#like. “okay maybe the entire circle was a disaster but at least this one older mage Gets Me”

[herearedragons]

...the fun thing about getting both Wynne collapsing and the Romance Intervention before talking to her at camp is that, at the beginning of that second conversation, Kyana has kind of forgotten the collapsing incident in the first place and is sure that Wynne is going to talk to her about Zevran again. And then the reveal hits, and suddenly there are kind of more important things at play than bickering about relationships, and they kind of make up?? I'm definitely reading those last lines as Kyana letting go of whatever grudge might have been forming against Wynne, and Wynne's "I think you'll be alright" being a kind of apology for the "intervention".

[ladylynse]

Dimensional Displacement [FFN | AO3]: Danny has a love-hate relationship with the Fenton Booo-merang. This time, it didn’t do him any favours. This time, it knocked him through a portal—and from what he can glean from the Water Tribe siblings he meets, odds are, there’s a reason for that.

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For @geronimo-alonzi as a thank you for donating to my ko-fi. (Yes, they won my fic giveaway, but I finished this one first.) Loosely based on this three sentence fic.

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Danny had been clobbered in the head by the Fenton Booo-merang more often than he’d like to admit, let alone count, but this was the first time it had knocked him through a portal.

That wouldn’t have been a particularly bad thing if the portal hadn’t immediately closed behind him.

One minute, he’d been minding his own business in the Ghost Zone, coming back from a visit with Frostbite that Jazz must have forgotten about if she’d sent the Booo-merang after him. (Sam was stuck with her parents at some fancy dinner party thing somewhere and Tucker was working on designing a computer game for his comp sci assignment, a class neither Sam nor Danny was in, so it had to have been Jazz.)

The next minute, Danny was…. He didn’t even know where he was. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere. He’d caught the Booo-merang before either he or it had hit the ground, but once he’d righted himself to look around, there was no familiar skyline or something equally useful to him. There were only trees and rocks and dirt roads as far as the eye could see, even from a considerable distance up in the air.

Well.

That wasn’t quite fair. He could see a silver river cutting through the trees in a path roughly parallel to the road, but in terms of helpful things, he was coming up empty.

He didn’t even know which direction he’d need to fly to get to a city. It was too light out to see any distant glow of city lights against the scattered clouds, and all he could smell when he breathed in was fresh air and pine needles and something else—moss? The general mix that was pretty much mulch on the forest floor?—that was decidedly natural, not the signs of human activity he’d been hoping for. Sure, following the road or even the river would get him somewhere sooner or later, but what was he supposed to do, pick a random direction or go eenie meenie minie moe?

Danny did another loop above the trees, looking for some sign of anything, and came up with nothing.

“Come on!” Danny yelled at the patch of blue sky where the portal had closed. He spun in a circle, the Booo-merang clutched tightly in his fist, but it didn’t pull in any direction, and he didn’t catch so much as a glimmer of the familiar green of the Ghost Zone. “Just open up again already!” It was as effective as he’d expected it to be, which was not at all, but screaming out his frustrations made him feel a bit better. “Now! Please?”

Unsurprisingly, the portal didn’t listen.

Out of appealing options, Danny threw the Booo-merang. Logically, he knew it wasn’t the Infi-Map. Logically, he knew that the universe did not often do what was convenient for him, even if he sometimes got incredibly lucky in a fight. Logically, he knew that the chances of the Booo-merang deciding to reprogram itself to find portals just because it had done it this one time (likely coincidentally) were slim to none.

Illogically, he didn’t expect the stupid thing to circle around and hit him in the back of the head again.

Danny cursed and landed to retrieve the fallen Booo-mang from the roadway, muttering under his breath about how much he’d like to just dismantle the thing and hide the pieces. He wouldn’t, of course. It worked too well to risk Sam, Tucker, and Jazz losing the ability to find him if they really needed to. It had been dicey enough the few times his parents had decided to try to ‘fix’ it, only for disaster (Vlad) to strike in the meantime.

That didn’t mean Danny couldn’t fantasize about bashing it against a rock, though. There were plenty of those around.

“That’s a weird looking boomerang,” someone said from behind him, and Danny nearly jumped into the air right there.

He didn’t, mostly because he was getting used to Sam and Tucker trying to surprise him, but it was a near thing.

He wasn’t used to people sneaking up on him. His ghost sense was reliable, Dash made more noise walking around than even Jack Fenton, and, well, most of the people who hunted him couldn’t be subtle if they tried, especially since a good chunk of them liked hearing their own voice. He’d only ever really had to worry about Jazz, and self-preservation in the face of tickle attacks had given him the ability to be extra sensitive to her presence whenever she was in a certain mood.

The two who’d caught him by surprise now must have come from the trees on the other side of the road, and he hoped that meant they hadn’t seen him do anything particularly ghostly. Granted, neither of them was screaming, so he should be safe. They didn’t look terrified, either. Wary, maybe, but not scared.

Danny guessed that they were both somewhere around his age. Siblings, by the looks of them, but probably not twins even if they’d both decided to leave the house wearing oddly styled blue clothes today, at least compared to the usual jeans and T-shirt combo Danny was used to seeing. Unless he wasn’t anywhere near the States anymore? Or unless he’d been flung through to a different time. But the boy had spoken English, and it hadn’t sounded funny to Danny’s ears, no lilt of a foreign accent or strange phrasing that he associated with Shakespeare or something.

The girl was his height, the boy a bit taller, and they were both staring at him.

They probably thought he was the one who was dressed strangely.

The boy pointed. “Your boomerang,” he repeated. “It looks weird.”

The girl elbowed him in the gut—none too gently, judging by his immediate wheeze—and hissed, “Sokka!”

Yeah, those two were definitely siblings. And even if the girl wasn’t older, she definitely had the annoying (and annoyed) sister tone down pat. Danny had heard (and been on the receiving end of) the same from similar exchanges with Jazz more than once.

“Sokka’s going to apologize, right, Sokka?”

The boy frowned and then threw up his hands. “Right. I apologize for saying your boomerang looks weird. It looks interesting.”

The girl stepped on his foot, and he yelped. “What was that for?”

“You know what that was for!”

“It’s fine,” Danny said. He still wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. Maybe the portal had dumped him out in the middle of some historical re-enactment thing. Granted, there should really be more people around if that were the case—or at least hidden cameras. He was better at spotting them now. Vlad and his creepy spy tendencies aside, Danny had gotten good at noticing (and avoiding) cameras so he didn’t let his secret get caught on tape. (There were a surprising number of places in Amity Park not under video surveillance, or at least not under real video surveillance even if they had fake cameras out; he could practically transform in the middle of the street sometimes.)

Still, nothing about this felt staged. It didn’t even feel like one of his enemy’s tricks, some giant setup that was meant to trap him or whatever. That’s not to say Danny was wholly convinced this meeting, whatever it was, was merely chance—he didn’t particularly trust Clockwork not to arrange things as he saw fit without warning anyone—but it didn’t feel overly contrived, either. There was just….

Something felt off, and he couldn’t explain what it was.

“It’s fine,” Danny repeated, since the two were looking at him dubiously, but the familiar phrase felt strange on his tongue, almost like—

Wait.

“Okay, this is going to sound like a weird question, but where are we?”

The boy, Sokka, blinked. “Did you hit your head or something? We’re in the Earth Kingdom. Or, wait, do you mean where in the Earth Kingdom? Look, if you need new supplies, there’s not much in the last few villages, but we’re about a day from—”

The girl elbowed him again, and he fell silent. Danny could see the growing suspicion on her face for what it was, could see suspicion settling on the boy’s face as well, but he wasn’t sure if it was because he’d asked the wrong question or because he’d asked something at all. He’d been paying attention this time, watching Sokka’s lips, and Danny didn’t have to be a good lip reader to know that he hadn’t been saying the words Danny had heard.

Well.

More accurately, he hadn’t been saying them in English.

And Danny, in answering, had somehow not been speaking English.

That was not, as far as Danny was aware, something Clockwork could do to him.

He didn’t know a ghost who had power over language, though, unless the Ghostwriter had something else up his sleeve and this mess was it. Nocturne would be able to pull anything in a dream, but Danny couldn’t see why he’d bother including something that would be an obvious tell like this, so it shouldn’t be him even if he had decided to come back. More likely, it was someone he hadn’t fought before, someone who had targeted him, seen an opportunity when the Booo-merang had hit him and seized upon it to throw him…here.

Wherever here was.

The Earth Kingdom, apparently.

“Um.” The girl still looked like she expected him to start fighting, and her stance…. Danny didn’t recognize it, but he did know that she looked ready to move at any moment. Her brother had taken her cue and, while Danny hadn’t been paying attention, pulled out a boomerang of his own. That couldn’t be good. “Look. I know how this sounds.” How he sounded, more like. If he had some accent he couldn’t hear because he wasn’t speaking their language properly, whatever it was, this had to be a setup after all.

Someone had sent him here to be dealt with. By this world, this dimension or construct or whatever it was, if not necessarily by these two people.

Granted, Danny wasn’t sure why someone would go to the trouble of letting him understand and be understood in the first place if that were the case, since he could get in just as much trouble without speaking the native language.

Surely he wasn’t actually supposed to help someone here, right? This wasn’t even his world. Or the Ghost Zone. Whatever was going on here was most definitely not his business.

Except now he was in the middle of it, so if there was something going on, it would be beneficial to find out what it was sooner rather than later.

This wasn’t some Jumanji kind of thing where he’d been tossed into a game and had to do whatever it was to get out again, was it? It didn’t feel like the time he’d gone into Doomed, but that had been intentional, and this….

Okay, no, he didn’t have enough information to speculate, which meant he needed to get some information out of these two in order to get somewhere. “I just…. I was kidnapped and dumped here for some reason, and I’m trying to find my way home.” That was close enough to the truth that it shouldn’t raise any red flags. Hopefully. “My name is Danny.” Introducing himself as Phantom, even in ghost mode, wasn’t something he wanted to do when he had no idea how these people felt about ghosts. Besides, it wasn’t like they’d ever see him as Fenton. He just needed to stick to the ground and pretend to be a normal human being, which he could most definitely do—at least when the sun was bright enough that his slight glow was basically nonexistent. He doubted it would be terribly noticeable even under the cover of trees.

“Danny,” the girl repeated, not relaxing her stance. “That’s an unusual name.”

Sokka just cocked his head at Danny. “Why would anyone kidnap you?”

It was spoken like it was an innocent, thoughtless question, something that could be brushed away with a laugh, but Danny could read an underlying tension in each of their faces. Sokka was waiting on his answer, and so was his sister. Danny’s response might very well determine what happened next.

Consequently, Danny didn’t miss the fact that Sokka didn’t offer up any potential explanations that he could jump on.

Another lie wasn’t going to do him any favours, not when he knew so little. “I don’t know.” He could guess, but he didn’t know. From the looks of it, though, these two wouldn’t be satisfied with that. Chances were good they wouldn’t be particularly satisfied with his suspicions, either, which was that someone wanted him out of the way for whatever they were planning—or maybe that someone had decided they wanted to have a little fun with him at his expense, if world domination wasn’t on the table. “My parents are inventors. Maybe that’s why?”

“That doesn’t explain why whoever took you would leave you here,” Sokka pointed out, and Danny wished these two weren’t so smart. “If you were taken because you were valuable, you wouldn’t have been left behind unguarded.”

“So maybe they kidnapped the wrong person and realized that I wasn’t who they wanted?”

Sokka exchanged glances with his sister before murmuring, “We can ask Toph. I mean, it’s possible they found us, but if he is really a Fire Nation plant picked solely for his eye colour, they’d have at least dyed his hair and given him some normal clothes.”

Danny decided not to ask who the heck picked people for something based on eye colour and not skill or merit or experience or something normal like that. Aside from derailing the conversation from anything potentially useful, Danny was pretty sure Sokka hadn’t realized he’d been overheard, and it wouldn’t be in Danny’s best interests to let them know how good his hearing was.

Still, he took the opportunity to tuck away the Booo-merang before they could ask any questions about it that he wasn’t up to answering. Maybe it would make him seem like less of a threat if they didn’t think he was ready to use it as a weapon—not that he knew how to use a boomerang as a weapon, but he was pretty sure Sokka hadn’t pulled his out to see which of them could throw it farther or throw it properly—and maybe then they’d trust him enough to answer his questions. Hopefully. He was perfectly willing to meet this Toph if it meant figuring out where he was and how to get home, especially since it would be easy enough for him to cut and run later.

The movement was enough to draw the attention of the siblings, though, and both pairs of eyebrows rose. Had they not expected him to make what he hoped would be taken as a gesture of trust or were they wondering how the heck he’d gotten it into his pocket? Maybe they thought he was trying to hide it, which wouldn’t help matters at all. Then again, if they thought that he thought it had been a subtle move, then maybe—

No.

He had to stop doing this. He didn’t know enough about these two to try to guess their thoughts, let alone what actions they might take against him.

