish that were me…. I mean,,,, uhh,,, fuckin sucks 4 you guess you’ll just suffer

he likes drawing you

lol sketches on napkins n such

He just likes lookin at ur face

🥺🥺🥺🥺

He also has a pen somewhere lost in his hair

He keeps it there just in case his other ones get lost

Somehow

Even tho he’s got so fuCKin many

Also he lovEs learning things!

He’ll pick up a book about anything and read it just because

He’ll try to impress u with weird n random facts

Most of the time it doesn’t work

he likes when you mess with his hair

On the outside he’s like

DOnt fuckin touCh me but on the inside he’s like,,,, oooo head scritches r niceeeee

He believes he has an exceptional sense of style and doesn’t take criticism

He wears silk pajamas

But only sometimes

99% of the time he sleeps in his clothes because he passes out from exhaustion mid-drawing

Rohan also likes writing

Just lil things

Poems n such

He’s rather sentimental about certain things

He likes to go to libraries even though he’s got a bunch of books at home because he believes it allows him to better absorb the information he needs

He hates off brand things

It’s a maJor pet peeve

“What the hell is this?”

“What do you mean? They’re pop tarts?”

“THESE ARE NATURALLY FLAVORED FROSTED BROWN SUGAR CINNAMON TOASTER PASTRIES GREAT VALUE BRAND™️!”

“Yeah, pop tarts.”

“JAHDHWHXUWUDUWHDGWG”

He likes to wear slippers

Bunny slippers

They’re cute

He got heavens door a lil pair of them

Gotta match, ya know?

He picks at his eyelashes when he’s nervous

You gotta tell him to stop or else he’s gonna have to wear falsies

That makes him quit for a little while at least

He once accidentally stabbed himself with a pen but refused to go to Josuke for help

He’s still got a scar from it

his house has a basement but he’s never gone down to it

Too scary

He just says he has no use for it

Lies!

He’s a scaredy-cat

He can play quite a few instruments

He can also sing

He sings in the shower

It’s not half bad but his song choices tend to be awful

“STOP FUCKING SINGING ‘I KISSED A GIRL’ IN THE SHOWER OVER AND OVER! ITS SEVEN IN THE MORNING AND IM SICK OF IT!”

He’s got an embarrassing tattoo somewhere

Probably something stupid like a butterfly on his calf

He pretends it doesn’t exist

He used to read random people’s memories with heavens door when bored or uninspired but after a mortifying memory he read he stopped doing that

He once had a coo-coo clock but smashed it because it was getting on his nerves

he hates the sound of gum chewing

It’s the worst™️ to him

he sometimes forgets to shower

Nasty

But when he does shower it is extra™️

He takes reaaaaally long showers

And sings, as established

what the fuck does he even do in there?

Idfk

It’s a secret

He orders takeout because he can’t fucking cook

He’s trash at it

He tries

But he just can’t do it

he tends to make faces when he draws

It’s hilarious

He once drank 17 five hour energies to see what would happen

He doesn’t remember what happened

He awoke 2 days later in the hospital

he enjoys playing scrabble but only because everyone who plays against him ends up crying in anger when they lose

He owns a bunch of record players for the aesthetic™️

Doesn’t use them like ever

Owns like 3 records that he will play once in a blue moon

Everything he does is for the aesthetic™️ tbh

He likes to be held

But only under certain circumstances 

Do nOT touch when he is in the middle of drawing something intense

He will turn around and sMAck you with his pen (on purpose or accident? Idk)

He’s clingy

He’s needy

He’s whiny

He’s like a puppy

But with the ego of a cat

He’ll be actively spooning you but assures you he is nOt having the time of his life

Eventually he admits he likes hugs n human contact

But at first it’s like trying to give a cat a bath

Yikes™️

Speaking of baths… bath time!

He likes baths

They’re nice

Bubble baths

They help him think 

And he likes to mess with the bubbles

He likes the smell of candles too

You normally buy him candles in special occasions 

He loves them

Most of the time

Occasionally he will despise the scent but keep the candle around anyway because he feels bad throwing away a gift

Well, a gift from his s/o

Anyone else he’ll tOss that sucker into the trash

The gift— not the gift giver

Maybe

If it’s Josuke— he’s in the dumpster 

Uhhhh

Slightly nsfw but uhh,,,

Boob stress balls?

Nice

It’s a win-win situation tbh

soft, moldable, attached to someone he loves

Amazing

You’ve gotten used to it tbh

Whatever calms him down

Also he likes when you kiss his forehead before going to bed

He’ll be staying up to finish something and you’ll kiss him good night and leave your chapstick on his forehead and he just—

Makes him feel loved

He won’t admit it though

you usually initiate the affection

Sometimes he’ll hold your hand or something in public

In private he’ll be more outgoing but deny it means anything

“What, no I didn’t mean to touch your ass it was an accident”

“You’re still touching my ass”

“It’s still an accident”

you two also get in realllly stupid arguments 

“Did you open this door?”

“What?”

“Did you open it?”

“Why would I open the basement door?”

“Did you?”

“No!”

“Liar!”

“Why would I lie about that?”

he’s a blanket hog

Also loves his pillows

He wears a lil sleep mask to bed

It’s cute

he unironically has a hydro flask

It keeps his water cold

He finds the jingling of the ice in it annoying though

I think he wouldn’t enjoy digital art because he can’t feel the paper and the ink and it’s not as personal

he likes eating ramen

Even though it’s terrible for him

If you look closely there are little stains on his papers

It’s ramen broth

But it’s convenient and he can’t cook for shit so it’s what he eats

He acts all refined but he’s not if you look closely

He’s got a reallly messy closet I bet

He tries to keep organized but it’s difficult!

He likes drawing birds

Idk why

Birb

He’s got a framed picture of you on his desk

He looks at it when he’s feeling stressed

It usually calms him down and gets him ready to work

you’ve nude modeled for him a couple times

Half the time he’s not even sketching

You don’t care though

Seeing his suave facade and expression be replaced with red cheeks and stifling coughs is cute

By the end you just give him a kiss and then it leads to—

The nsfw is for later

anyway

He’s tried to get you to draw

But anything you draw he criticizes so harshly that you’ve sworn off showing him your drawings 

You know he’s doing it to help you

But it still hurts

you’ll sometimes help shading things in his manga

It’s the only thing he trusts you to do

But only on minor panels

And in small patches

But you still get credit as a background artist so you’re happy

You paint his nails a lot

He doesn’t mind

his favorite color is a dark green like his hair, though he also enjoys gold to match his stand

[powerosewaterpuff]

so one question , what happen after bruce " death "

okokok so first off thank you so so much for this, it def helped get my creative juices flowing (and i totally didn’t do this instead of study for my exams :) )! so, when it came to bruce’s death i wanted to do one scene/moment that kinda encapulasted all the emotions happening etc., and i’m assuming u meant in terms of my lil reverse robin au with jason being the oldest (i really should make this a series lol) so yeah, please enjoy and this legit was churned out at 2:04AM on the dot so yk its s h i t

••••••••••

It was the soft snoring that had tipped Jason off.

The sound slowly flowed through the winds and slipped into his ears, as he went from rooftop to rooftop, as he scoured closer to Wayne Manor. He had avoided his old ‘home’ like the plague, a plague so dark and twisted it could infect him by only a glance but for some reason he felt almost obligated to get at least one check or look.

Maybe, it was the off handed disparaging comment that Dick had made in patrol under this breath after settling a crime scene a little too close to Jason’s turf that no one had caught except him that was yanking his unwilling body to just check that everything was fucking peachy. It was just a check. He would be in and out with minimal harm done and no one would even have to see him, and he could quell this annoying little voice creaking on about how much he has failed Dick, blathering on and on about his so many shortcomings when it came to him.

He hadn’t exactly expected to find Dick curled in his civvies up on an old nook by one of the gargoyles perched on the roof and snoring away. It was a spot they had haunted a lot in their youth, and Dick would insist on pulling Jason out of the warm confines of his bed just to watch the sun come up from that very spot. Jason would moan and complain about it for a while but once he saw the iridescent sheen of the blazing sun rearing it’s head on the horizon, he would clamp his mouth shut to enjoy the view.

He examined Dick critically and weighed his odds objectively as he inched closer, each thunk of his boots a calculated risk he was annoyingly choosing to take. Dick was clearly safe in some capacity and if the little brats down below couldn’t find him they would eventually try the roof, so Jason couldn’t exactly pinpoint the reason why he was still moving closer, tense but still moving. It was almost like a snake, slithering forward with its defences high as it keeps itself on edge for any sudden movements.

He would’ve left. Jason was going to leave, he had already eased his fragile conscience as it was, and he knew that Dick wasn’t in any life threatening danger, (Unless the danger was Jason himself), but it wasn’t until he was close enough to cock his head to the side a bit to get a better angle on Dick’s face, when he stopped in his tracks.

Little tear tracks, almost vein like, had stained Dick’s cheeks. They weren’t even all that noticeable, but the sheer existence of them at all was enough to make Jason just stop.

(He had always had a hard time ignoring Dick’s tears, hadn’t he? When Dick would sprain an ankle, or get even the mildest of all mild concussions, and his eyes began to get this glassy sheen while he desperately tried to hide them, Jason would be unable to leave his side. He had almost sworn himself into the duty of making sure Dick didn’t cry. Oh, how fate fiddles with its toys.)

Swallowing hard, Jason’s eyes flickered around, doing one last sweep of his surroundings. He sighed, attaching his gun to the holster around his waist and crouched down on the balls of his feet next to Dick. He fucking despised how Dick almost realized he was next to him, and shifted his position. Leaning his head onto Jason’s shins.

Jason knew enough to keep his connection with Dick as thin as he possibly could, but he was too selfish to let it burn to the ground like all the countless bridges he had torched and scorned at. Knowledgeable enough to distance but too selfish to leave.

What a fucking motto that was.

Jason took yet another shaky sigh, a lot more haggard this time, as he rubbed his hands over the smooth material of his helmet. It grounded him, for a slip of a moment, as he tried to avert his eyes from Dick’s form that was rising and falling slowly. Every time he glanced over, he managed to find something else he hated.

The dark circles making stark holes under his eyes.

The pinched look pulling at his features.

Those stupid fucking tear stains that were just screeching at Jason.

(“Batman just saves everyone, doesn’t he?”)

The fact that everytime Jason blinked, an eerily green shade would overtake his vision, leaving the form next to him shifting and contorting between the man next to him and the little twelve year old he had left behind. Scorched in the flames of Jason’s symphony.

Jason fumbled to release himself from his helmet, as his mind played catch up woth his thoughts and he ignored the pulling at his chest. He shoved the helmet off as it fizzed away, and threw his head back to take clumsy gulps of air. The putrid smell of rotting flesh mixed with dirt was ripping through him, but he pushed it aside. As he always did.

You just couldn’t fucking leave, Todd. Why the fuck couldn’t you just leave, huh? Ironic, wasn’t it? You keep demanding people realize you’re a different creature from what you once were, yet you can barely differentiate between your twelve year old brother and the man whose morphed into everything you fucking hate. Why? Why are you here? Move. Move. Get up. Get the fuck up, Tod-.

“Y’know? You are such an asshole,” Jason croaked softly, shifting his eyes to see if Dick stirred but to no response.

“I know you don’t want this. I know that, so why are you still against m—,” Jason ran a hand through his hair and tugged at his roots slightly, “Batman saves everyone, huh? He doesn’t save you though, does he? No ones here to catch you when you fall anymore, and now you’re crying on a fucking roof.”

He curled his hands around his roots tighter, feeling the pull of his skin prickle at his mind, “You’re setting a bad example, Dick. What will your dearest little brats think about this performance? He never pulled shit like this. You know that, though. I know you do. That’s why you’re doing it in a little secret spot so that you can turn yourself around, and give that stupid smile that no one believes anyways. I always thought you were a little less predictable then that. I overestimated, clearly.”

Jason resolved to stare at the drying splatters of blood that adorned the soles of his shoes. He bit down the churning of acids in his stomach, a feeble attempt of his conscience to make him feel like shit. He had overestimated. He had. Dick wasn’t fucking better, it didn’t matter that he had tried to smother the Joker in an adrenaline high, because he was still as useless as Bruce. Jason was effective, he got shit done that no one else had the stomach to do and that was fine. He had far gotten over his pleading desire for Batman to avenge him, it was a fallacy of the boy who had become a rotting carcass under the confines of wood and shattering bones. Jason has become far more attuned to the reality of his situation, not the fallacy.

As the moon revealed itself from behind a long string of clouds, Jason once again glanced down at Dick. He snorted softly, as he saw a certain gleam in Dick’s waves of hair.

“God, do you still use that same pomade? I swear you got an allergy from that, did you not? Anyways it still fucking reeks, so you better take that shit off.”

Jason allowed himself to slowly unfurl his hands from almost tanking out tufts of his hair, as he felt the tightly wound rope around his chest unwind ever so slowly.

“Grayson? Grayson!”

The shrill tilt of a voice shoved Jason back into reality, and he was already setting his helmet into place, with his line soaring across the sky to another building. He cast a fleeting look at Dick, before he soared off into the sky before the little boy dressed in a jalabiya got the chance to peak his head into the little flap leading up to the roof.

Fin

(P.S. It really hadn’t been Jason’s ideal Friday night, by any means necessary. He had envisioned himself finally finishing Little Women, and being able to devour the next book that had ‘mysteriously’ shown by his door. Instead, he was roped into watching Miracle on 34th Street with a particular blue bird perched on the floor by his couch.

Bryon has just been complaining to Kris about his failed proposal attempt with Susan, when Jason caught onto the sound of soft breathing with a hint of a snore. He pushed himself out of his previous position, and peered down to find Dick slumped on the floor with his head resting on the side of Jason’s legs. He sighed, his lips twitching upwards as he didn’t dare move his legs from their spot.

He stretched his arms out out, to reach for both his book that was on the old coffee table as well as the remote. He smacked the end of the remote a few times, and slowly lowered the volume on the TV. (Dick had once told him he never really liked sleeping in complete silence, it bothered him to some extent). He then flipped to the page he had stopped on, slowly pulling out an old but pristine bookmark that Jason and Bruce had made once, and gently placed it next to him. He leaned back, resting his aching back as his eyes flickered over the words of the novel, all the more aware of the presence by his feet but he found himself not minding all that much. He knew this kind of calming bliss was only temporary with the ‘clan’ they had but he savoured it with all he had.

...The children are regular archangels, and I-well, I’m Jo, and never shall be anything else. Oh, I must tell you that I came near having a quarrel with Laurie...(P.267 of Little Women.)

•••

SOOO THATS IT THIS TOOK SO MUCH LONGER THAN I WANTED I AM SO SORRY! i’m pretty pleased with how it turned out and even though it’s not a series of hc’s per say i wanted to kinda encapsulate everything yk? also damian wears a jalabiya please let this child be connected to his culture for my sanity and his (my little egyptian-canadian ass needs this o k?) also my plan is to do a lil christmas fic with bruce and dick but u h h i have shitty time management skills lEMME TELL UUU I STILL HAVE WAY TOO MUCH UNFINISHED SHIT IN AO3 T-T BUT ANWAYS THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR READING THIS WAS HELLA FUN TO DO :)!!