Danny shifted on his feet, glad they hadn’t jumped to attacking and that they weren’t even asking questions about the Booo-merang, since practically anything about it would be difficult to answer. At least they hadn’t seen him flying. Even for people familiar with ghosts, unknown ones tended to be cause for concern until their threat level was assessed, and Danny didn’t want to invite trouble and immediately find out what this world had that messed with ghosts. Sure, he wanted to know what could hurt him here, but finding out while it wasn’t actively being used against him was infinitely preferable.

“Where did you say you were from?” the girl asked after a beat, even though they all knew he’d never said anything about that.

“Nowhere you would know,” he hedged, which was true enough.

“We travel a lot,” the girl said, and her brother snorted.

“What Katara means is, try us. If we can help you get back to your family, what do you have to lose?” Sokka offered Danny a grin, and his stance had visibly relaxed, even if he hadn’t put his boomerang away. It might be just for show, especially since he still had a weapon out, but at least the girl hadn’t drawn any knives or something like that. “Look, from one guy to another, you don’t need to make up some crazy story if you’re a runaway or something like that. We’re basically runaways.”

“We’re running towards something, not away from it.”

“We were almost runaways.” To Danny, Sokka added, “Gran caught us, but she let us go.”

Katara rolled her eyes, and Danny looked between the two of them as Sokka continued talking. It was obvious that they’d changed tack for some reason, no doubt trying to get him to trust them, but the blatant switch made him uneasy. Did they not realize how obvious that was or was this just their usual dynamic?

“I’m from Amity,” Danny eventually interrupted. He knew from the way that they were looking at him that neither of them had forgotten he had yet to answer the question. He’d already told them they wouldn’t know the place, so technically he could’ve said Amity Park, but for all he knew, these two had been sent to get information out of him, and the less he told a potential enemy, the better.

Come to think of it, maybe he shouldn’t have told them his real name, and maybe he should’ve just made up a village name rather than dropping heavy hints about his hometown.

“Which is near—?”

Danny ignored Sokka’s prompt. He didn’t even have a good enough idea of the geography of this place to make that up, especially when there was a chance they knew the area, runaways or no. “Do you know where I could get some water? I haven’t found any since I woke up.” That wasn’t true, but they wouldn’t know that unless they were getting some more intel about him from someone unseen.

The siblings looked at each other again, and then Katara faced him and said, “We’re headed to the river. Come with us. You can get your water, and we can share our catch if we get anything.”

“Wait, I didn’t agree to share my meat!” Sokka exclaimed. Katara’s only answer was a dirty look, but it was enough to have Sokka subsiding into grumbles.

“I’m not hungry yet,” Danny said, which also strictly wasn’t true, but he knew he didn’t need to eat much.

“You might be hungry by the time we’re finished,” Katara said over Sokka’s griping.

Danny hesitated, trying to figure out how weird it would be if he made up some excuse not to go with them. What were the chances that this was a trap when he’d brought up the river—or at least water—before they had? It wasn’t that he thought they’d be able to take him out if it came to that, even if Jazz had more experience fighting normally than he did, since he typically relied a lot on his powers when he could.

These two might be better fighters than him—there were almost certainly better hunters, given how silently they could walk—but he’d always have something like intangibility in his back pocket if it came to it, and they wouldn’t. Still, when it came down to it, he wasn’t used to fighting humans. What if he didn’t pull his punches enough and seriously hurt one of them?

“You can tell us about Amity,” Katara added. “We’ve never been there.”

Danny really hoped that was true and that there wasn’t a place in this world called Amity that they knew well. Still, when they started walking, spreading out so he was always in sight and they never had their backs to him, even when they hit the trees on the other side of the road, he kept pace with them. “It’s pretty much like you’d expect.” Except for the ghosts. At least his ghost sense hadn’t gone off here. Yet. “This is probably the farthest I’ve ever travelled from home.” He couldn’t get much farther away than a completely different dimension that (probably) wasn’t as connected to his world as it was to the Ghost Zone, anyway—unless he counted when he’d time travelled, but he wasn’t about to bring that up.

Katara opened her mouth to ask another question, maybe to press him for details, so Danny cut her off. “What about you two?”

They looked at each other again. How many times were they going to do that? Hadn’t they already decided how far to trust him? Danny knew it wasn’t very far, but they’d clearly decided he wasn’t going to straight up attack them at this precise moment, so even if they didn’t tell him the whole truth—

Sokka gestured at their clothes. “We’re Water Tribe.”

He said it like it was obvious, like Danny should’ve known already, but of course it explained absolutely nothing.

“Southern Water Tribe,” Katara added unhelpfully, despite Sokka’s frown. “We wanted to see the world, and now we are.”

As cover stories went, it was better than Danny’s. Barely. “Right,” he said, wondering again why he’d been dumped in the path of these two. “It’s a nice world to see.”

Somehow, that was the wrong thing to say, because they were both looking at him like they’d expected him to say anything but that. “What?”

“There’s a war on, you’re supposedly kidnapped and dropped off somewhere in occupied territory without any of the proper paperwork, and the best you can come up with is it’s a nice world to see?” Sokka turned his incredulous look from Danny to Katara. “He cannot be Fire Nation. This kid is more sheltered than Toph was supposed to be.”

Danny, who had stumbled at the word war, kept walking and hoped they hadn’t noticed. If they had, maybe they’d think he’d tripped over a tree root or fallen branch or hole or something. They weren’t following a trail, so that was a perfectly reasonable explanation, right?

“It’s all right,” Katara said as she reached out to touch his arm, and, okay, from that gentle tone, which was a complete change from anything earlier, it must mean she had noticed, knew he hadn’t tripped over anything in the terrain, and—from how she was looking at him now—thought it wasn’t surprise that had tripped Danny up, either. “Trust me, I know what it’s like to be a little naïve until you have a chance to leave home for the first time, but unless you’re got a camp around here, you’re not prepared at all.”

Sokka finally put his boomerang away and smirked at Danny. “We at least left home with supplies.”

“Did you have to run without any warning?” Katara asked, giving her brother a pointed look.

“Oh, uh, kinda.” Danny winced, knowing that had to sound like a lie. “I…I didn’t really plan on leaving when I did. This just…happened.”

Sokka raised an eyebrow, but Katara said, “You don’t have to worry. We’re the last people who would turn you in to the Fire Nation.”

Right. So the Fire Nation were the bad guys, at least according to the Water Tribe and, if he was putting things together correctly, the Earth Kingdom, where they were. Meaning the Fire Nation had invaded the Earth Kingdom if this was occupied territory. Danny thought about asking why these two had come into occupied territory themselves and then decided he didn’t want to risk getting into a discussion that would show off how little he knew. If they had decided he was a runaway who knew practically nothing about the world, well, that worked in his favour.

“Thanks.” Danny wasn’t sure what else to say. “Why are you helping me, though? Won’t that put you in danger?” That had to be a fair question in this situation.

“We can’t help everyone,” Katara said quietly, “but we can help some people, even if it’s just a tiny bit. Sometimes, that has to be enough.”

Danny really didn’t know what to say to that, because she certainly wouldn’t understand if he said he knew the feeling, so he smiled weakly in thanks and let the conversation drop.

They were still watching him, but they were more subtle about it now, and it didn’t look like they were watching him more closely than they were watching everything else.

Being downgraded from a threat was a win, though. Danny hoped he didn’t do anything to mess it up.

“There’s no shame in being a refugee,” Sokka said after a moment. “Being from a richer family might’ve bought you an isolated childhood, but it wouldn’t guarantee your safety.”

“We won’t try to hold you for ransom if you tell us where you’re really from,” added Katara.

Danny glanced at her. “I said I was from Amity.”

“I could say I have a platypus bear as a pet,” Sokka interjected. “That doesn’t make it true.”

“We know what it’s like, thinking you understand the way things are and then realizing how little you know,” Katara said quietly. “It can be overwhelming.”

“And it would explain why you’re in your nightclothes,” Sokka said. He’d come in range of Katara’s fist, but he danced out of the way as she swung in his direction. He hadn’t even needed to look at her to know it was coming. “You didn’t know enough to keep your valuables hidden and got robbed your first night on your own, didn’t you?”

“I—” Danny knew it was an excuse for his ignorance being handed to him on a silver platter, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep up with a lie like that when he knew so little. “These aren’t my pajamas,” he said instead. Let them believe what they wanted to believe; that would make his life easier. Even if it blew up in his face somehow, he could truthfully say he’d never said they were right.

They might be suspicious that he hadn’t outright denied it, but then again, he’d already told them something a lot closer to the truth.

“Uh huh.” Sokka glanced at Katara again, and she gave a slight shake her head that Danny didn’t understand.

“Let’s get you some food and water first,” Katara said. “Then we can see about finding you other supplies.”

Danny decided not to point out that they’d already told him it was slim pickings for supplies around here. Not that he had the money to pay for anything, but Sokka had already guessed that. Besides, they thought he was running around in his pjs.

Judging by the sour look on Sokka’s face, he’d evidently translated his sister’s words to mean that she wanted to give him some of their supplies, something Sokka clearly wasn’t sure he approved of.

Katara must have had similar thoughts on Sokka’s expression, since she murmured, “It’s this or bring him with us, and you know what’s safer.”

Katara might not have minded that Danny could overhear her last words, but Sokka closed the distance between them, pulling his sister farther away from Danny before hissing, “It’s not the only option, and you know it. We can’t afford to give away any of our supplies, and just because Toph can make sure he’s not coming in with the intention of stabbing us in the back, doesn’t mean he wouldn’t blab to anyone once he figures out who we’re travelling with. You know as well as I do that that wouldn’t take very long.”

“He’s just kid.”

“Technically, like Aang keeps reminding us, we’re just kids. Who very much cannot afford to so much as drop him off in the next village. Show him the river and teach him how to catch and cook his meals? Fine. Picking him up as a stray when he’s not bringing anything to the table? Not fine.”

“He’s lost.”

“So? He’s not hurt. He’s already in a better position than some refugees. He’ll survive until he can walk to the nearest settlement. Then he can try to get help from people who can actually give it.”

Katara bit her lip and slowed to a stop. “There’s something else.”

“What?”

Danny very much wanted to know the answer to that—what had Katara figured out?—but he tried not to react so they didn’t know he’d been listening in. He deliberately turned away and stared around the trees instead, a mix of deciduous and evergreen. He couldn’t pick out any specific types of trees—nothing distinctive like oak leaves that he could see—and, as far as he could tell, the woods were utterly devoid of critters. He had no idea if that was because this world wasn’t real or if it was simply because all the animals in the region had had warning of their coming and hidden accordingly.

Danny knew his disinterest wouldn’t be very convincing, but if he was lucky, they’d think he’d given up on trying to eavesdrop.

“There’s something…off about him. Not necessarily something wrong, but something different. I can’t…. When he asked about water, I wanted to make sure he wasn’t hiding any on him or nearby in case it was a trap, and— He didn’t feel the same as you or me. I can’t explain it. Toph might have a better idea than I do. Or…or Aang.” The last word was a barely audible whisper.

“You think this might be a spirit thing?” Sokka’s response was closer to a suppressed shriek than anything else, and Danny winced.

“I think he might be spirit touched,” Katara answered, and Sokka’s sharp inhalation was painfully audible. “I wasn’t good enough back then to notice anything about Yue, but—”

“Fine.” Sokka’s voice had gone flat. “I don’t want to shun someone and accidentally anger the spirits. I’ll teach him to fish. You go back and interrupt advanced earthbending practice and pick a meeting place, but make sure everyone’s packed in case this doesn’t go the way you think it’ll go.”

“I know to be careful.”

“We all know to be careful. Some of us just need more reminding than others.”

Katara didn’t say anything else, but she must have nodded or done something similar because Danny heard Sokka stalk back over to him. “Katara’s going back to talk to the rest of our group about what we might be able to spare,” he said as Danny turned back to face him, “and I’ll show you how to fish in the meantime. If you don’t catch anything, I’ll give you one of mine.”

Danny wasn’t about to admit that he’d overheard their entire conversation, so he smiled and said, “That sounds great, thanks.” It didn’t stop the uneasiness from settling in his gut, though. Sure, now he knew these people believed in ghosts, and Sokka’s response made it clear he didn’t want to get on their bad side, but Danny had no idea what being spirit touched meant. He didn’t know if that was seen as a good thing or a bad thing.

More to the point, if it was a bad thing, he didn’t know if these people had something suitable with which to attack spirit touched people, since if they did, chances were good that it would work on him.

He was not lucky enough to get a free pass here.

Still, the odds were good that he’d be able to escape if they did attack since he’d know to be on watch for something, and he wasn’t about to turn down an offer of food. He had no idea when a portal would open and he’d be able to go home. Until then, the best he could do was survive.

He’d survived this much, and his life had hardly been a walk in the park since the accident, let alone before. He wasn’t about to let some ghost fling him into an unknown world and succeed in taking him down. He needed to get out of this to kick their butt and prove to them that they couldn’t get rid of him that easily.

Assuming this wasn’t all a series of genuine coincidences and not the result of the careful manipulation of events.

Danny didn’t want to think about that, though.

He had a much better chance of getting home if there was someone he could beat, and he was going to get home.

Somehow.

(see more fics)

[prettyboybarzal]

Dancing with Our Hands Tied (4)

A/N: Apologizing in advance (except not really). Pleeeease let me know what you think! Come scream in my ask heheheheh Chapter 5 out next Sunday!