[daaziscoolbesties]

i yearn for one(1) thing only, and that is to have a nice, simplistic, cartoonish artstyle. an artstyle that doesnt rely on anatomy, but the "movement" of the drawing, if you get what i mean.

i dont want realistic proportions and traditional colors and basic poses and gradient shading, i want funky lil dudes in funky poses with funky styles littering my sketchbook :( but alas i havent figured out how to develop that kind of style yet, my brain wants anatomy to look nice but also i dont want to draw eyes. i dont want to take time out of my day to learn how to draw lips i want to draw a line that extends past the characters face. i dont want all my characters to have pointy chins with curved cheeks i want their heads to be round and friend-like or full of sharp edges depending on their personalities and styles. i want to give them all not-quite human ears, blob feet, simple faces, but at the same time i want enough detail to convey the story or emotion im trying to tell.

ive spent so much time recently agonizing over how to use 3d model websites, using real-life references and tracing over them for practice, color-picking from real images to try and do realism and failing miserably, but you know whats easier than that? funky little dudes. little dudes who do not care if their legs are too long or their hair is too bouncy. i dont want my characters to look human.

ive spent enough time on the artfight website to realize that most people who classify their characters as "human" have the most basic ass designs (no offense to people who like basic human designs its just not my thing) or its like dnd-medieval style outfits which i cant draw for the life of me (ive tried). again no offense to people who actively enjoy and draw characters like that. i just need my dudes to have that certain,,, off-ness to them. tails are cool. wings are swag (especially if they arent even like,, fully attached,, ), elf ears are so wonderful to me no matter how much theyre overused, horns are so much fun to draw, and colors!! i have no knowledge in the color theory department so this works great for me!! the only thing i really know is dont shade with black, other than that i just colorpick from references usually but i dont want to do that!! i want the colors to hurt people's eyes but in a satisfying way. like the character's design is so nice to look at that you dont mind your eyes hurting a bit. like how im enjoying writing this post even though its 2 am and the brightness on my computer wont go any lower.

and then another thing ive noticed from being on the artfight website is that a lot of people classify their characters that are anthro/have anthro features under humanoids/monsters. like i made a google form to find some people to attack and someone sent me in a character with some sort of animal (wolf? idk) arms and legs. like dude!! peak character design i love her. but me personally? i cant draw that shit, its so hard for me. i tried a while back and its just Not my thing. nothing against furries i just. cant. and i dont want to either.

and i got another submission that i accidentally deleted that was like full anthro/wolf-like like my comrade,,, i cannot draw animals what makes you think i can draw an animal who acts like a human lmao. i can do like. very basic tails, and also animal ears but i cant do the arms and legs and such i just dont know the anatomy, and i know i was talking about how i dont want to care about anatomy but i feel like for anthros you really do need to know at least basic animal anatomy so you know how the limbs look and shit and i dont have that knowledge and dont feel like gaining it.

and then there were some submissions that i absolutely adored. there was one that like, was vaguely human shaped but definitely was not a human. they had a dark-ish lavender colored skin and horns and tusks and like goat ears and a sorta fluffy tail with spikes on it and they had wings and such and they were such a pleasure to draw i love them. and they had a fairly simple outfit too, nothing too complicated. and then i also enjoy object head characters, theyre so neato to me. i got one of those and i really wish i had the motivation to work on it cause it looks so fun.

i want to make funky characters but id have nothing to do with them because the only book i ever tried writing (key word tried - never got past planning it out) had strictly human characters in it, and most of the books i read are humans/humans with powers in situations specific to them so id have no idea what lore to make with the dudes. assuming i have the motivation to make lore and backstory because honestly i just really enjoy character designing its super duper fun.

(side note a song about trucks doing the deed came on just now and its interrupted my flow, apologies).

i only have three actual characters right now. one is an original roleplay oc whos design is literally athletic shorts, an oversized long sleeved grey sweatshirt, long purple hair, and demon horns. the second one is my persona whos design some sorta medival knight outfit kinda thing? but not ugly it looks really cool (idk one of my friends designed it bc i won some contest from him but the drawing was on a super small scale so idrk the details,,,) with a plague doctor mask and crown, and shoulder length wavy brown hair, dyed bright pink at the end. and then my last one im not too comfortable using other places because theyre a character my friend is using in the story hes writing, and thats really the only place theyve been used. but theyre easily my favorite and im already writing a ton so ill talk about them too.

they're a sorta elf species thing from another planet, with pale green skin and pointed ears. they also have a tail, its like,, super thin, but with a feathery bit at the end. probably not the texture of a feather but i dont know how else to describe it. they have short, curly, almost-draco-malfoy-blonde hair that when it gets too long they can put in a man bun. their eyesight is kinda shitty so when they got to earth, they were exploring some supply closets around the airship. drop off area. thing. like airport but for rocketships and also fancier. yeah. they were exploring that area and found a nice big pair of round glasses with grey frames. and they also found a cowboy-style hat and a sharpie so they wrote their name on the underside of the brim of the hat and stole the hat and glasses (but left the sharpie in the supply closet).

yeah theyre my favorite, my absolute beloved, my child, so cool. i want more characters like them but with maybe a bit more snazzier designs. theyre super cool and all but they could have more pizzazz if they werent in a story where its too late to give them more pizzazz. i just want to be able to give my characters thigh-high boots with a bunch of buckles and fluffy hair with tons of accessories crammed in and abnormally large and long ears that can harbor many piercings and horns that can hold rings on them and special little details on their outfits like who knows what but i dont have any characters to do that too, so i have to make them from scratch, which is always hard especially when you have artblock.

and i also have like 17 characters i need to fully draw, line, and maybe color for artfight before august 1st. so i dont know. i have many things to do and plenty of time to do it but instead i spend my time halfway watching repetitive youtube videos that get boring or sleeping all damn day because i stay up too late doing things like this or i just do nothing at all and its tiring and frustrating but i also feel nothing about it like theres no consequence if i dont do it besides you know. not doing it, not gaining that experience, not making something i enjoy.

so i should do it but i dont for whatever reason, i think its called executive dysfunction but im not sure. this post started out very differently than it ended and i said somewhere up there that i was writing this at 2 am but now its almost 3. this is so many words why couldnt i have put this energy into something productive

[starfirette]

Every Which Way: Chapter One

The Way Off Aniri

➡️a/n: a new series! Woohoo! Shoutout to  https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/ for inspiring the names of the people and planet. There is possible false information regarding Mandalorian culture, so don’t bitch to me about it. I know I said posting was at 8 but I am too anxious. @interwebseriesfan24​ is my lovely beta so go follow her and maybe even read her fluffy AF star wars fanfics!!! For more info on the OCs included, visit my OC page. 

➡️masterlist 

➡️Din Djarren x Reader/The Mandalorian x Reader | attempted execution | attempted murder | arranged marriage | love triangle kinda | slow burn romance | mild smut | angst to fluff | strangers to lovers | word count: 7,566! 

➡️ JOIN THE TAGLIST

NEXT CHAPTER AVAILABLE NOW!! >> ! << 

Aniri is a planet where a monarchy reigns supreme. 

The Anirian King has submitted a request to the guild, which suggested that he wants a man dead for making threats against the court; Karga just had suggested his best fighter take the job, just as non-explicitly as the king had been. 

And Din has never been one to reject a job; especially if the pay seemed unreal.

To eliminate one man, the court was offering half a million credits and ten pounds of ruthenium. 

Happy and boasting, Karga contacted the Anirian council and relayed that his best hunter would be taking the case. 

The Mandalorian was given a tracking fob as well as a quick run down of Aniri. 

In Karga’s own words, Aniri is not nearly as fluffy and dreamy as the public galaxy might think. These perceptions were coined by Anirian councils to distract suspectors from their supposed sympathies to the Empire as well as their cruel, unjust government. Karga had heard rumors that the current princess, Emelea, had been going on a rampage simply because her parents would not stop her. 

With great consideration, Din reviewd these rumors. While he set a course to Aniri he told himself that he’d never actually been to the planet. Karga was not the only person to have said such things about the planet, but there were several offending accounts claiming Aniri is a wonderful place to live. People live their lives, no matter how a planet fairs. As far as Din knows, the planet was globally unified a century ago.While he’d never actually been to Aniri, he knew better than to listen to silly rumors, especially when every person has a different account. 

Arrival to Aniri did not give Din any trouble. The atmosphere enterance gave the Crest zero problems. 

Din touched down in a grassy plain about half a mile from the main palace, which was surrounded by large steel gates. On the landing plot were a large number of court members and palace guardians. 

With a short greeting, Din followed the guardians into the palace, where the royal family waited to greet him. 

The King is Josiahn Weslyn. He is shorter than Din, and pasty white, with thinning hair washed pure of color. His wife, also his first cousin, is Melvanne Weslyn, a taller woman, but with the same thin hair colored a muddy brown. Both she and her husband have no eyelashes and beady eyes. 

Their children are equally unattractive. 

The triplets are Melv, Riz, and Emelea. Melv and Riz are boys, tall as their mother but with darker eyes that are wreathed with heavy grey bags. Their heads share the same waves of suffocated amber that rolls down their necks. The strangest of the bunch is without a doubt Emelea; she is the tallest of her family. Her sunken black eyes stare deeply into Din’s helmet. It seemed certain to Din that she could see past his helmet. 