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it, mates) & alcohol

Previous Chapter // Masterlist // Next Chapter

You knew you shouldn’t bring Charlie along with you to hang out with your friends, but you went against your better judgement anyway and it was all Pierre’s fault. He just had to get under your skin and question your engagement with Charlie to the point that you felt you needed to prove something. So, even though he spent almost the entire day protesting it, Charlie found himself in the middle of a group of drunk 20-something-year-olds on a Friday night.

What you thought would be a means to an end in getting Pierre to leave you alone only ended up being a disaster, and you found yourself wishing that someone, anyone, even Pierre, would rescue you from Charlie’s constant whining.

“Another round?” Josh asked, grin wide as he waited for the go ahead from the rest of the group before stalking off to the bar for shots, most likely of Tequila because Josh liked to cause chaos.

“Yes!” you shouted, blatantly ignoring Charlie’s grip on your thigh that indicated he wasn’t happy with your decision. You turned to him with a smile. “You want one, right?”

“No, YN,” he barked. “I don’t.”

“What’s your problem?”

“You’re being crazy!”

“I’m not being crazy!” you growled. He rolled his eyes. “I’m just having fun.”

The rest of the table was watching you fight with him, or at least trying not to and failing desperately, but thankfully Josh returned with a new tray of shots to derail the argument.You grabbed a glass and slugged it down without an ounce of regret or care for what Charlie had to say.

“I’m going to get some air,” he snapped as he stormed off to the back patio of the bar. You rolled your eyes at his retreating form and placed the glass back on the table.

“I’ll be back.”

---

Pierre had been watching you all night, though he was sure he wasn’t the only one. Your hushed arguments with Charlie weren’t all that hushed, afterall, and everyone exchanged awkward glances after you stormed off to follow the older man. 

He thought Charlie was harshing everyone’s mood, and he would be right about that. He winced when you threw back shots and rolled his eyes when you got a bit too loud. As you got drunker, Charlie got more restless, and a blow up was imminent. 

Now, Pierre really wasn’t the type to insert himself into other people’s bullshit. In fact, he tried to avoid it as much as possible. But it was you, it was always you that made him do stupid things and say stupid shit, and that’s why he ignored the voice in his head and followed the two of you towards the patio. 

He tried to blend in as best he could, knowing that you’d rip his head off if you saw him eavesdropping, and stood opposite the mens’ bathroom to give the allusion that he was just waiting to pee. 

“Charlie, I’m not leaving,” he heard you spat. Your voice was hushed but heightened and Pierre couldn’t stop himself from stepping closer to catch the rest of your words. “Do you even know how to have fun?”

“Jesus, YN,” Charlie groaned. “You knew I didn’t want to come! You knew I wanted to be at home. Why are you surprised that I want to go home now?”

“Just leave, Charlie!” you shouted. “You’re miserable and I’m not in the mood to deal with it tonight. I thought it would be nice to have you around my friends, but it’s actually been a nightmare.”

Charlie scoffed, mumbling something under his breath as he stormed back into the bar towards the entrance. You followed a moment later, too quickly for Pierre to hide and you noticed him standing there as soon as you reentered the bar.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Going to the bathroom,” he lied. “What? Do you have a monopoly on this hallway?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Have you met yourself?” he asked, lip curling into a smirk. “I mean, not even your boyfriend wants to deal with you.” 

You were about to unload every insult in the book when the door to the bathroom swung open. A man stepped out, sparing you two a curious glance before he slipped away. Pierre grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the now empty bathroom. He crowded you against the door. 

“You have an attitude and the fact that he can’t get you off is making it worse. Get a grip, dump the dude, move on and fuck someone else.”

“He’s not my fucking boyfriend, Pierre.”

“Then what the hell is stopping you?”

Absolutely nothing, apparently, because you leaned up and captured his lips with yours, fingers curling into the hair at the back of his head while he locked the bathroom door behind you. Pierre pressed you against it, thigh slotting between your legs. 

You knew it was ridiculous that this was happening and maybe that last Tequila shot was the reason you were letting this happen, but every coherent thought exited your head as soon as he was attaching his lips to your throat. His hands gripped your waist to hold you closer. The friction between your cunt and his thigh shot right to your core. He helped you grind against his thight, just the fabric of your thong covering your core. 

You tugged his lips to yours by gripping his neck, he followed willingly, tongue swiping along your bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth and sucking. When he pulled away, his hand came to rest around the base of your neck. His fingers pressed into your jaw, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“I can fuck you so much better than he can. You want that?” he asked. He reached his hand beneath your skirt and pushed aside the lace covering you up. His fingers found your clit and you whimpered at his touch. “I said do you want that?”

“Yes,” you choked out. He hummed. You gasped as his fingers entered you, head thrown back against the door.

“I know Charlie couldn’t have made you this wet,” he said, pulling his fingers out and leaving you deflated. It was that moment of a pause that allowed you the coherency to try and gain control of the situation. 

With a raised brow and an unimpressed stare you began to ask, “Are you going to fuck me or--”

Pierre groaned as he pulled you to the mirror,  pressing your hips against the counter so that you were looking at yourselves in the mirror. You quivered at the sight of him behind you, tall and broad. You’d never denied that he was inherently attractive, but seeing him basically tower over you, feeling his hands engulf parts of your body, set something off in your brain and your pussy that reminded you he was far more attractive than you’d admitted before.

“You’re gonna watch what happens when a real man fucks you,” he murmured low in your ear. You moaned in response to his words. He made quick work of your skirt, pushing it over your ass to get a good look. Only briefly did he get caught up in the feeling of your soft skin beneath his calloused hands. He caught you staring and hooked his finger in your thong, yanking it down your legs. His pants followed.

He entered you hastily and leaned forward with a groan, forehead pressed against your shoulder as he filled you up. You cursed as he pulled your hips back into his to bury himself deeper.

With a shaky breath, he spoke, “You’re so fucking tight.”

He was so much larger than Charlie and it felt so good to be stretched like that. He wrapped your hair in his fist and tugged so that you were looking at yourself in the mirror. He pulled out and thrust back into you, bottoming out and watching as your mouth fell open with a loud moan. He was quick to pull your back to his chest and muffle your sounds with his free hand.

“As much as I want to hear you scream, you’re going to have to be quiet if you want to leave here with some dignity, okay?”

He released you from his grip and pushed you back onto your hands, fingers curling into your hair once more to make sure you watched while he fucked you. His thrusts were deep and slow and you were a moaning mess beneath him, unable to hold his gaze in the mirror because with each thrust you were rolling your eyes back in pleasure.

“Tell me how this feels.”

“S-so good.”

“You can do better than that,” he grunted, hand curling around your throat to pull you upright.

“I fucking hate you.”

It was the hottest sex you’d ever had and that realization made your head spin. He was using you, you were using him, and it felt so fucking good.

He gripped your thigh and placed your leg on the counter, cunt on display in the mirror as he fucked you deeper and harder. His finger circled your clit. Before long, you were rubbing yourself against his hand and pushing back onto his dick as you chased your high. The moans you’d been suppressing were released as his thrusts became more erratic.

“Look at yourself,” he whispered. “All fucked out because of me. Such a slut for me, huh?”

The curses and moans falling from your mouth coupled with the sound of his cock slamming into you created an obscene backtrack to the music the DJ was playing. You were thankful he was loud enough to drown your sounds out. Pierre pulled your back to his chest once more as he helped your along to orgasm. His own hips faltered, thrusts becoming sloppy, as he chased his own high.

“Cum.”

The demand sent you over the edge. You unraveled beneath him, head thrown back against his shoulder as you moaned, legs shaking from the aftershocks as he fucked you through it. He watched you fall apart in the mirror as he continued railing you, cocky smirk on his lips. The stimulation was too much and you were seeing stars as he worked towards his own orgasm. Finally, he pulled out, continuing to pump his length until he came, cum dripping down your ass and the back of your thighs. 

The silence that followed was deafening. 

Pierre dressed himself and grabbed paper towels to wipe his cum off your skin. After tossing them, he turned to find you fully dressed and fixing yourself in the mirror. He stepped up beside you, once again crowding you against the counter. He gripped your ass with one of his hands and whispered in your ear, “Next time, just forget your underwear. Save us the time.”

---

You woke up to three things.

The first: a text from Charlie apologizing for the night before. 

The second: a massive hangover migraine.

The third: the memory of Pierre taking you against the sink in a bar bathroom. 

What a fucking mess. 

You responded to the text to let him know that you’d talk later, you popped an Advil and prayed the hangover would go away, and then you texted Josh and requested Plan B because although you were on birth control and Pierre pulled-out, you could never be too safe.

“Chuckie boy doesn’t strike me as the type to go raw without being in a committed relationship.”

“Just, please, just shut up,” you groaned, snatching the box out of his hands as he pushed past you and entered the apartment. 

Okay, so you lied to him. What else were you supposed to do? Tell him that the teammate you hated the most railed you in a bathroom while he was on the dance floor? He wouldn’t have let you hear the end of it. So, if he assumed Charlie was the one hitting it raw, then you’d let him assume.

“Did he leave early last night? I swear you were with us later than he was.”

“Yeah, I ended up at his apartment after.”

It was easy to ignore any suspicions about yours and Pierre’s whereabouts because your friends were too drunk and too busy dancing to even notice you were both gone. Besides, Pierre left the bathroom a bit before you to keep all the questions you’d’ve gotten if you arrived back together at bay.

“Take your baby blocker pills and get ready for brunch.”

 Unsurprisingly, the girls planned a brunch just a few blocks away from your apartment for that morning. Had you stayed even a bit sober the night before, you wouldn’t have fucked Pierre knowing you had to see him the next morning. But, it was water under the bridge now and you needed to deal with the consequences. 

As you got ready for brunch, you found yourself staring at your naked body in the mirror, remembering the places he touched you. You swore you could still feel it. You wanted to regret it, but you just didn’t and you wouldn’t because he gave you the best orgasm you’d had in a long time.  

Pierre was already at brunch when you arrived. He was the first person you noticed, standing at the buffet line with his back to the entrance. His tattoos peeked out from beneath the hem of the sleeves of his classic white t-shirt and his dress pants were tailored to perfection, cropped at the ankle and tight around his ass. You’d never actually noticed him like this, or taken in the way he looked in whatever clothes he wore, but now you simultaneously wanted to fuck him and fight with him. Had it not been for Josh’s hand gently shoving you towards the buffet, you may have stood in place staring at him. 

When some of the other boys greeted you, he turned to say hello as well, a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“Morning,” he said. You rolled your eyes at him. 

“Tu as l’air en forme aujord’hui,” he spoke, eyes trained on yours. It was hard to look away and roll your eyes at him, but you managed it. Hardly.

“Pierre, let’s just keep our insults in English so it’s fair for the both of us,” you groaned with a scowl. He chuckled to himself, clearly pleased that he’d gotten a rise out of you, but then his teammate spoke up.

“That wasn’t an insult,” Alexandre Texier spoke, but Pierre pulled him away from you before he could give the real translation. He slung an arm over his shoulder as they retreated, like a high school bully would to the younger kids. You turned to Josh.

“If it wasn’t an insult, then what did he say?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “Use Google translate. Now, can you move? They just put a new platter of eggs out.”

Like some type of sick joke, you ended up across from Pierre while you ate. And although it was easy to ignore his wandering eyes by engaging in conversations with others around you, the nudging of his knee against yours demanded your attention and his laugh drowned out every other sound in the room. You kept your eyes off of him regardless.

Josh stood to run to the bathroom and you saw Pierre turn to talk to you out of the corner of your eye. Before he could speak, you barked, “It’s not happening.” He raised a brow at you. “Ever again.”

“Never?” he asked, leaning across the table towards you. The smell of his cologne filled your senses and you leaned away to escape it. 

“Never.”

A confident smile graced his lips and he nodded as he leaned back against his seat.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

+++

Translation: “Tu as l’air en forme aujord’hui” - You look good today

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

Like A Dream

October 4, 2021

Prompt - Walks in the Forest

Characters - Mack, Brady, Royce, and Bentley

Notes - This takes place in the same "camping with the Birch's AU" as the one I did a couple days ago.

October 4th,

So Mick’s world is weird. They have phones that aren’t connected to the wall, some of their cars don’t have doors, and their music is… interesting. We’ve been here since, I think, Friday. Their world and ours are days apart - give or take seventy years - and it’s still screwing me up a bit. It’s nice to be here, though. I actually like the cabin life so far. Aunt Mack and Uncle Brady are so much nicer than I thought they’d be. It’s like they treat Benny and me like their own kids sometimes, even though they already have Mick. They’re always making breakfast for everyone and spending time with us all. It feels like I’m in one of those TV shows back home where it’s all about family and they treat their kids really well and, even when something bad happens, in the end, they’re all happy. I’m so happy we did this. It’s kind of like a dream.

With a contented sigh, Royce closed his journal and set it under his pillow. Bentley had been up for about five minutes, the smell of cooking bacon being the thing that woke him. Royce, on the other hand, had been awake for the better part of an hour, lounging in bed for the most part before deciding to write a bit. Bentley rose from his bed, finally, stretching until he hit the top bar of Royce’s bunk. The fourteen-year-old pulled himself up, peering over the side of the metal bars so he could see Royce’s face.