His bones felt exposed to the princess, who did not blink as she stared. The wind tousled her dirty blonde hair before she finally sank into a deep curtsy, in sync with her two brothers.

Din greeted them with a cool nod of his head. “I am here to complete your task,” he said. The modulator of his helmet maximized his aversion to the strange bowing of the children. 

Josiahn paid Din’s near invisible discomfort no mind as he gestured for his guardians to part and allow Din to come forward. 

“Our Mandalorian savior,” Josiahn proclaimed, clapping his hands together.

“Our Mandalorian savior,” his family echoed.

“Please come with us.” 

One by one the court members turn on their heels to return inside the palace. Their hems swished an inch above their heels, waving around a golden emblem wrapped around the ankles of their customary pants. As for the palace, it is quiet and cold. Din’s boots scuff against the concrete floors. The walls are devoid of decor. Every window has a set of large shutters to keep the sun out. 

The only light comes from torches lit along the grey walls. 

Bristled servants scatter in the shadows like swamp mice. They do not dare to murmur gossip. Not one of them stops to stare at the Mandalorian armor with awe, but it isn’t out of courtesy—it’s as if they’re too scared to be noticed.

Most maids wear dull scraps of potato sack-like material. Even that, though, isn’t what Din finds strange. Every maid bears thick makeup like paint. The lines and patterns which adorn their face have no pattern, and no meaning whatsoever. The glimpses of color he sees are the ugliest shades of yellow or green. 

The makeup can’t be a popular trend. 

Din recalls the warnings given by Greef Karga. 

Journeying down the palace made Din feel smaller and smaller as the ceilings gradually became higher and higher. When Din was a mere speck of metal among the stone fortress, he was given a seat in Josiahn’s study. The children remained standing near Din’s given chair. Emelea’s hands rested on the shoulders of his armor, making Din feel suffocated. He resisted the urge to shake her away to not disrespect the family. Both of her brothers stand watch beside their sister.

The king and queen sat on a bench behind their desk. Din had never seen such a set up before. He’s seen many governors and monarchs and they never did business beside their partner. But Melvanne seemed perfectly used to this arrangement. Her left hand rested on the table, while her husband mirrored this with his right hand. They reached for their own pens but in perfect synchronization. On a piece of parchment they began to write. Joshian wrote the first half of the contract while Mevanne wrote the second. Their pens met perfectly in the middle, leaving not even a blot of ink. They slide the contract to Din, silently gesturing to him to read it. 

With a surge of shock Din found that they’re handwriting is perfectly identical. It looked as if one person had written it out. Aside from that the contract is curiously short. 

The chosen Mandalorian will return the peasant man Kais Korren to the palace dead or he forfeits the bounty of 500,000 credits and ten pounds of ruthenium. The chosen Mandalorian will not be given more or less. The chosen Mandalorian will be the chosen hero of Aniri. 

“Do you agree to the terms?” The king asked. 

Din hesitated to agree. These terms are not Guild regulated, but if they contacted Greef Karga, then surely they know the actual rules. This contract must be for their own personal relief. 

“Agreed,” he finally said. The tracking fob was slid across the desk by the King, and as Din looked at the slow blinking light with an unseen grimace. He couldn’t imagine what sort of threats a man could be making to warrant drastic measures. A tracking fob, half a million credits, and not to mention pounds of ruthenium. If the Armorer does not see the ruthenium fit for armor plating he will simply sell it and donate half the earnings to the foundinlings of Mandalore. Although it’s no secret Din, himself, is broke. His jobs barely carry the amount of fuel for his ship, let alone upkeep. What money he gets he sends half away to care for the foundlings. That is his Way, the Way, that he has devoted himself to. And it does not bother him. He isn’t easily bothered.

But this planet—this planet bothers him to his core. 

The fob leads Din to the village about five miles from the kingdom capital. 

It’s a quiet village, serene with its grassy farms and tall trees. Unlike any other village Din has been to the people are quiet. Among the markets there is only necessary chatter. Bystanders that come and go don’t speak, and they certainly don’t look at Din.

Most people have similar reactions upon seeing a Mandalorian. Some children point and jump with glee. Mostly, however, people avoid him but point him out with admiration or shock.

This village is different. Because he stands out, people fear him, as if they fear anything out of the ordinary. Villagers begin to squirm when they sense Din coming closer, but they try their best to ignore him. Din has done similarly as a child, when he thought there were beasts in the darkness of his bedroom. He would force himself to not look, thinking anything there would just leave him alone if he didn’t make eye contact. 

 Fob in hand, Din moves through the village. There are no distractions, no obstacles.

It did seem too easy. 

The fob frantically beeps each step he takes north. Villagers part with no hesitation as Din treks on, his palms sweaty beneath the leather and sun. 

At a small house, the fob burst into a panicked blip, the red light flashing bright under Din’s thumb. Kais Korren is here. 

The passage to the house is a lame excuse for a garden, with dead soil withered weeds.

Between being a Mandalorian as well as a bounty hunter, there is no room for pleasantries like knocking. The door creaked open and Din allowed himself to go in. 

The house is just as plain as the palace. The only life of it darted past Din in a blur, screaming for his father. 

A family of three, soon to be four judging from the mother’s belly, gathered tight in a corner. 

They looked truly tired. The rags of their own clothes seemed almost too heavy for them to be wearing. Din said nothing as he displayed only the tracking fob. With slow movements he set the fob down and simply asked for them to bring Kais Korren forward. The family’s compliance did make everything easier. 

Kais himself was a tall man, but thin. His graying hair in thick tendrils was tied back at the base of his neck. His eyes, sullen, silently thanked the family for opening their home to him. Kais did not fight Din as Din cuffed him and led him out of the house, going out beyond the village to a field where no one would bother them. 

Kais Korren’s body was identified by the king himself in a steely room that could only be described as a morgue. The involvement of the king baffled Din more and more. Most high ranking men and women have people to do such bidding; the “dirty work.”

But King Josiahn wanted to see the corpse himself. 

With a nod to the morgue director, the body was rolled away, and Josiahn turned on his heels to look up at Din.

“Our Mandalorian savior,” he said, clapping his hands. He sounded strangely happy, and yet there was not any emotion in his eyes; not even a sadistic smile weighed over his non-existent lips. “I’m honored to be in the presence of the best bounty hunter in our parsec. You have truly proved your worth. Your rewards are awaited in the dining hall. We humbly invite you to our celebration as our dinner guest. We are aware of and respect your culture. While you will be our guest of honor at the feast, a meal basket will be packed along with your money and ruthenium. Would you please join us? My daughter has become fond of you and insists she would love to have a Mandalorian at her party.” 

Emelea has not been near Din for longer than half of an hour. Recalling her strange face did not settle well with Din’s stomach. 

But to keep amiable ties with the Anirians, Din accepted the offer. He thanked Josiahn for the respect of his Creed, as not many do. Even within the Guild he is bullied relentlessly about his secretive nature; he’s been called hideous despite being unseen. He’s been called a prude despite his long hours spent in his bed wishing he had a woman with him instead of his calloused hand. Admittedly he would have declined if Josiahn hadn’t mentioned his respect for the Mandalorian creed. 

The Way is Din’s life. He wouldn’t have it differently. 

Din was escorted and announced officially into the vast throne room. Grandiose tables line the room and in the center is a wide circle of red paint. 

As Din became announced those who sat at every table rose to their feet and broke into a thundering applause. Each crack of their palms struck Din’s chest as he felt suffocated. He felt watched. He felt weak, and small, despite the armor that weighed on his tired muscles. 

Each step taken over the concrete floor jolted in Din’s chest, egging on the headache that sliced into Din’s eyes. The very center table had a chair set out and decorated with wreaths of plain flowers. Emelea made herself seen in an instant, taking Din by the hands and leading him to his chair. 

Over the rumbling applause Din could hear Emelea speak. “I’ll feel much safer knowing you’ve gotten rid of that man for us!” 

She had a light in her eyes Din could only describe as weird. She is weird, plain and simple. Her colorless hair is tied in a large knot on the top of her head, and dark makeup is brushed over her eyelids. She coerced him into the chair while Josiahn chastised her. 