“Why are you in bed still?” he asked.

“I should be asking you why you aren’t,” Royce teased, pushing his brother back with a hand to the face. “Mr. I-sleep-until-noon-on-Saturdays.”

Bentley let out a muffled, “Hey!” before dropping himself to the floor again. “I think Auntie Mack is making breakfast again. That’s the only reason I’m awake.”

Royce slid to the end of the bed and climbed down, following Bentley downstairs. “Place your bets, is she making pancakes or waffles? I’m saying waffles.”

“I think pancakes,” Bentley said after thinking for a moment. “We had waffles yesterday.”

“Yeah, but Uncle Brady loves waffles,” Royce stated as they made their way down the stairs to the main floor.

“Good morning, boys!” Brady called from his seat on one of the island barstools. “Are you ready for an adventure today?”

“Are we going swimming in the lake again?” Bentley asked as he perched himself on Brady’s left. A plate of food was placed before him and his brother as Mack turned to see them.

“No,” Mack stated firmly, sending her husband a look as he opened his mouth to speak. “It’s only going to be in the mid-fifties today, so the water will be far too cold for you boys to swim in. I don’t want either of you to end up sick, especially on vacation.”

Brady shut his mouth and nodded, knowing better than to argue with his wife. “Yes, ma’am,” he sighed. “Maybe Wednesday. It’s supposed to be in the seventies.”

“So,” Royce began from his spot on Brady’s other side, “what adventure were you talking about?”

Brady lit up once again, reaching up and placing a hand on each of the boys’ backs. “I figured we could go on a walk in the woods today. There’s a trail just east of the lake that we can take. It leads up to a lookout lodge so we can see the entire area. The view is amazing from up there.”

Mack sighed, leaning against the counter with a small frown. “Brady, as much as I love the idea of walking in the woods for who knows how long, Royce has asthma. I don’t think he should-”

“I can manage!” Royce insisted, cutting the older woman off hurriedly. After realizing his mistake, he paused. “Sorry, Aunt Mack. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

With a smile, Mack reached over and ran a hand over Royce’s hair before leaving it on his cheek a moment. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re excited and I understand that; I just want you to stay safe. I don’t want anything to happen to any of you. Did you bring your inhaler?”

“Miles keeps it for me,” Royce stated matter-of-factly. “If we ask, I’m sure he’ll let me bring it.”

“Bring what?” Miles asked sleepily as he made his way into the kitchen. His hair was a disaster and he was still in his pajamas, making it known to everyone that he was barely awake.

“Royce needs his inhaler so we can go on a walk in the forest with Uncle Brady and Auntie Mack,” Bentley said around a mouthful of eggs.

Miles nodded slowly as Mack handed him a cup of coffee. “It’s in my backpack. I’ll dig it out before you go.”

“You’re not going?” Brady asked.

“Nah,” Miles said with a shake of his head. “Lela wanted to go take pictures of birds so I’m going with her to Curly Creek while Mick and Butch go shopping.”

“Oh, Lela will love that,” Mack claimed with a bright smile. “We’ll miss you guys on the walk.”

“You’ll have fun,” Miles brushed off, waving his hand briefly before picking up his coffee and heading for the lounge to watch TV. Along the way, he ruffled both his brothers’ hair, smiling at them before leaving the room. “Take pictures for me.”

After eating their breakfast, the boys headed for their bedroom, grabbing whatever they deemed necessary for their walk. Backpacks were filled with snacks and water, and the boys were dressed in their usual clothes with an additional, borrowed flannel from Brady. They made their way downstairs not long after they’d laced up their boots, meeting Mack and Brady on the outside porch after grabbing Royce’s inhaler from Miles just in case. Mack was dressed in a long-sleeved, purple shirt with a light, plaid vest over it while Brady donned a light jacket. Brady had a backpack secured over his shoulders and clasped in the front while Mack only had her phone in her pocket and a water bottle in her hand.

A few minutes of walking later, and they reached the beginning of the trail. It was well lit and maintained, with fallen trees and thin logs gracing the sides of the path so it wouldn’t be strayed from. The trees seemed to fill the skies as they began their trek. Large pines, sugar maples, firs, and the occasional birch trees lined the area, sprawling onward as far as their eyes could see. The walk was filled with chatter as they conversed with one another and stopped for the occasional picture. It was truly beautiful. Some leaves had fallen as others were turning colors and, with the sun illuminating them from above, they cast a glow of fiery colors around the area.

While the air had a certain chill to it, the amount of walking they were doing made up for it. The trail, thankfully, wasn’t too much of an incline, just the occasional hill as they walked up the mountain. Now and then, they’d stop to drink, perhaps taking a bit longer to see the streams when they got close enough to see them. All in all, it took almost an hour before they could see the lodge in the distance.

“Look, Royce,” Bentley called from the front of their line, “we’re almost there!”

“Yeah,” Royce huffed before coughing. He hated this. Well, he didn’t hate the nature around them or the journey with his brother, Mack, and Brady, just how his lungs reacted to the walking. There weren’t very many bugs around to bother them or any other people on the trail so there was nothing to complain about apart from his crappy lung capacity.

Brady, who had taken up the rear so he could make sure everyone was safe, placed a hand on Royce’s back. “You need to stop, bud?” Royce shook his head, making Brady knit his eyebrows together. “You sure? It’s fine if you do.”

“I can make it,” the sixteen-year-old exhaled sharply, sucking in another breath. “It’s not-” he paused to cough a few times, “it’s not far.”

“Royce,” Mack began, stopping in her place. Although she sounded firm, Royce could make out the gentleness in her tone, “you’re not sounding good. If you want to stop and use your inhaler, we can. It’s not a problem.”

“I’m fi-” and queue more coughing, “Ugh.”

Bentley peeked around Mack’s shoulder before moving around her and stepping toward his brother. “You’re sweating and you sound all wheezy.”

“It h-hurts.” Royce sucked in a sharp breath, a cough forcing its way out of him as he reached a hand to his chest. Brady began rubbing circles on Royce’s back, the only thing he could think of that would help. After a minute, Royce stopped coughing, allowing Brady to guide him to sit on one of the tree branches that lined the pathway.

Bentley pulled off his backpack and pulled a bottle of water out of it. He handed it to Royce as he crouched in front of him, watching Mack as she sat next to Royce and took one of his hands. “Bentley, honey, where’s Royce’s inhaler?”

“The front pocket,” the youngest answered softly. He turned to his brother and sighed, “I told you when we stopped last time that you should’ve taken it.”

Royce nodded slowly, not wanting to argue as Mack pulled his inhaler from his bag. “Can you take it now or do you need a minute?” she asked him, placing a hand on his arm.

Royce shook his head, fidgeting with the water bottle in his grasp. He gripped the cover and opened it, taking in a choppy, deep breath to steady his hands as he lifted it to take a drink. Afterward, he took his inhaler from Mack and, while it took him two tries to get in any medicine, he’d still been able to get it into him. They sat in relative silence for a few minutes as Bentley knelt on the ground, gripping Royce’s knees, Mack held one of his hands, and Brady rubbed circles over his back. As calming as it was, Royce couldn’t help the embarrassment he felt. He’d been so eager to have fun and get to the lodge that he’d neglected his health and now, apart from Bentley, some people he barely knew, had to take care of him.

“I’m-” he gave a short cough. At least he sounded less wheezy when he breathed. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, baby,” Mack spoke to him. “It’s not something you can control.”

“It is,” he mumbled insistently.

Brady sighed, taking Royce’s water bottle and setting it down before taking hold of the teenager’s hand. “You were excited and weren’t focused on it, that’s all. I would’ve done the same thing. Nobody is going to blame you for being an excited kid.”

Royce spared a glance to either side, seeing nothing but concern and love from Mack and Brady. It was weird. He’d messed up and refused to take his inhaler even though he knew he needed it, why were they being so nice? “Why-Why aren’t you mad?”

Mack and Brady shared a look over Royce’s shoulder “Mad?” Brady wondered aloud. “Of course not. Why would we be?”

Bentley huffed from the ground, picking blades of grass from the path. “Dad was always mad.”

Mack sighed, brushing Bentley’s hair from his face and threading her fingers through Royce’s curls. “We could never be mad at either of you, especially for something like this. We love you both far too much for that.”

“We know you love us,” Bentley said with a smile. “We love you guys.”

“Yeah,” Royce confirmed, clearing his throat before continuing. “What do we do now?”

“Well,” Brady began slowly, “we’ll sit for a few until the albuterol kicks in, and then we’ll make it the rest of the way.”

“We can go now,” Royce stated. “I’m feeling better.”

Mack scoffed lightly, “We do that and Brady will probably carry you to the lodge.”

“I absolutely will,” Brady confirmed. “How about you boys tell us about that book you were reading last night on the couch? The Time Machine, right? By H.G. Wells?”

“Yeah!” Bentley exclaimed, quickly going into a rant on the book, allowing Royce to chime in from time to time as he rattled on.

Now and then, Royce looked to Mack and Brady out of the corner of his eyes, seeing them smiling warmly at Bentley and himself. He could still feel his ears burning with embarrassment but, if he was going to be honest with himself, it felt nice to be taken care of by them. Mack and Brady were so kind and cared for him and Bentley so much more than he could’ve ever expected them to. It was weird, but certainly not unwelcome.

It was times like these that he really did feel like he was in one of those shows back home and he was right; it was like a dream.

[veliseraptor]

Hey Lise, I was wondering if you could maybe just give me a quick and dirty synopsis of The Untamed characters? I really like your fics and wanna read them, but I have NO idea who anyone is hahaha

I was gonna like. Link to someone else’s rundown of this, but then I decided it might be fun to write my own, which was a mistake. But I make all kinds of mistakes! So unsurprising.

This is going to, by virtue of being a character overview, contain spoilers, so if you think you’re gonna want to watch and want to avoid spoilers then watch out for that. This is also broken down by sect because that makes it easier.

The degree to which I explain the plot here varies wildly and I’m not actually sure how coherent it is. If you want a more detailed rundown that has pictures and shit and also other information, see here; also some of these characters have more than one name, which I’ve noted where the usage of multiple names is likely to pop up in fic.

This is very much QUICK and DIRTY and NOT COMPREHENSIVE, just to underline that a few times. It’s also show focused rather than novel focused, because that’s most of the canon I’m working with. I have also not translated titles here (Hanguang-jun, Zewu-jun etc.) because they just sound better untranslated.

THE JIANG SECT

Wei Wuxian: Also known as Wei Ying or (if you’re nasty) the Yiling Patriarch. One of the two main characters of the show. He died (killed himself) in disgrace, universally reviled as evil, but it’s okay, he got better. Or rather, his soul got swapped into the body of a man named Mo Xuanyu, whose life really sucked and who almost never gets acknowledged by the narrative. Sunshine boy on the outside, but it’s complicated. 

Sort of invented necromancy, or at least perfected it. Will kill you with his magic ghost flute, but mostly only if you deserve it. Mostly. Self-sacrificing to a fault due to basement level self-worth and a tendency to believe that he can handle things other people can’t. Swapped out his ability to do magic to keep his brother alive via nonconsensual surgery. This had a lot of somewhat unexpected consequences, it turns out. Got thrown into a very bad place called the Burial Mounds and came out with new powers and a whole new pile of trauma.

Rescues the Wen remnants from being killed in a prison camp after the war against the Wen Sect; this is not a popular move. Founds a commune with them in the aforementioned Burial Grounds. Also raises Wen Ning from the not-dead. 

Adopted older brother (ish) to Jiang Cheng and younger brother to Jiang Yanli, adopted father to Lan Sizhui, eventual husband to Lan Wangji (at least according to novel canon and many, many post-canon fics).

Jiang Cheng: Also known as Jiang Wanyin, but only if he’s being a little bitch. He technically has a title (Sandu Shengshou) but I don’t remember if it’s ever actually used in the show. The youngest of the triad of Yunmeng Siblings (Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Yanli), and possibly the most dysfunctional. Expresses all his feelings as anger, and he has a lot of feelings. Abandonment issues and inferiority complex the size of the lake that he grew up on. His entire family died and it fucked him up pretty bad, along with all the other terrible shit that happened. 100% Slytherin especially in terms of “protect my own people first and probably nobody else second.” 

Adopted younger brother to Wei Wuxian, biological younger brother to Jiang Yanli. Uncle to Jin Ling (see below). 

Jiang Yanli: I’ll take “oldest daughter who doubled as parent figure” for 500, Alex. Jiang Yanli is relatively quiet and mild-mannered but she loves her brothers very much and will throw down for them in a pinch. Tends to wilt in the face of people treating her poorly; not very good at standing up for herself. A professional at taking care of other people and not herself (Wei Wuxian and she have this in common!). She dies and it really does a number on her siblings.

Oldest sister of Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, wife of Jin Zixuan, mother of Jin Ling.

Jiang Fengmian & Yu Ziyuan: Parents of Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng and source of the above’s dysfunction, in a lot of ways. Jiang Fengmian plays favorites (with his adopted son Wei Wuxian) and takes out his feelings about his wife (complicated) by ignoring Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli. Madame Yu is straight up abusive; physically of Wei Wuxian, emotionally of everyone else. In her first appearance she walks into dinner and specifically targets everyone’s weak spots, demolishing three children emotionally in about two minutes, then leaves.

This family! It’s a disaster.

THE LAN SECT

Lan Wangji: Also known as Lan Zhan or Hanguang-jun. The other main character. Has a reputation for being very upright and righteous and rule-abiding; is that, sort of, but also kind of a socially awkward, deeply lonely boy who is trying to be a good person and thinks he can get there by following the right rules. Eventually figures out that’s not how it works. Doesn’t make friends easily but when he loves someone it is with all 500% of his heart. 

His circle of people is very small, though. It’s kind of just two: his brother and Wei Wuxian. That’s all! Lan Wangji could use some friends, maybe.

He’s good! Also learns to rebel when appropriate, and “appropriate” especially involves things having to do with Wei Wuxian, for whom he will do just about anything, at least after he comes back from the dead. Before that it’s a little harder. 

Younger brother of Lan Xichen, nephew of Lan Qiren, adopted father of Lan Sizhui, eventual husband to Wei Wuxian (see above).

Lan Xichen: Also known as Zewu-jun. He does have a birth name (everyone does!) but it doesn’t get used in canon. Also parented his younger brother (there’s a lot of sibling parents in this show!). Is the peacemaker, does not like conflict, diplomatic to a fault. Noticed how everyone else is very quick to jump to conclusions and decided he has to take all of the giving of the benefit of the doubt and good faith and “let’s wait and see and not jump to murder” because no one else is going to.

People in fandom give him a lot of shit for being stupid but he is not! He is just conflict-averse and cautious and inclined to reserve judgment on people. It just turns out that he happens to place his faith in the wrong person, which is to say Jin Guangyao. It does not work out. He ends up getting tricked/manipulated into killing Jin Guangyao by Nie Huaisang, and is about to stay and die with him when Jin Guangyao surprise pushes him away and thus saves his life. 

At least one of the Lan brothers gets a happy ending!

Older brother of Lan Wangji, nephew of Lan Qiren, sworn brother/boyfriend of Jin Guangyao and Nie Mingjue.

Lan Qiren: Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen’s uncle who essentially raised them due to family dysfunction involving a mother who was basically on house arrest (because she killed someone??? not sure what happened there, information minimal) and their father seems to have been absent, and both died before series start. Rigid and hidebound, very much not a Wei Wuxian fan, very strict with both the Lan brothers and sometimes that involves corporal punishment and yelling.

There are no good parents or parent figures in this series.

Uncle to Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen.

Lan Sizhui: Also known as A-Yuan / Wen Yuan. Originally a Wen kid, first adopted by Wei Wuxian when he founded the commune with the Wen remnants, then adopted by Lan Wangji when everyone in his family was killed and also Wei Wuxian. Grew up a Lan with no memory of his past. Lan Sizhui has two dads.

Cousin/brother (??) to Wen Ning and Wen Qing, adopted son of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian.

Lan Jingyi: Sassmaster extraordinaire; the Lan kid who gets to say everything the rest of the Lans are holding back. Of the younger generation quartet formed by him, Lan Sizhui, Ouyang Zizhen, and Jin Ling. If a Lan kid in a scene is sassing someone, it’s Jingyi.

THE NIE SECT

Nie Mingjue: Also known as Chifeng-zun. Very strong opinions about right and wrong with not a whole lot of room for nuance. Formidable warrior. Anger issues, also daddy issues but we don’t get into those as much. Not exactly the friendliest of fellows but it’s not completely his fault, he’s being gradually poisoned by the malevolence of his own weapon. It’s a thing. Dies as a result of being poisoned by evil music courtesy of Jin Guangyao.

Sworn brother/boyfriend to Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao. Older brother of Nie Huaisang.

Nie Huaisang: Mastermind (sort of) of questionable morality, sometimes in order to get revenge for the murder of your older brother you have to wait ten years while building up a reputation as someone utterly useless, then get your old best friend resurrected as part of a series of dominoes meant to demolish your brother’s murderer’s entire life and reputation. Loves art and fans, not a fan of losing his mind to violent sabers as is traditional for the Nie Sect. Smarter than he wants you to think he is, and also just really good at winging it.

Younger brother of Nie Mingjue.

THE JIN SECT

Jin Guangshan: The actual worst. Sect Leader for the first half of the show. Should’ve been kicked down several sets of stairs; the world would’ve been a better place.

Father of Jin Zixuan, Jin Guangyao, Mo Xuanyu, and too many other bastards to list. Possibly Jin Zixun? I’m not clear on that.

Jin Zixuan: Disaster Straight. He comes off as aloof and arrogant but partly this is because he’s just really bad at interacting with people and incredibly awkward. Eventually marries Jiang Yanli after failing to express his feelings for 26 episodes. Shortly thereafter ends up dying when he’s fisted by Wen Ning (through the chest, you filthy animal). 

Husband of Jiang Yanli, father of Jin Ling.

Jin Zixun: The other actual worst. When Jin Zixun is having fun no one else is, and when Jin Zixun is not having fun no one else is either. Just generally a tool. As far as I can tell has no redeeming qualities. His ambush of Wei Wuxian provokes the rolling disaster that results ultimately in the deaths of (in order) Jin Zixuan, Wen Qing, Jiang Yanli, and Wei Wuxian. 

Cousin of Jin Zixuan.

Jin Guangyao: Also known as Meng Yao and Lianfang-zun, the former before he gets promoted by his absolute bastard of a dad. He’s complicated! A good boy, also responsible for a lot of the bad things that happen, with varying degrees of culpability depending on who you ask. Son of a (in everyone’s words, ever) prostitute, and he’s really got a problem with it. Made some valid points but also got possibly too much revenge on people who hurt him, including some preemptive revenge on people who might have. Does a lot of murder but mostly via other people or evil music. Gets kicked down the stairs twice, which if you ask me is a pretty good reason to be kinda worked up about things.

His hat is very silly and I will not pretend otherwise.

Dies at the end and it’s real sad, if you ask me. Incredibly gay for Lan Xichen, and who can blame him? 

Son of Jin Guangshan, half brother of Jin Zixuan, sworn brother/boyfriend of Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue. 

Jin Ling: Part of the quartet of juniors including Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, and Ouyang Zizhen. A mess of a child. (Half)-raised by Jiang Cheng and it shows. Spoiled brat but also just like. Brimming with loneliness and desperation for someone’s approval. 

Son of Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan, grandson of Jin Guangshan, nephew of Jiang Cheng and Jin Guangyao (and Wei Wuxian, and Mo Xuanyu, and too many other bastards to name, he’s got a lot of uncles). 

Mianmian / Luo Qingyang: Mostly known as Mianmian, which is her nickname. She’s technically a servant but Jin Zixuan is her best friend. Ditches the Jin Sect when they start being jackasses about Wei Wuxian in a seriously epic mic drop moment. Actually lives to the end of the show which makes one female character!

THE WEN SECT

Wen Ruohan: The first Big Bad of the show. Pursuing world domination by the power of the Yin Iron, aka evil metal that lets you control corpses. It doesn’t go well for him. 

Dies at the hands of Jin Guangyao - going, at the time, by Meng Yao.

Father of Wen Xu and Wen Chao.

Wen Xu: The oldest son of Wen Ruohan; he barely appears but he does exist. Or did, he doesn’t make it very long.

Wen Chao: Absolute worm of a human being. Like Draco Malfoy in early Harry Potter, but with more killing people. Dies an absolutely horrifying death courtesy of Wei Wuxian, but he did throw Wei Wuxian into a place he was supposed to horribly die in, so I don’t feel that bad for him. 

Younger son of Wen Ruohan.

Wen Qing: Incredibly gifted physician, can probably fix anything, including transferring a golden core from one person to another which no one has ever done before. (That’s how Wei Wuxian’s ended up in Jiang Cheng.) Starts out as determinedly loyal to Wen Ruohan basically to protect Wen Ning and keep him safe, but keeps ending up helping our protagonists basically against her better judgment. This does not earn her any points with the Wens, and being a Wen does not earn her any points with anyone else. 

Ends up getting swept up by Wei Wuxian when he finds her destitute in the street and they charge off to save her brother together. Subsequently lives in the Burial Mounds commune up until things go to shit and she goes to give herself up with Wen Ning in the hopes of mitigating damage after Jin Zixuan dies. She is executed.

Has a non-thing with Jiang Cheng because they’re very alike in ways that mean that, under the circumstances, they keep missing each other.

Older sister of Wen Ning, sister/cousin (??) of Lan Sizhui, adopted older sister of Wei Wuxian, sort of.

Wen Ning: Also known as Wen Qionglin, but like, once in canon. So you probably won’t see it much. Neither he nor his sister are actually related to Wen Ruohan - they’re from a branch of the family but serve him. Wen Ning doesn’t get to have a lot of nice things. He saves Wei Wuxian’s life (after Wei Wuxian saves his), and (along with Wen Qing) helps get Jiang Cheng out when he was captured by the Wens and protects Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Yanli after their family and sect are killed. 

After the Sunshot Campaign he is killed by Jin cultivators (or almost, it’s complicated) but brought back to unlife by Wei Wuxian. Unfortunately this makes him vulnerable to control to make him do things like, say, kill Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun. He and Wen Qing go to be presumably executed in an attempt to mitigate the damage to Wei Wuxian/maybe?? save his life; Wen Ning gets kept in a dungeon for sixteen years and comes back when Wei Wuxian does. 

Younger brother of Wen Qing. brother/cousin (??) of Lan Sizhui, adopted younger brother of Wei Wuxian, sort of.

Wen Zhuliu: Mysterious assassin/bodyguard of the Wens, we know almost nothing about his backstory save that he owes them some kind of debt and he and Yu Ziyuan seem to have some kind of history. The main thing is that he’s capable of destroying the golden core of cultivators, aka rendering them an ordinary person devoid of special powers, forever. Gets killed by Jiang Cheng, whose golden core he destroyed. 

Various Wen Remnants: You don’t get a lot of individual characterization from these folks - basically they are the remains of the Wen Sect after the Wen Sect is defeated in the war (called the Sunshot Campaign) that forms the arc of the first part of the show. Pretty much everyone wants them dead. Wei Wuxian rescues them and takes them off to the Burial Mounds, where no one else wants to go, and builds a commune with them, which works for a while until it doesn’t anymore.

They all die. It’s bad.

YI CITY CREW

These got long because I felt like I had to explain more about plot stuff.

Xue Yang: The gremlin! Will cheerfully murder just about anyone at the drop of a hat, he doesn’t really need a reason. Driven initially by a revenge quest for the guy who crushed his finger when he was seven; he kills his whole family, which is a reasonable response when you think of your own life as worth significantly more than anyone else’s. Subsequently and also during fixated on Xiao Xingchen. Kind of a genius?? but he’s pretty low key about it.

Really involved with the plot in a lot of weird ways. Introduced Wen Ruohan to the Yin Iron and taught him how it functioned-ish, worked with Jin Guangyao for a while on necromancy stuff, after the inevitable betrayal ended up getting picked up by a now blind Xiao Xingchen (more on that later) and a-Qing, and lived with them in domestic semi-bliss for three years while also tricking Xiao Xingchen into murdering a lot of people, up to and including his sort-of-ex-boyfriend Song Lan. Turned Song Lan into a zombie, sort of. Fell apart when Xiao Xingchen died (killed himself, on account of Xue Yang demolishing his entire life, whoops) and spent the next decade or so trying to bring him back from the dead.

Dies messily, as you might guess, and I’m still sad about it.

Xiao Xingchen: Grew up on a secret mountain isolated from the rest of society, came down from the secret mountain to help make the world a better place, it really does not work out for him. Travels around for a while being best friends/boyfriends with Song Lan, getting poetry written about him; unfortunately then he and Xue Yang run into each other which is widely regarded as a bad move. Things get messy, Xiao Xingchen ends up with his eyes in Song Lan’s head and blind, he adopts a teenage con artist (see below) and rescues Xue Yang (who he doesn’t know is Xue Yang). 

Three years of domestic bliss (sort of) ensue, with the wrinkle that while Xiao Xingchen’s sword Shuanghua can sense corpses so he can still hunt things, it has a glitch where sometimes the corpses it senses are in fact living people that Xue Yang has poisoned and cut out their tongues. Whoops. 

After he kills Song Lan (whoops), Xiao Xingchen finds out from a-Qing who he’s been living with and, uh, is upset about it. Xue Yang drops the bomb of “oh yeah so you’ve been killing people this whole time and also! yeah! killed Song Lan too! eyyyy” upon which Xiao Xingchen, his entire world wrecked, kills himself and shatters his soul.

He ends the series basically fragments of soul in a little pouch being carried around by Song Lan. When I put it that way it sounds kinda funny but it’s really not.

A-Qing: Teenage con-artist who pretends to be blind and adopts Xiao Xingchen after stealing his money (he notices, but he also just gives it to her). Knew Xue Yang was bad news but didn’t know how bad. Smart cookie. Xue Yang blinds her and cuts out her tongue (he just loves doing that) after she tells on him to Xiao Xingchen; she gets her revenge by leading Wei Wuxian & co. to figuring out what’s going on, and ultimately enabling the first mortal-wounding of Xue Yang. 