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Josiahn snapped. Emelea immediately pulled away from Din. She had to be at least twenty years old. It churned Din’s stomach that Josiahn had spoken to her like she was a child, and it made it all the more disturbing that she simply giggled and apologized bashfully. She sat by her mother when Josiahn bid for her to scurry off. 

“I apologize for my daughter,” Josiahn murmured near Din’s ear. Clearly Din is not the only one who has noticed Emelea’s strange behavior.

Emelea had turned into an entirely new person in the hours Din had been gone. Before, she’d been silent and vaguely terrifying. And now she could not stop staring at him from her mother’s side, like a schoolgirl in love. 

As the applause faded out, Josiahn brought forward a couple of his court members who were to present Din with a number of presents. 

The basket of dry meat and fruit had been neatly tied up in muslin napkins. 

Small girls dressed like fruitcake offered ribbons and tiaras made from flowers. 

Din could not bear to reject any of the gifts, especially from the children. He was given more small things than he knew what to do with. Eventually the hall of people that seemed to adore him for simply murdering a man began to wear the Mandalorian’s patience thin. 

“Sir,” Din finally said to Josiahn. “I’m flattered by the lengths you and your people have gone to, but a simple thank you would have sufficed.”

Josiahn offered a small nod. His bug-like eyes drooped to avoid what would have been Din’s stare.  “I am afraid we have kept you longer than you would have liked.”

He waved his hand to a guardian who is quick to come to Josiahn’s chair. “Would you do the Mandalorian a great favor and bring his food and reward to his ship.”

The guardian nodded, a lack of vocal confirmation filling the air as he strode away. 

“Guess who’s back!” Emelea sang, suddenly flitting before Din’s chair. She pranced around, swaying the loose hems of her pants around her feet. “Strange thing to be given. Ruthenium, I mean. You could do with something better,” she adds with a curling grin. “I want to thank you again,” she then said, blinking for the first time Din had seen all day. 

“It’s nothing to thank me for,” Din said flatly, the monotone modulator clearly keeping Emelea in check. She wavers on her toes like she wants to do more, to say more, but she doesn’t when she becomes reprimanded by her father. The two stared at one another, not in a way a parent and his child should. It was a challenge. A challenge that Josiahn lost as he looked away first. 

“Well, Mandalorian, did you have fun with us today?” Sheer delight gleamed her buggish eyes. Something about Emelea is very wrong. How would Din have enjoyed his day here? He murdered a man and then got paid for it, so it’s not something to be excited about. Although she might have been trying to make him feel guilty. 

Just something about Emelea is off. The entire family is off. 

There is a sudden clamor at the front of the hall as the doors are pushed open to reveal an entire gallery of court guardians. They march in, carrying with them a figure draped in loose rags and crude face paint. From the distance Din sees the guardians throw the young woman into the center of the red circle he had seen before.

Emelea turned on her feet to look at the growing stream of madness. All of the court has now scrambled to their feet. They flock to the rim of the red circle. Some mock  while others whisper and point.

Din struggles to understand. 

He takes to his feet and walks into the madness. 

In the red circle of paint is you. You aren’t much different from the other servants Din has seen. You wear the same crude looking face paint and rags. 

Josiahn’s voice could not raise loud enough to silence the crowd that rages like an angry mob. Feebly, Josiahn demands, “What is going on?” 

A court guardian responds: “Defection.”

Josiahn had nothing to say to this. Emelea overtakes her father’s spot. Her voice booms throughout the room, silencing the mob in a split second. 

“Execution,” she said, “is the price of defection.”

Her eyes lock down on her father. “Isn’t that so?” She asked her father, mockingly.

Din couldn’t tell what had snapped in Emelea. She doesn’t look like the giggliest girl who had been fawning over Din just ten minutes ago. She’s wildly livid. As calm as she tries to be, Din can see she is practically foaming at the mouth.

Emelea turned to Din. “You must do it,” she says quietly. “My father will pay you handsomely. Though it is nothing to lose a servant girl.” Emelea spat the lowly title as she sneered in your direction. 

Din’s heart fell down to his stomach. He could see the raw fear that festered in your eyes as you trembled on your knees. 

“Emelea,”a voice booms. 

Riz pushes through the crowd. A split second of relief. Din hoped Riz would calm Emelea down. 

The two siblings held a silent conversation, staring at one another. 

Emelea broke it off with a nod. 

Riz drew out a long sword, brandishing it for the crowd to see. 

Din dove into the red circle, standing before you with a hand resting on his blaster. 

“This is our way!” Riz cried. He shows the sword off to every person in the crowd. His eyes, wild and wide, zeroed onto you. “She would defy the way of Aniri.” He pointed to you with the tip of the blade. 

Josiahn did nothing. He said nothing, but Din could see the resignation in his eyes. “Why should she be killed?” Din demanded when Josiahn failed to speak up. “What has she been accused of?”

“She tried to leave the palace, sir, and without her makeup.” 

What the fuck? Din thinks. 

Emelea fumed at the words. “A Mandalorian would not understand the laws of this planet. She’s bound to this palace, bound to be my faithful servant.”

Din raised his chin. “She can be easily bound to another, couldn’t she? I agreed to help you with a man who threatened your court,” Din said to Josiahn, ”but a young servant girl leaving the palace without wearing makeup is hardly a cause for her death.”

Riz shook his head. “She is bound only to the royal family.” Riz gripped his sword, knuckles pale. “Well, father?” 

Josiahn swallowed. He leveled his eyes with the Mandalorian’s helmet and, in a soft breath, he granted the servant to him. 

Riz grunted. In a single swish of his arm, the blade slashed through the king. 

Din couldn’t hold back the gasp of shock as Josiahn crumpled face first to the floor. The outcry was fast and sharp for anyone that regarded Riz as a villain. 

Riz’s sword dripped with the blood of his slain father. “Mandalorian, considering you are new here, allow me to explain. Long ago, before Aniri became civilized, the battling clans would brawl within this red arena. The one to slay their opponent would earn the right to rule for four full years. It’s an ancient law, but one that has never been dissolved. And as I have already disposed of my mother, I see no reason why I should not be regarded, now, as the king, with Emelea as queen. Emelea had slain Melv the moment you left the palace to bring Kais to us. And while she had hoped you would stay to serve her in any way she pervertedly pleased, I can see that you have chosen this disloyal whore over me.”

Din’s heart pounded in his ears. Karga was right. The rumors about the court, especially Emelea, are true; and they are much worse than anyone has heard. The palace ran like a cult and Emelea, a crazy, ruthless nut, is now in charge. 

As Emelea sauntered forward like a villain, Din drew his blaster and shot.

A wound blossomed on Emelea’s shoulder and she sank to her knees with a loud cry of pain. 

Riz, now the only family Emelea has left, runs towards Din with his brandished sword. There’s no hesitation on Din’s side; he brandishes his forearm, shooting licks of fire from his wrist, emitting shrieks from the onlookers. Riz became enveloped in flame, and he rolled on the stone floor frantically to save himself. It hadn’t worked, and his body burned on as Riz laid dead. 

Emelea shrieked. Her screams are like a beast’s as she scrambled to her feet, clutching her shoulder. “Kill them!” she screamed. She pulled at her hair and shrieked and cried. 

The court guardians that remained at the scene stuttered in response. Half of them visibly questioned where their loyalties now lie. The other half remained too stunned to pounce immediately. Din struggled to pull you up as you stared in horror, your tears now dry by the heat of the dead prince’s corpse. 

Running back to the Crest would have been easier if you were faster. You tripped and stumbled. Din doubts you have ever gotten decent exercise. You’re struggling to breathe before you’ve even escaped the palace. 

Din can see in your eyes how tempted you are to just give up; to stay put and let Emelea do away with you in whatever cruel way she would. Before you could open your mouth to say the words, Din scooped you up into his arms. You latched your arms around his neck, struggling to stay secure as he took into a sprint. You’ve never felt wind over your face this way before. You’ve always watched ships and speed bikes come and go, but the luxury to ride them was reserved only for court members. 

Your strange savior ran fast; in a whirl of strange and stranger courses you’d been whisked away by him, a man of metal that ran fast as a speed bike. 

He took you to places you’d never seen before in a matter of a minute and you don’t even know his name. 

Beyond the palace gates where he set you down and took on the court guardians that attempted to stop him. You’d never before seen the front gates, or the vast columns of trees. Awestruck, you stumbled out of the doors and into the grass. 

Din tugged you along once more, urging you to go a little farther. His ship was close. You could see it, and it was unlike any other ship you’d seen before. 

“Go!” Din demanded. You ran as fast as you could. You felt light, free, scared and giddy, all at once, even as gunfire rings out behind you. 

Your rags of clothing fumbled your escape. You tripped over yourself again. 

And that was it, you realized. That was the last of your freedom. 

A court guardian lifted you into his arms, prepared to drag you back to Emelea.

You had only seen the ship once, and it hadn’t been enough. 

Across the field Din struggled to fight off his own number of guardians. You writhed in your captor’s arms, calling out for help in a hoarse voice. 

Din’s helmet raised to attention. He could see you struggling. All of his strength surged as he used the remainder of his fuel to spray fire in the air. The guardians flanked back, watching in horror as their fellow fighters burned alive.

Din ran to you, like no one ever had before, and you were unsure if you should feel glad or scared as he tumbled to the ground with your almost captor. Once more in Din's arms, you were being flung onto the ramp of his ship. 

“Get in!” Din shouted as he shot at oncoming guardians. You clambered up the ramp, cutting your hands over the ragged edges. Din comes behind you to hurry things along. You sink into Din’s arms as he drags you inside. He firmly sets you down, only saying, “Stay there” before he rushes to the cockpit. 

His adrenaline spiked hands shuddered as he fires up the engines of the Crest. The rumble of his ship is literal music to his ears. Din did not bother to gauge anything else as he forced the ship into a full exertion of motion. The Razor Crest lurched as it lifted off the ground at an alarming speed. 

You strained to find balance as the entire world fell from under you. 

Colliding with every panel as the ship lurched out of the atmosphere sent you into a sobered state of pain. 

As the hum of the engine gets louder, you feel yourself becoming more and more frightened. 

Your unknown fate, which lies in this stranger’s hands, topples through space as the ship whirls and spins, leaving you to do nothing but brace yourself in a corner. Your vision blurred with every moment that passed. The rampant heart that beat in your chest threatened to burst free and fly through space all on its own. 

Some kind of siren went off as the walls of the ship shook. Distantly, you know the ship is being shot at. Breathing is becoming a struggle. 

Your memory skips out on everything since that moment in the hall. The vague voice of your hopeful-savior is clear in your mind, but your surroundings have been washed down to plain palates of color. The blazing prince, a muddled yellow and brown splashed with the fiery licks of orange; his sister who screamed as she bled now remains faceless in your mind. 

You crawled over the floor as it rumbled. You feel like debris in a tornado as you struggle for cover. The racking of metal pierces straight through you as you feel the looming threat of explosion closing in on you. A flat whistle is rising in your ears. There is no balance point for anything, not anymore. Were the rumors true? Does gravity not exist beyond the atmosphere of Aniri? Would the walls of the ship be stripped apart, leaving you victim to space winds, black holes, and freezing, endless darkness? The idea frightens you into a frenzy of hysterics.

You tumble across the panels. You go head first into a wall. It knocks the vision out of you. It’s difficult to tell how much time passes.

Sitting blind and gripping the sharp grooves of the ship, you brace your body back to fight the ship’s desperation to throw you around. Your neck twinges with pain of strained muscles. 

You narrowly dodge debris that rolls around the ship. 

Using the walls as your guide, you search for safety. 

Inside of a strange vault, filled to the brim with weapons, you lock yourself inside. Your breath is uneven, so ragged it hurts. Pinned up against guns and other strange arsenal isn’t helping the feeling of impending doom, but at least here you’re safe. 

You stay hidden until your legs hurt. 

You can feel the paint dripping down your face in thick streams of sweat. 

The ship ceased to rumble a while ago, but the nauseating pain in your stomach is still set firm like stone. 

You know once you emerge from the weapon locker you’ll be apprehended by your strange savior. 

You know what he is—a bounty hunter. He killed that wanted man on Aniri. He killed them just for money. He surely wouldn’t save you out of the kindness of his heart. He knew running off with you would cause a stir. They’d followed you off planet. 

You know what Emelea and Riz are like. Melv was kind, but weak. He had been the sickly triplets of the bunch. Kind he may have been but he was easily overpowered by siblings. 

They followed you off the planet. You, a servant. You are their property. They’re going to war over a stolen girl, and given Emelea’s absolute insanity, you can only guess how it will end for you. 

Even if Emelea doesn’t make further attempts, you are still in the hands of a stranger. A bounty hunter; a killer. He could use you for anything he wanted. Leverage to get ransom from Aniri, sell you to the Empire to be a slave, or he could keep you for himself. You’d be dead or worse either way. 

You gripped tight on a blaster before carefully opening the door. 

The ship rumbles in easy silence. No fire or smoke leaks. Just silence.

Did...did he outrun them? 

You stepped out. The metal under your bare feet is unlike anything you’ve felt. Servants were not permitted shoes because they had nowhere to go but around the palace. You’re used to smooth concrete. 

Your slippery palms grip the blaster with sloppy form. You’re unfamiliar with weaponry and rely mostly on what you’ve seen to defend yourself. Aim, pull trigger. 

In such a close range you could surely kill him, but piloting the ship wouldn’t be as easy. 

You tiptoe around, heart hammering in your chest. The metal floors creak behind you. 

You whirl around with a sharp gasp, pressing the gun into the metal armor of the man who saved you. 

You tried to shoot but his hand wrapped around your wrist, bending you in such a way that the gun fell from your fingers into his hand. You started to struggle. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” the Mandalorian says sharply. He sheaths the blaster in a holster on his hip and then holds you firmly by the shoulders. “Calm down,” he says. 

The modulator of his helmet highlights the details of his voice. Surprisingly deep but sharp, you find. 

You can't help but continue to struggle in his hold. He only has you by your forearms but he's incredibly strong. Or at least stronger than you. 

"Calm down," he repeats again. "I am not going to hurt you."

You are desperately hoping that's true. Palpitating, your heart disagrees and screams at you to fight and run.

The prospect would fail you no matter what. You're weak in general, more so now after the chaos you've gone through. Above feeling scared, you are dreadfully tired. 

The Mandalorian man cautiously leads you to a lumpy mattress pushed against the wall of a smaller room. "Sit," he says, a gloved hand gesturing to his bed. 

Your heart thunders away as you do. You grip the skirt of your rags and sit obediently, staring at your hands. 

Tears dripped down your face, tumbling off your chin. 

"What are you going to do to me?" Those are the first words you've said in a while. The crackling of your voice makes you cringe; your number one weakness is your vulnerability and right now you're the most vulnerable person in the galaxy. 

"You need rest," The Mandalorian says quietly. He digs around a little closet. He hands you a folded white shirt and towel. You're beyond puzzled at the gifts and behind tears you manage to send him a questioning glance. 

"Wouldn't you like to freshen up?" He sounds puzzled. You debate the idea. Hesitantly, you nod. 

"I'm not going to hurt you," he repeats. This time it sounds gentle.

Genuine.

"You can wear this for tonight," he continues. He places the shirt and towel in your arms. You had never been given something for you. Not this way. 

"Would you like to shower?" The Mandalorian then asks you.

You look up through your dirty bangs, unsure what he means. 

"Bathe," Din corrects himself. 

You nod. As unsure as you are you begin to give into the looming feeling of safety. 

Ushering you into the refresher in silence is beyond awkward. 

Din gives a quick rundown on how the shower works. When water came from the showerhead your eyebrows lifted to your hairline. 

"Curiouser and curiouser," you murmured to yourself. You run the top of your hand under the stream to test it out. To your disbelief the water is warm. 

You look to the Mandalorian, shock written all over your face.

Din tries not to chuckle at your expression. He can see that you're rather pretty even under the sweat, dirt, and paint. 

"I'll leave you alone. Take as much time as you need."

Din shuts the door after himself, leaving you in the steamy refresher. You hang your things on the hook. You're beyond excited to wear something other than your itchy rags.

You discard the rags to the floor and step eagerly into the water. 

It's amazing. 

You look at your feet, watching the dirt and paint whirl down the drain to never be seen again. 

While "showering" might be new, you at least know how to wash yourself. 