Unfortunately, also dies.

Song Lan: Also known as Song Zichen, rarely. A Daoist priest (I think that’s right?) and “rogue cultivator” (in the sense that he’s not affiliated with any sect). He is definitely affiliated with Xiao Xingchen. “Affiliated with.”

Ends up getting caught in the vortex of Xue Yang when his entire temple-family is killed and he’s blinded; says some harsh things and a guilty Xiao Xingchen trades out his eyes to pay him back for being the cause of Xue Yang targeting his temple, then vanishes. Song Lan spends the next long time trying to track him down, eventually finds him in mid-domestic bliss (sort of) with Xue Yang (yikes), promptly attempts to kill Xue Yang, ends up getting his tongue cut out and himself corpse-poisoned and killed by Xiao Xingchen, who thinks he is a random evil corpse instead of his best friend/ex-boyfriend. Xue Yang turns him into a zombie controlled by him. He gets better (from the control, he’s still a zombie).

Literally the only one of the Yi City Crew to make it out alive and he’s not technically alive.

MISCELLANEOUS OTHERS

Ouyang Zizhen: Part of the juniors quartet with Jin Ling, Lan Sizhui, and Lan Jingyi. A budding romantic. Very good, has the misfortune of having Sect Leader Ouyang as a dad, but at least it’s not Sect Leader Yao (see below).

Su She: Due to a confluence of factors having to do with jealousy but also class/rigid hierarchy issues, ends up as Jin Guangyao’s right hand henchman. He’s very loyal when you’re actually nice to him. Really doesn’t like Lan Wangji. 

Sect Leader Yao: Mostly just there to have really bad opinions all of the time.

[ickle-ronniekins]

      - u n d e r n e a t h    t h e    w i l l o w    t r e e -

      Age 10 The summer breeze picks up its speed; eagerly, she jumps to her feet and brushes the grass off of her shorts before running forward. She presses the bottoms of her sneakers into the trunk of the willow tree, not listening to the calls from her sister. “You’re silly!” her sister calls, sticking out her tongue. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”

Of course she doesn’t listen, because when has she ever let people dictate what she should and shouldn’t do? Never. She’s halfway up the tree and she can feel the roughness of the thick branches digging deeper and deeper into her skin, but she wants to keep going. She’s got to get to the top.

Perhaps she should have listened to her older sister though, because suddenly the wind whips her hair into her eyes and she loses her grip, tumbling through the leaves and branches and crashing dramatically on the thick bed of grass beneath her. She wants to scream, because the truth is that the pain of the fall is almost unbearable, and her sister is already screaming in horror at the sight and immediately runs inside for their parents.

And then someone appears next to her: the boy from across the street, the one who’s always fiddling with some type of baseball playing cards on the bus with his friends. The one with the turquoise eyes and the blonde hair. The one who likes to cook with his mom. The one who always waves to her when they’re both playing in their driveways. He peers down at her with concern. “Are you okay?”

She huffs in annoyance. “Does it look like I’m okay?”

In response, he giggles. “Glad to see that the fall hasn’t affected your ability to be funny!”

And alright, she can’t help it: she laughs. And he does too. The dimple on the right side of his face is quite noticeable, she realizes.

“How come you didn’t listen to your sister?” he asks, kneeling down next to her. “She was right, you know.”

“She may have been right, but I was gonna climb that tree whether she liked it or not,” the girl announces, folding her arms across her chest. Then she winces in pain, cradling her ankle that’s already beginning to swell. She’s forcing herself to not cry, not cry, not cry. She’s about to get up when the boy places a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t try and move. Trust me. Your sister went to go get your mom and dad. I’ll stay here with you until they come, is that okay?”

She nods slowly. Then he sits down next to her and leans back against the tree. To her surprise, the tears fall down her cheeks, but the boy doesn’t say anything. Instead he smiles at her and says, “I would’ve climbed that tree, too.”

And to think: this entire time, he’s been right across the street. Why haven’t they been friends this entire time?

      Age 15 “Don’t you see!” she squeals in horror, staring at something in the mirror he can’t quite see.

He’s standing behind her with an expression filled with confusion, his hands in his pockets. The bus will be soon and we haven’t had breakfast, he wants to say, but he knows if he rushes her, she’ll lash out. So instead, he impatiently says, “Um... no?” except, it kind of comes out as a question.

The girl throws her hands up in annoyance and violently rubs a brush along her jawline, careful to cover whatever it she sees that the boy cannot. “I’m going to look like such a fool! The first day of high school, and I can hardly even cover up the disaster that is my face. Why don’t they just lock me in a dungeon and be done with it! Clearly I’m ugly enough to be kept in one, far away from society!”

The boy, who’s now speedily following his friend down the steps of her house as she makes her way begrudgingly toward her refrigerator, which she opens and stares into without saying another word.

“You’re too pretty to be locked in a dungeon,” he says suddenly, catching her by surprise. They lock eyes and for a moment, things between them become still -- weirdly still. Then he clears his throat and scoots past her to grab the milk for his cereal. “Come on, it’ll be fine. You’ve got me, haven’t you?”

“You’re supposed to say that, you’re my best friend,” the girl replies, stealing the piece of toast from the toaster oven that is most definitely meant for her sister. Then she turns back to her friend and lowers her voice a bit. Her eyelashes flutter as she asks, “Do you really mean it? That I’m too pretty for a dungeon?”

The boy stops for a moment, his mouth full of Cheerios, and he wonders if she’s able to hear the steady, drumbeat pounding of his heart. He swallows and speedily stuffs another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Nah,” he replies jokingly, “Actually, you fit the description of ‘dungeon creature’ quite perfectly, actually.”

He supposes he deserves the giant shove from her that nearly knocks him off his stool, but the two of them laugh anyway. He stops for a moment to watch her as she turns the piece of toast over and over in her hands, as if she’s examining it for any minor flaw. He realizes now that she was probably peering into the mirror, looking for flaws of her own. He wants to tell her that she won’t find any, no matter how hard she tries to look. But maybe now isn’t the right time.

“It’ll be alright,” he says finally, grabbing her attention. She doesn’t want to start high school, and he knows it. Elementary school was so easy, wasn’t it? High school has heartbreak waiting to happen. And so he tries to be as reassuring as he can. “And if it isn’t, and the world does lock you away in a dungeon, I promise to join you down there.”

Now, the idea of being locked away in a dungeon sounds better than high school ever has.

      Age 18 She’s not sure when she started crying. Maybe it was when things had started to feel a bit off a few weeks ago, and she tried a bit too hard to get him to tell her what was wrong. Maybe it was when he started canceling dates, telling her he’d reschedule, but never did. Maybe it was when she found him with her, tucked away in a corner of a restaurant, when he’d told her that he had to work that night. But either way, she’d been crying forever over him, this stupid boy from school who lead her on and lied, and never, ever comforted her when she cried.

She finally opens her eyes for a moment to look at the world around her, hoping it won’t look as dismal and awful as she feels. But the purples of her walls are duller than usual, her bed unkempt and messy, and she can hear the rain and the wind outside whip furiously through the trees. It’s mimicking her, the weather. It’s a carbon copy of how she feels inside. And yet, through her blurry vision, the sight through her windowpane is as clear as day: the boy from across the street, jumping through puddles and pulling his hood tight over his head, and within seconds, he’s sitting himself down next to her on her bed, tentatively placing a gentle hand to her shoulder.

The two of them sit in silence; it’s been eight years since they first met, and they’ve become strangely comfortable being together in complete silence. He lets her cry. He lets her throw things at her already broken closet door. He lets her start to yell and relay the whole damn story through bouts of anger, before she starts crying again. And he lets her fall into his shoulder and cry some more, her tears staining the collar of his button down shirt.

The clouds have turned dark and the rain has subsided, and her parents are calling for the two of them that dinner is ready. He’s absolutely starving, but she doesn’t feel like eating, she says. And so he stays put on her bed, massaging gentle circles into her back and speaking in soothing tones so she won’t be able to hear the grumble of his stomach.

“He wasn’t the one, you know.” he tells her, and she finally peers up at him with tears in her eyes and a small grin painted onto her face.

She nods slowly, and her lip wobbles as she opens her mouth to speak. “I know,” she squeaks, and he can hear the future cries that have yet to escape her. “I just wanted him to love me. I just want to be loved.”

“You are,” he replies, “and you will be.”

She snorts a little, and he’s trying hard to contain his laughter. He’s always found her snorts wildly hilarious. And then an involuntary, hoarse cry escapes her once more. “When?”

She peers down at her shoes, and she doesn’t know what exactly what he’s thinking, but his eyes are speaking the words he wouldn’t dare too: not here, not now. It isn’t right. And so instead, he says,

“He’s on his way, and he’s getting here as fast as he can, alright? I promise.”

Except, he’s already here, isn’t he? At least, he hopes he is. The truth is that he realized it a long time ago, and he’s been holding it close to his heart, along with her and every single small thing about her. The way her hair falls over her shoulders, the way she scrunches her nose at the sight of fish, the nervousness in her eyes when change is on its way.

It’s up to her to realize it now.

“You’re always helping me,” she whispers, not quite certain of why he’s always there in her rearview mirror, with all the drama she brings.

He grins. “Yeah, and don’t you forget it.”

She snorts again and throws a pillow at his head, and he begins to see shades of his old friend again, his friend before the heartbreak.

One day. One day he’ll speak the words he’s just swallowed, and one day, she’ll realize it, too.

Age 26 It’s funny, the way things can unfold.

Through injuries after falling out of trees.

Through painful days of high school, when kids can be so cruel.

Through failed tests, awful jobs, and a whole bunch of firsts: a first school dance, a first kiss, a first driving lesson. A first heartbreak, a first chance encounter, a first realization.

There were boys who lied and played with her heart, and there were boys who cradled it as if it were the most precious jewel in the entire world.

It’s funny, how things should have been like this years ago.

But perhaps they needed to go through all of these things to find one another, right?

These things that were theirs: like endless ice cream sundaes after being hurt by groups of friends who were manipulative and catty, like Friday nights in with tons of movies to help ease the pain of a broken bone from a rough game of football, like countless mornings watching the sunrise, just because they could.

Like that time they tried to bake a cake from scratch and they nearly added salt instead of sugar. Or the time that they (he) backed his dad’s car into the mailbox and needed to quickly come up with a story as to what had happened. Or all those times he swallowed his feelings for her, just to be a good friend.

She wished he hadn’t done that, she told him one day, in the spot she figured it all out. Underneath the willow tree.

But he’s glad he waited, he told her. He needed her to realize it on her own, just like he did.

He’s cradled her heart in his his hands for years. Because it’s precious, even more so than a jewel. He never did quite understand why people had treated it with anything but the utmost love and care. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Not when he’s promising to cradle it for the rest of his life.

She thinks she’s yelled out ‘Yes’ before he’s even finished, but the truth is, she said yes a long time ago. She said yes when realization struck. She said yes to him years ago when she let him sit down next to her in the grass, waiting for her parents that time when she broke her ankle, underneath this same tree.

She’s swimming in his turquoise eyes, and he’s getting lost in her violet ones, just like he always has. And after moments of laughter and tears and tight embraces, she looks above her, into the branches of the trees, and teases him. “Race you to the top.”

Him, her fiance, her forever. He grins at her. “You may end up with a broken ankle.”

“Maybe,” she replies, gripping the lowest branch and digging her shoes into the trunk, and suddenly, she feels ten again. “but I think it’s worth it.” And they both think back to that day, the one when they first met.

And to think: it’s been him, the entire time, all these years. The boy from across the street.

[rohad93]

Moonlit Masquerade: ch 5

It started on Monday morning.

Amity got to school early so she could have some peace and quiet away from her siblings and classmates to study for an upcoming test in her abominations class. The twins had been especially chaotic all weekend while their parents had been out of town for business, blasting music and just being a general nuisance, though not directly to her. 

Of which they informed their children with a simple note on the counter when they had discovered when they had come home from school on Friday afternoon. No goodbyes or anything.

Nothing unusual about that though. 

At least Edric and Emira hadn’t bothered her much, while their parents were away the twins took the opportunity to play; which suited her fine. 

She’d spent most of Friday evening trying to decipher Luz’s sudden… touchiness. Not that she was complaining. She didn’t think it was a human thing, Luz had always been physical with her affections but Friday just seemed extra.

Or she was just seeing what she wanted to see. The thought caused her to frown. Every time Luz got close she sent her into a spiral. All she could think about was how kind and amazing she was and how much she wanted to be near her, which caused the inevitable panic as so many emotions flooded her at once. Ones she wasn’t well equipped to manage, apparently. 

This was ridiculous, she could be completely calm and the second Luz’s stupidly cute face and smile popped into view, it felt like her heart was going to beat right out of her chest as it slammed against her ribcage. 

Somehow, someway, she needed to get a handle on this, Luz probably already thought she was a spaz after she had fled from her Friday and tossed her entire lunch tray across the cafeteria, splattering a few students when Luz just set a hand on her shoulder. 

She sighed and shook her head. The fact that no one, much less Luz, had caught on to her strange behavior was the one silver lining here she supposed.

The idea of trying to tell Luz how she felt made her feel like she had swamp-flu; nauseous, clammy, and fevered. Her fear of being rejected by the object of her affections was still alive and well, a shadow on her heart. 

Trying to ask her to grom had been a disaster in and of itself. 

Though it did have the unintended perk of getting Luz to dance with her anyway, even if it wasn’t exactly the circumstances Amity had hoped for. She’d never admit it, but when she had crafted her gromposal she had envisioned something a little more… romantic. Her cheeks flushed pink at the thought. 

Partly embarrassment and part disappointment for having allowed herself to believe for one minute that such a thing had been possible.

Yes, Luz had technically gone to grom with her, she loved every moment of their dance and taking down Grometheus together, and she would always hold that memory fondly in her heart, even if it was tainted with the bitter disappointment she felt at the words Luz had said after saying she would go to grom with her.

‘That’s what friends do.’ 

Something in her twinged at the memory just as it had when those words had passed Luz’s lips.

Luz had taken pity on her and her cowardice at not being able to just hand that little slip of paper over to the one person she wanted to see it more than anything.

She shut her eyes tightly, clutching her books to her chest at the ache there. With another sigh, she pushed the thoughts aside as she walked down the hall to her locker.  

There were no students around at this time of morning and the halls were quiet as she walked up to it, already beginning to open her bag as she stopped in front of the locker. 

Before she could reach out to tickle the creature into opening its mouth, it opened, promptly spitting something out at her.

She shrieked, holding up her hands to ward off the projectile.

Whatever it was bounced off her harmlessly and fell to the floor. 

Blinking, Amity lowered her arms to look at the bouquet of Blood-Blossoms at her feet. 

“Huh?” she said aloud to the empty hallway before reaching down to pick them up. 

The large, bell-shaped flowers with bright yellow centers and petals the color of, well, blood, were beautiful. 

Why had someone put these in her locker? Blood-Blossoms were expensive and traditionally only given with romantic intentions.

She turned the bouquet around in her hands before noticing a small slip of paper tucked between the stems. She pulled it free and unfolded it. Her face heating up as she read the words written in a gentle sloping hand.

‘Amity, 

These flowers could never be as beautiful as you, but I hope you like them anyway,

Your Secret Admirer.’ 

A little heart dotted the ‘i’ in her name.

Her flush spread to the tips of her ears in a wash of crimson

She folded the paper and looked back at the flowers, reaching out a careful hand to run her fingers over them.

The petals were soft and smooth under her finger tips as she examined them. She took a tentative sniff. A deep, sweet, floral scent filled her senses.

She couldn’t help the soft smile that had worked its way onto her face as she gazed at them.

At the far end of the hall, a pair of dark brown eyes peeked around the corner, out from under a hood.

Luz grinned stupidly to herself before quickly dashing down an adjacent hall, feeling giddy and cheeks pink at the thought of the look on Amity’s face as she examined the flowers fondly. 

That was more than worth having to get to school at an ungodly hour to ensure she made it before Amity, who was notorious for arriving even before their teachers at times. 

Also the snails she would need to pay Eda back by making potion deliveries all of Saturday, as well as her mentor’s subsequent teasing when she had told her what she needed the money for. Despite that she had handed it over readily. 

Her heart fluttered in her chest.

So totally worth it!

That night Amity put the flowers in a vase on her desk, admiring their beauty as she worked on her homework, the note was slipped into one of her desk drawers. 

Even if she was completely enamored with Luz, it was still flattering that someone went through the trouble for her and they were beautiful.

“Hey, Mittens.” Amity tensed up, whipping around to see her sister leaning against the door frame, but not her brother.

“What?” Amity asked, exasperated already.

“Good evening to you too,” Emira chuckled as she walked into the room and immediately noticed the new addition to her sister’s desk. 

“Oh, those are pretty, someone gave you Blood-Blossoms?” Emira turned to look at her with a cocked brow. “Who's that brave?” she asked teasingly.

Amity rolled her eyes but relented, one twin wasn’t usually too bad, it was when her brother and sister were together and feeding off each other that they could become unbearable. 

Also, they were twins, but there was a certain bond she and Emira shared being sisters, there were things she could, on a rare occasion,share with her sister that she just couldn't share with Ed.

“I don’t know.” she shrugged. “They were in my locker this morning, from a secret admirer.” She watched Emira reach out and touch the petals with gentle fingers, admiring their beauty. 

“Oh, mysterious, wonder who has the hots for you…” Emira grinned as Amity’s cheeks reddened. Her little sister always was so easy to fluster. 

“I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter,” she grunted, turning back to the papers sitting in front of her. 

“Aw, you're no fun, why not?” Emira pressed, poking her sister in the arm. Amity violently swatted at the offending appendage with a growl, making Em grin.

“I don’t have time for that sort of thing and I’m not interested in anyone like that,” she huffed and Emira chuckled, making Amity look up at her with narrowed eyes.

“Come on, Mittens; we both know that’s not true.” She smiled knowingly and Amity felt herself seize up at the words. She had to be bluffing, there was no way Emira knew.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She frowned and Emira rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest, cocking a hip as she stared down at her little sister with a knowing look.

“Hey, it’s okay, I get it; those dark brown eyes and round ears are pretty cute.” She grinned as Amity burned red at her words. 

With a twirl of her finger, a pink spell circle appeared and her door slammed closed as she jumped up.

“Does Ed know too, who are you going to tell, what are you planning?!” she all but snarled and the amused smile on her sister’s face fell away. 

A wave of guilt washed over the older girl that Amity’s first reaction to her revealing that she knew about her crush on Luz was panic and fear did not make her feel great, not that she could blame Amity.  

She and Edric had been a little much there for a while. They both agreed that the diary incident and the danger Amity had faced afterward because of them had been over the line and they needed to do better.

They loved to give their straight-laced little sister a hard time, but they did love her and never meant to really hurt her, physical or otherwise. 

“Hey, hey, relax, Amity.” Emira held up her hands and Amity paused at the use of her name. “Ed doesn’t know.” she rolled her eyes. Her brother could be a dork at the best of times and occasionally as oblivious as Luz. “I’m not going to tell anyone,” she promised. Amity slowly relaxed, all her tight muscles going slack.

“You’re really not going to tell anyone, not even Ed?” she asked with suspicion still lingering. 

“Nope, keep it just between sisters.” she smiled, walking over to the door. “You could do much worse, Luz is pretty fun, not to mention cute.” She winked at her sister over her shoulder before leaving just as quickly as she had come. 

Amity huffed to herself before turning back to her desk and trying to focus on her work. 

Now all she could think about were warm brown eyes and that bright smile.

~ ~

Tuesday Amity had class with Luz, and she both adored and hated it in equal measure.

Well, maybe 80/20 with adored eeking out the win by a hair

On the one hand, working with Luz and her antics was fun, doing silly impressions of their abominations professor, passing her notes with cute doodles and making wonky abominations from her messed up abomination slurry never failed to make her giggle like a schoolgirl…

Which she supposed, she technically was. 

On the other hand Luz distracted her. A lot.

When she was around it was a task to get anything done with her smiling at her like that, or nudging her with her elbow to show her something every few minutes. 

She sighed as she walked into class, surprised to see Luz already at their normally shared table.

She was flipping through the book Amity had given her last week with rapt interest and jotting notes into one of her notebooks.

She smiled, glad that Luz was actually using it, she had been nervous that she had only accepted it to be polite, but she had her face buried in the yellowed pages, eyes scanning the words with rapt attention that was rare for her.

She didn't even notice Amity walk up to the table or set her books down before sliding into the seat beside her.

“Hey, Luz,” she called, making the human jump, head whipping to face her in surprise.

“Oh! Amity, hey!” She rested a cheek on her fist and forced a grin, hoping the witch couldn’t tell how nervous she was. 

‘Remember what Willow said, be patient, play it cool…’

“Are you ready for the test?” Amity asked as casually as she was able while she arranged her notes on the table.  

“Test?” Luz blinked. 

Amity turned to her and could see the confusion slowly morphing to panic on her crush’s face. 

“Oh, crud, I forgot about the test!” she hissed. Slapping her hands against the sides of her face and squishing her cheeks in a panic. Luz’s panic shouldn’t have been funny but her face, smooshed between her hands, was too cute for Amity to resist the quiet chuckle that escaped under her breath, Luz caught it though.

“It’s not funny, I completely forgot to study this weekend, I’m gonna fail…,” she groaned, dropping her face onto the book's open pages with a thump. 

“No, you’re right, I’m sorry. What were you doing all weekend?” she asked.

“ Um…,” Luz hummed from her face down position as she thought about how she, Gus and Willow had spent most of Friday night and Saturday brainstorming things she could do or give to Amity to win her over and Sunday she’d had to help Eda collect potion ingredients in the woods. “Errands with Eda…” she settled on, looking up at the gold eyes peering down on her, which was partially true.

“I guess it couldn’t be helped then,” she sighed, sliding her notes to the middle of the table between them. “We still have some time before class starts, we can cram,” she offered, looking back at Luz, who was smiling at her in a way that made her stomach do a somersault. She forced away the heat that she could feel crawling up her face.

“Thanks, Amity.” 

The witch nodded jerkily, staring down at her notes and suddenly feeling bold, scooted her chair closer to Luz. Just so they could both better study her notes of course.

‘Play it cool… play it cool!’ Luz chanted in her head as she tried to focus on Amity’s class notes. 

Amity seemed totally unperturbed, but diving into class work, she was in her element and totally oblivious to Luz’s internal struggle.  

This was going to be harder than Luz thought.

[soocouldbemyonlystar]

CTA: The Beginning

Genre: Chaebols AU/fluff

Length: 2.3k

The Arrangement Pt1

A/N: I know, this is long over due. I actually hit my goal in early December then we got word we were moving back home and there was packing and moving and unpacking and renovating and family then Covid. Oh yeah, I forgot the crushing weight of thinking this is crap and no one likes it... you know, all the awesome things my anxiety loves to make me believe. Anxiety can kiss my ass cause I love this edit and I hope you all do too.

Plump lips parted in a long sigh. Do Kyungsoo let his school bag slip off his shoulders and wiggled out of his navy blazer, hanging it in the closet next to his blue hoodie. 

"Mom, I'm home," his voice cracked as he threw his bag back over his shoulder and made a dash for his room. He dodged Nari at the top of the stairs, narrowly avoiding the stack of towels she juggled. 

"Slow down, Young Master," her tone was enough to hasten his speed.

"Good evening!" He sang to her, his deepening voice an unusually smooth lilt. 

Nari set her lips in a straight line, but as Kyungsoo leveled his round eyes at her, blinking rapidly, she broke into a smile.

Waving him off, she continued down the stairs as he slipped into his room. 

Changing out of his uniform was the best part of his day, though most days were spent entirely in that uniform. At least this one was more comfortable than the one he'd had for the last few years. High school did have some perks. It also came with more classes, harder curriculum and the added stress of worrying about college and career. 

Not that he really had to worry about a career. He was an only child and as long as he wasn't a blithering idiot, he would inherit his family's business, The Ganghan Company. 

And he wasn't a blithering idiot. 

But, Kyungsoo didn't like school. In fact, he hated it. Tests, studying, and group projects where everyone was graded together. Kyungsoo was at the top of his class, but it wasn’t because he was particularly smart or liked to learn. It was what his parents expected of him. The long hours, constant studying, and after-hours cram school were all for his parents’ benefit. 

It was a good thing that he happened to learn quickly. It never took him long to master a subject. 

Kyungsoo dragged his books and journals out of his bag and set up his desk. There was a system, book to the left, journal to the right, pens and highlighters to the right of that. There had to be organization.

Kyungsoo popped on his headphones, turned up the music (Chanyeol's remix of American R&B songs) and began to study. There was a paper due soon and a round of exams that followed. He would likely be studying late into the night, which he hated since sleep was his one true love.

Once his groove was set, it would take a disaster to bring him out of it. Nothing short of an earthquake, or a tornado ripping the roof off could pull him from his concentration. Except his mom staring at him like a stalker from his bedroom door. He ripped the set off his ears in a frenzy.

"Jeez mom, could you announce yourself? You scared the crap out of me." 

"I did. Your music was just too loud for you to hear it," she chided.

His mother approached with a tray loaded with spaghetti and bread sticks.

"Whaa, what is this for?" It was one of his favorite dishes, but it was rarely made in the house. He was lucky his parents allowed him to try whatever he wanted when they ate at restaurants, but at home, it was strictly traditional.

"It’s been a while," she sat it on the space he had cleared off, "and you have been working so hard lately." 

"Got tests coming up," he said between bites.

"There is something I wanted to ask you though, completely unrelated to the food." 

"Mmm," Kyungsoo only gave half his attention. Nari’s spaghetti was too good to not savor every bite.

"Lee Jae-Eun is going to the same academy as you now."

He grunted, "Who… oh… you mean Auntie Joo Hyuns’ daughter?"

"Yes."

"Ehh,” he shrugged, “What about her?"