You use a bar of soap to lather bubbles in your hands. Scrubbing away the vomit-green foundation is beyond satisfying. 

You wash your hair, taking your grand time. The bubbles gather in your hair like a fluffy cloud. It's hard to remember there is a world outside of the shower where you massage your scalp for a decent ten minutes. 

By the time the water has ran cold, you have exhausted the possibility of washing any untouched body part. You feel butter soft, hair silky smooth. 

You pat yourself dry with the towel your savior had given you. 

It's then that you struggle to not burst into tears. The sight of your crumpled uniform overwhelms you. You huddle into the corner, gripping onto the soft linen the man had given you. 

Dabbing tears away with your inner wrist, you tell yourself to stay calm. 

You slip on the shirt.

He is bigger and taller than you, so the shirt covers all of you to your mid thighs. 

You look at your reflection in the foggy mirror. 

You don't recognize the girl that looks back at you. No loose rags cover her curves and no thick paint masks the face she is so unfamiliar with. 

You can see all the pigment in your skin. Your eyes are slightly red, but filled with hope. You detangle your hair with your fingers before you gather enough courage to go out. 

You slip into the cold air with your old uniform and towel bunched in your arms.

You scan up and down the narrow hall. You wish you knew your savior's name. 

"Hello?"

The answer is footsteps that lead away from the cockpit. 

He still wears his heavy armor, helmet included. 

"How do you feel?" He asks after a tense moment of silence.

"Clean," you say sheepishly.

You’re still slightly concerned with your well being. You look up to his helmet, taking a conscious shuffle back. "I should thank you properly," you murmur. 

"There's no need for it," the Mandalorian says quickly. His tight voice is incredibly nerve wracking. 

"What are you going to do to me?" You finally asked the one question that's been on your mind. 

He tilted his head back. You imagine he's surprised from the way his body seemed to stutter. 

"Nothing you're thinking, I can say that," he declared. "Technically you...you are mine now. The Anirians will be looking for you. They made that clear. It's safe to assume you have no family off planet?" 

You must have looked surprised because he quickly tries to apologize for overstepping a boundary. 

"I have no family," you say. "None at all. I was born into the servant ranks."

"I see." He visibly thought about what to do. Even though his face remains unseen you can tell he's debating all of his options. "If you're tired, you can sleep. If you're hungry, help yourself. Do as you'd like around here, at least until tomorrow."

You don't know how he keeps track of time here. The question isn’t nearly as  pressing as what’s happening tomorrow. 

You clenched your stomach when you asked what happened tomorrow. You prepared for the very worst answer. 

“I’m taking you somewhere safe.” His response didn’t make much sense. He turned on his feet to head back to the cockpit, but you reached after him. Your touch must have startled him as he flinched. You recoiled. “I-I want to ask why you did it.”

He doesn’t answer your question. 

“I’ll be here if you need me.” 

You retreated to the little bed. It’s lumpy, but soft. You sink right into it, timidly covering yourself with the thin blanket. 

You rest your head against the pillow.

This must be his bed. 

This must be what he smells like; metal tang mingling with his soap and just him. It’s difficult to describe since it’s not really a thing. It’s just him. 

Sleeping could have just been blinking. Your eyelashes tickled your eyelids as you opened them, seeing the world only as a pillow. You had cuddled it during the night, and you can’t say it was bad, since it smelled nice and was a real pillow.

You roll over to your back, feeling the start of a headache instantly form behind your eyes. 

On the small bedside table are new clothes. Well, you find it’s actually just a new linen shirt and an oversized leather jacket. You are a bit surprised to see that. After all, your savior doesn’t seem like the leather jacket type. 

But it’s very soft, so you figure it’s old. 

You shrug into the clothes, grateful he didn’t simply wash your rags and have you wear them again.

Although it is a peculiar outfit as far as outfits go. The brown leather jacket does a good job of keeping you warm and your hands at least reach the outside of the sleeves. But the shirt is sort of short. Oversized, but short. 

At least shorter than what you’re used to. On closer examination you’d say you have at least two inches between your kneecaps and the hem of your shirt-dress. You just zip up the jacket to avoid any mishaps. Strangely enough it makes a cute-ish outfit. 

Then again you’ve never actually had any other outfit before. You’d probably think anything would be cute. 

You come to the conclusion that you’re stalling going out to meet your savior. You’d slept peacefully and gotten new clothes, so you’re kind of expecting the entire thing to be revealed as a trick. 

You open the door with the thought that you could always run back to the weapon locker and grab a pistol. Your hope for a silent start to your first day is smashed when you run into him less than a full minute of being on your feet. 

You awkwardly stared into his visor, stuttering a quiet “Good morning.”

He didn’t exactly reply the way any other person would. 

“How are you feeling?”

The crisp edge to his voice cuts your ears. He’s awfully fear inducing. 

“I feel alright,” you mumble. “Thank you for the clothes.”

He nodded, not making a sound that could be mistaken for a “you’re welcome”. Instead he straightens his helmet, the T of his visor looking somewhere behind you. He says, “I have set a course to Nevarro.”

You nodded right back. “I would guess that’s a planet,” you say, trying your best to sound serious. Who could take you seriously, though? Makeupless, tired, with less than combed hair, and you don’t know anything about the galaxy you live in. 

“It’s going to be where we live. For now. At least until I can find somewhere safe for you.” His words took your breath away. It’s mind blowing to imagine how many planets are out there. Which planet will you live on? What would you do? Just live, breathe, all without being in the service of anyone else? 

You bobbed your head softly, a quiet yes on your lips, but excitement gathering in your chest. 

“I’m going to have to thank you again,” you murmur, sweeping your bangs out of your eyes. “I’ve never been shown such kindness from a stranger. I am Y/n.”

The soldier bowed his helmet in response. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/n.”

You half expected him to tell you his name in response. You should have known better, however, considering his entire identity depends on mystery. Before he could leave, you asked him, “What should I call you?” 

A slight falter in his footsteps makes you regret the question. He visibly thought as he tilted his visor down. Is he staring at you? His feet? The way the leather jacket hangs off your limbs? 

“You can call me Mando, if you want,” he finally suggested, his words sounding so broken apart that you wonder if he is physically malfunctioning beneath the helmet. You decided to just stick with Mando rather than force him to socialize and talk more than he already has been. 

The day passed by uneventfully, but still blurringly fast. You have nothing to do, but that is a thousand times better as opposed to your usual schedule of cleaning around the Anirian palace from dawn to dusk. You never had the luxury to feel bored before today. You passed the time by cleaning up around the ship while Mando remained ever stoic in the pilot chair. 

You grew used to his ever looming presence. You have an idea of him in mind that you can’t be too sure of. He watches you constantly, occasionally handing bowls of soup to you without a word. He thanked you before bed for taking the time to clean but insisted you don’t do it again. You’d taken that with a grain of salt in the wound. For a brief moment you felt embarrassed; you must not seem like a real person to him. Just the poor Aniri girl programmed to clean and stay silent. 

Mando must have seen this thought in your eyes because he stopped you from going to bed to say a few words.

“Thank you,” he said. His voice always cuts through your chest, right to your heart. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I want to say that you shouldn’t feel obligated to take care of anything.”

You tilt your head up, peeking at his helmet through your bangs. “I don’t know how else I can thank you,” you sheepishly admit. “Cleaning is my only real talent.”

He didn’t laugh at the half-joke, instead he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. The tang of his armor you could taste on your tongue, and you can just imagine how it would twine with the smell of him.

“If you’re hungry then I’ll bring you food, to the bedroom.”

“Wouldn’t you want to eat with company?” You asked. 

His long pause is deafening. “It’s alright,” he finally says, voice lowered to a soft lull. “Y/n,” he said. Your heart pounds when he says it. “I’m going to take care of you.”

You nodded. “I know,” you mutter. “I really, really wish I could thank you enough.”

“You can thank me by getting rest. We’ll be at Nevarro in twelve or so hours.”

You retreated to the door to your little bedroom, before turning back to look at Mando one more time. “Where do you sleep?” You asked. 

“The bedroom,” he replied. “But it’s yours tonight, once more.”

You don’t argue as Mando turns away, returning to the cockpit where he would no doubt be the rest of the night. 

You shrugged out of the leather, draping it across the small night stand where a glass of fresh, cold water greeted you. 

You have never been cared for. 

You have never been given anything so luxurious in your entire life.

Mando had now given you his bed for two nights in a row, and you would have felt guilty if you weren’t struck by your sudden change of lifestyle. You crawled onto the mattress and sunk your face into the pillow, breathing in the smell of him.

Just him. 

>> next chapter! 

[jae-writes-fanfiction]

Paper Faces (on Parade)

Luke X Reader - 1580 Words - More Freaky Fics

Warnings: Alcohol use, Cigarette use, descriptions of violence and horror things including: rotting skin, blood, illnesses, a masked killer. Enjoy responsibly ❤️ (most of these things are only referenced, unlike later fics that will be fairly intense)

- - -

There are certain rules that one must abide by in order to successfully survive... 1. You can never have sex- Sex always equals death, 2. Never drink or do drugs. The sin factor. It's an extension of number one. And 3. Never, ever, ever, under any circumstances, say 'I'll be right back.'

- Scream (1996), Dir. Wes Craven

The Villa overlooked LA and dwarfed the surrounding homes. You had done your best to dress for the venue including the lace mask that rested over your face. Yet nothing prepared you for this level of grandeur. Your hand clutched the cryptic invitation inviting you to a private and painstakingly exclusive party. The letter gave no clue to its composer but promised safety in numbers- something going out of style in the rest of the world. Stepping into the palatial courtyard you heard the large iron gates secure behind you. 

The doorman fastened multiple chains and locks, “ ‘s for your safety,” he reiterated, “wouldn’t want to let the riff-raff in with you decent folks. Who knows what kinda stuff they could spread.” His gruff and heavily accented voice reminded you of British detective movies and offered no actual assurance. His quick and uneasy movements sent a shiver down your spine as if he was locking you in instead of locking them out. 

The courtyard had seen better days yet the stately doors ahead beckoned with so much light you didn't notice the oppressive foreboding that set in under your skin, the instinctive warning you desperately needed but would never realize already came. The doors opened for you, the doorman slipping behind you to once again fasten the deadbolt and secure the locks. 

The room you had stepped into was swathed in blue decorations and lights that diffused about the room resulting in a softly colored experience. The Villa’s sprawl demanded the existence of many other rooms, you assumed it must be so as this one was empty. You were late. 

Your shoes clicked bodily against the floors as you sped through the next few rooms. The pink room held only two couples seated at a card table, the green room only an older man seated across from a perpetually empty seat with two place settings. Neither group looked up upon your intrusion and in your haste, you neglected to notice they couldn’t do so anyway. The locket and handkerchief clutched in the old man’s hand were splattered with blood, and the couples lay slumped together with matching exit wounds, the one’s face already covered in mottled blotches of puss ridden decay. 

Within the room, your enigmatic Host watched from a hidden corner as you ran past the recently deceased. Inconsiderate, Tardy, Rude. Their grotesque mask hid their disappointment at just another sinner to keep track of. They had no tolerance for filth in any form, the old man’s illness posed a threat to everyone. A mortal sin. They moved after you slowly and unseen as if they could glide through the air soundlessly.

The Villa’s hallways twisted and turned until you were sure there were no more rooms and you had simply missed the night’s festivities. A soft pool of golden light flashed from an archway as you rounded another corner and drew you into a dimly lit room filled with dancing people. he orange lights pulsed along with the music and made the entire room feel like a dream, like some impossibility that wasn’t really happening, no matter how much you wanted it to. 

The crowd put you at ease, everyone knew there was safety in numbers. Unfortunately with the masks, you couldn’t recognize anyone- a sea of paper faces swirled around you. The bar situated against the farthest wall of damask curtains offered comfort that the unknowable masses couldn’t. The bartender greeted you silently, a drink already in hand. Apparently, there would be no cocktail menu tonight. You thanked them and despite the full face mask you though they smiled. 

The liquid had no specific taste yet it felt so warm, so bright; that you almost tasted spices. Something in the drink sparked inside you and every cell in your body oozed with heat. Your throat ran dry, demanding you drink more which only worsened the heady feelings taking over you. As you were drinking a man sat next to you. 

He was tall, his hair fell around his face in a disheveled cascade of golden curls and behind the half mask, you could see bright eyes that betrayed an even brighter smile. When he spoke, his voice carried an accent and at the same time sounded like music. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stand not talking to you.” He spoke with a lazy yet instantly charming smile that made your heart skip a beat. 

You scoffed lightly, “nice line. You tell that to all the girls?”

“Only the ones in lace,” he said with a wink that sent a delicious shiver down your spine. 

You laughed openly. The lace mask itched your nose as you smiled.

“Well mystery man, care for a drink?” 

“Mystery man?” He laughed briefly, “ I’m Luke… I’d love a drink but only if you promise to dance with me after.”

You agreed and happily clinked glasses together. You were thankful to find a friend among the strangers, even if you’d only just met. The strange spark from the liquor made you feel like moving. You were quick to down the drink and pull Luke’s hand into your own. You had opted out of wearing formal gloves and the second your skin touched his for the first time that night you were thankful for that choice. It felt as if you’d already known exactly how it would feel as if you were puzzle pieces who still fit together. The feeling was intoxicating. 

Life moved in slow motion as the music started again. Luke’s hand found the small of your back but itched to dip lower and hold you tighter. You spun in well-drawn circles, weaving between the other dancers. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol, or the feeling of Luke pressed against you that made your head spin in the most delicious way. In that moment you felt again like a flame, overstuffed with kindling. You had never burned as bright. 

The song ended and you stumbled back. Luke looked lost, and you knew he felt the same magnetic pull that bewildered you.

“Fuck, I need some air,” you said breathily. 

“Me too,” Luke said, frowning,” but I’m pretty sure they already locked the exits.”

Luke huffed and thought for a second before pulling you off the dance floor. You anxiously looked around the crowded room wondering if it would be best to stay with the group for now. You swallowed the thought, you just needed a little space to process. You’d be right back. He brushed aside one of the damask panels to reveal a darkened passageway. You didn’t think to question how he knew when the doors locked or that the passage was there. All you knew was that he felt like the antidote to whatever fire was ravaging your body. 

The corridor was little more than a servant’s passageway and demanded you walk pressed together, his hand rested securely on your hip urging you forward and downstairs that seemed to curl on forever before you reached another door that in turn moved another damask panel. Behind was another themed room that appeared as if someone had forgotten to turn on the lights. The only light filtered into the room through a gothic stained glass window. 

He walked past you into the room, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. The lighter cast odd shadows across his face and for the first time you felt fear. You had no idea who he was or where you were, you’d followed a stranger into the depths of an unknown Villa and for a brief moment you could’ve sore you heard screaming far off in the distance.

Yet you couldn’t stop thinking about his hand in yours, and what that electricity would feel like tracing over the rest of your body. As quickly as the uncertainty entered your mind, it left as Luke turned back to you. The low light made the hints of glitter on his mask shine, and the silk of his shirt gleam. He looked like an angel. 

You smiled softly and walked to his side, taking in the plush velvets and wrought iron embellishments around the room. The closeness felt right. 

He passed you the cigarette and you laughed.

“So much for fresh air.” 

You took a long drag off it and savored the bitter taste. Your fingers grazed Luke’s as you handed it back and you longed to kiss him. You inched closer placing a hand on his shoulder as the cigarette turned to ashes littered on the tile floor. With no regard for the home around you, Luke dropped the spent butt on the floor and crushed it under his heel, his hands immediately returned to you. He looped an arm around your waist, and your hand tightened around his bicep as you pressed together. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face, your lips almost touching.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered reverently.

Your tongue darted out across your bottom lip, “am I?”

The moment lingered for only a second before you closed the space between you. The itching in your veins worsened and spread until you couldn't take your hands off him. The kisses deepened and the passionate passes of hands became desperate. Within the anonymous dark room eager hands tore at clothes and blissful groans drowned out the sounds of terror you had aptly recognized before. 

The Host had finally descended upon the stragglers left in the ballroom. They summoned everyone for a reason, those who followed the rules would thrive. Stragglers, rule-breakers, and sinners of all shades would pay the price. Even you, wrapped up in your one-time lover, would have to learn your actions have consequences.