She sighed, “well… her mother is afraid there are some girls that pick on her. I was hoping you could keep an eye out for me?" 

"Mom… no! That's creepy." Kyungsoo moped.

"Oh, really Kyungsoo! I'm not talking about stalking her. Just keep an eye out. Her brothers are older, one has already been sent to the states and the other doesn’t see her during school hours. If you see something just let me know. Or maybe stand up for her." 

"I don't get involved in other peoples’ problems, Mom." 

"Well that's a lie if I ever heard one. Do you think I didn't know that you hid Park Chanyeol in this room for two weeks last year when he fought with his father? Why do you think there was extra food on your dinner plate?" She scolded.

"Uhh… but he's my best friend." Kyungsoo's voice cracked. He hated it when that happened.

"You have eight best friends, and you would help any one of them. This is my one and only best friend’s daughter. She's practically family. Please help me out this once." His mother pushed.

She had a point. Their families ran in the same circles, they attended the same parties… only neither of them were particularly social. There was only one time they had met that he could remember, when they were 6 or 7. He had just wanted to read his books, and Jae-Eun just wanted to draw in them. Kyungsoo hid any time their moms were together. He had so little interaction with her he couldn’t even remember what she looked like.

Only the fact his mother had let slip that she wanted them or marry. Jae-Eun was the girl they intended to be his wife.  

Kyungsoo sighed, he should have known it was no use to say no, he could never deny his mother. "Alright, I'll keep an eye out and if I see anything, I will let you know. But that's it." 

His mother wrapped her arms around Kyungsoo's shoulders, squeezing tightly.

"Thank you, my sweet boy." 

Kyungsoo shrugged her off. Ugg, feelings! Why did his mom have to hug so much?

"Okay, okay! Don't get so worked up about it." 

She snatched her hands away. "Right, you're a high schooler now. Too cool for mom." 

His mothers’ attempt to be understanding elicited a groan from Kyungsoo. 

"I’ve got to study." A feeling of guilt washed over him for brushing her off, but he just didn't like to be touched. He sighed in relief when she left his room.

Kyungsoo put his headphones back on and read as he finished his dinner.

**** 

He didn't keep an eye out. 

As a matter of fact, Kyungsoo completely forgot about the conversation. Tests and papers filled his time, friends took up what was left. It wasn't that he didn't think it was important. He did, but Kyungsoo's mom had just asked at the wrong time. There were too many coals in his fire.

Two weeks passed. The girl didn't even cross his mind. He aced his test and got a perfect score on his essay. He should be skating easy right now, but his super, awesome best friend, Byun Baekhyun nominated him as class leader at the beginning of the year and somehow, he won. Being class leader came with certain responsibilities, like running errands for the teacher.

It was pushing into his lunch time, and that was an unforgivable offence. Stupid responsibilities, stupid Baek and his stupid volunteering, making Kyungsoo be social when all he wanted was to keep his head down and get through this.

He took the south stairs, it was rarely used and popped out conveniently near the teachers’ offices. Getting this done and making it to lunch was top priority. This was one of those times when lunch would be the only break he had for the day, unfortunately luck was not on his side.

Between the second and third floors, a group of girls had another one cornered. Kyungsoo slowed, it would be better to take another route, he didn't want to get involved in someone else's mess.

It was that moment, as he turned away, he remembered what his mother asked. Kyungsoo swiveled on his heels and crept further down the stairs. Han Bora and her cronies circled the girl, her face hidden from him. 

"You think you are so much better than everyone else. Just because your parents are rich you turn your nose up at everyone," Bora mocked.

"That makes no sense, your parents are rich too or you wouldn't be in this school. Not that it seems to be helping you much," the girl replied.

Bora huffed, "this girl… yah, Lee Jae-Eun… I'm your senior in this school. You think you can talk to me like that?" 

Kyungsoo's eyes widened. So, Lee Jae-Eun WAS being bullied, and he had to come upon it today of all days.

"You have to give respect to earn respect." Jae-Eun said simply, holding her books to her chest.

Bora's best friend Choi Min-Ji flung her hand, smacking the books out of Jae-Eun's arms. Jae-Eun stumbled backward in surprise and another girl shoved her back to Bora.

"I should teach you a lesson. Knock some sense into you."

Jae-Eun held her head high, "Will that make you feel better about yourself?"

"Hey…" Bora yelled. Then she swung.

The slap bounced through the empty halls.

It echoed in Kyungsoo's head. Long, dark, hair flew in a fan as Jae-Eun's head spun from the force. It made Kyungsoo's stomach turn. He considered stepping in but Jae-Eun straightened, raising her head to Bora in defiance.

"Maybe you should try that again, you're still ugly inside."  

What the hell? Why would she provoke Bora further? The girl wasn't one to be intimidated nor was she forgiving. Jae-Eun would only make it harder for herself. He had attended school with Han Bora for most of his life. Last year, while she was in high school and he was still in middle, was the most peaceful year he had experienced. 

Another slap rang out across the halls and Kyungsoo's stomach dropped to the floor. He should do something. At least help her escape.

Before he could come to his senses, the folder flew out of his grasp, raining paper down the stairwell. His hands held tight to the rail as he faked his feet out from under him and stumbled down the remaining steps. 

"Sorry… sorry, excuse me," he clumsily reached for his papers and Jae-Eun's books as Bora and her minions laughed.

Kyungsoo straightened the papers in the folder, keeping his head low. He would be embarrassed if someone walked up on him being bullied, the girl probably didn't want to be seen.

A stray paper appeared in his gaze. His eyes lifted, and met hers, Lee Jae-Eun. She knelt directly in front of him. Wide eyes were on his, both cheeks an apple red. 

He couldn't turn away. She looked different from the picture his mother had recently shown him, her school picture from the year before. The round face had thinned out, making her appear older, her eyes seemed more exotic, lips fuller. His tongue darted out nervously to moisten his own.

She wiggled the paper in front of him. Kyungsoo blinked, dropping his gaze again, taking the paper she offered.

"Thanks," he whispered.

"Mmm," she acknowledged him, pivoting to gather her books. Taking advantage of the girls’ amusement, Jae-Eun slipped past them and scurried down the stairs. 

His heart pounded. What the hell had just happened? Why had he just stared at her like an idiot? Damn, he was an idiot. She had escaped, and he was surrounded by girls.

"Hey, Do Kyungsoo, do you like her or something?" Bora laughed.

He didn't even know her, but he sure as hell was impressed so far. If she were to be his future wife, he couldn't find it in him to be mad. 

And he protected what was his.

"Han Bora," he faced her, his deep voice steady and solid, "Don't mess with her again. This is the only time I'll ask." 

Laughter rang out among the girls again. 

"Or what? You don't scare me, the school doesn't scare me, my parents don't even scare me!" 

Maybe not, but he could guess what did.

"Choi Min-Ji, your parents work at Ganghan, don't they? Kim Young-Ah, yours too? And Bora, your dads’ even a Chairman for Ganghan. I've seen all three of you at Ganghan company parties. MY companies’ parties."

Kyungsoo wasn't familiar with using intimidation, but somehow, he felt he could pull it off. Astigmatism caused him to squint and look angry most of the time. His voice wasn't even cracking, it was low and smooth and felt a little dangerous. If they kept messing with Jae-Eun, he would be.

"It would be a shame if they were to suddenly find themselves out of a job, connections gone with no prospects. That life you're so used to, this fancy school you think you run all a distant memory. You’d lose that nice, big house and be sent to a public school. You’d actually have to do your classwork; daddy wouldn’t have the money to pay off your teachers then." He glanced at the other three girls who followed her around. "I bet I could find where your parents work as well. Ganghan reach is quite extensive."

Bora huffed, "you couldn't… you wouldn't."

"I can and will if I hear you mess with her again."

The girls fell deadly quiet. The fear in their eyes told Kyungsoo he had made an impact. He could get used to that.

"Why would you defend her? What is she to you?" Bora shook her head in disbelief. 

Kyungsoo stuck his hand in his pocket and started down the stairs, "She's family." 

He left the six girls in the stairwell to finish his duties, confusion on their faces.

[maluminspace]

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Calum Hood/Michael Clifford/Male Reader

Word Count: 2k

Requested: anon

Do you think you could do a poly!malum or poly!cashton with male reader? It’d be great and I loved your last male reader so much.

Trigger Warnings: strong language, mild sexual references

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this poly fluff! I’m happy to do a smutty follow up if anyone wants it! I hope enjoy this, my lovely anon.

***

“I think we have a tired little kitten on hands, angel.” Calum chuckles lightly as he leans forward to grab the T.V remote from the coffee table in front of you. “We can finish this episode tomorrow.”

Michael whines, shifting his head in your lap to look up at your other boyfriend. “No, Cal! I wanna see what happens… I bet we’ll find out more about the hot guy soon…”

You scoff, playfully nudging Michael’s shoulder. “Hey you have two guys of your own, are we not enough for you?”

The blonde blushes a little as he shakes his head. “He’s not as hot as you two but…”

“Come on sleepy head!” Calum interjects, switching off the television and pushing himself to his feet. “The hot guy will still be on Netflix tomorrow, we’ll put you to bed before we leave, yeah?” He pushes himself to his feet before meandering over to the side table near the front door where he’d left his shoes earlier. 

Before Michael can start complaining again, you stroke his long blonde fringe out of his face and lean down to a peck a kiss to his pale forehead. “You need your sleep, kitten.” 

Michael’s green eyes glisten in the near darkness as he fixes you with a sad expression. “I need you more.” He replies, before turning his sad puppy dog eyes to Calum. “I hate it when you both have to leave.”

Your heart kind of melts at the sleepy sadness in Michael’s voice and although you always hate leaving him and Calum, tonight it just feels a million times worse, somehow. You can’t stop yourself from urging Michael up into a sitting position so that you can hug him properly. 

The blonde man accepts your loving gesture gratefully, snuggling into you like a clingy child. Calum catches your attention from across the room and you find the same heartache you’re feeling, reflecting back at you from the depths of his chocolate brown eyes. He steps closer to you, perching on the arm of the sofa and wrapping an arm around you both. “We all hate this part, kitten.” The slightly younger man sighs, leaning down to press a kiss into Michael’s hair. “It sucks that we have to leave at all, but we all have our own places.”

“That’s stupid.” Michael huffs, “Why are we all paying a shitload of bills when we could be living together and sharing them out between the three of us?”

Even though you know that Michael’s comment was born from his clinginess, you have to admit that it kind of makes sense. The three of you together could probably afford a much nicer apartment or possibly even a small house. 

“You mean, move in together?” Calum asks, his voice adopting a nervous quality. “But we’ve only been dating for a couple of months, don’t you think that’s really fast? We haven’t even spent the night together yet.”

Your heart sinks a little. Of course Calum is right, on one level at least. You haven’t been dating long and none of you have had the courage to ask the other two to stay over yet. That’s not to say that you haven’t done ‘stuff’ together, though. There’d been numerous occasions when your heavy making-out sessions had led to more than kissing, but you were yet to go all the way together. 

“I know that…” Michael mumbles, his cheeks heating up as though he’s embarrassed by his previous statement. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be like us moving in together as an ‘item’.” He shrugs, looking between you and Calum with a nervous expression on his beautiful face. “We could find somewhere with three bedrooms, maybe? That way we’d more like roommates that just-so-happen to be dating.”

You exchange a cautious glance with Calum. It feels like entirely the wrong time to be having such an important conversation as this. The three of you are sleepy and sad about having to leave each other for the night, of course any solution that limits that miserable feeling is going to sound like an amazing idea.There’s a part of you that can’t deny Michael’s logic, though, and you subconsciously start to run your fingers through his hair as you hold him, still staring up at Calum in the hope that he’ll have some intelligent comment that will make it easier to figure out how to get the best of worlds.

For a long moment it seems that Calum is just as conflicted as you are. He nibbles at his bottom lip anxiously as he pulls you both closer to him. “I think we need to start staying at each other’s places a little more before we make any big steps like that, kitten.” He suggests, finally breaking the increasingly tense silence. 

Michael’s pout becomes genuinely heartbreaking and your natural instinct is to kiss it off his face. That feels a little inappropriate, though, so you settle for tightening your grip around his shoulders instead.

“It was a stupid idea, I’m sorry…” Your older boyfriend shrugs, “You should go…” He’s clearly embarrassed as he wriggles free of your hold and gets to his feet before shuffling off towards the door of his bedroom. 

You share a somewhat guilty glance with Calum, wishing that your tired brain would come up with a solution. You hate seeing Michael sad, it’s time you made peace with the fact that you’d do pretty much anything to make him smile. “I don’t want to leave him, like this.” You sigh quietly, leaning against Calum’s chest for comfort.

Your boyfriend strokes your hair softly, humming in acknowledgement as he apparently tries to think of a way to fix this so that you can all go to bed happier tonight. After a moment Calum leans down to whisper into your ear. “Are you okay with staying over here tonight?” 

The fact that you have work in the morning and driving from Michael’s place adds an extra half hour to your journey, barely presents itself as an issue. You’ll happily leave a little earlier if it means you get to finally spend the send with your boys. You try not to let too much of your enthusiasm show in your face as you nod and leap to your feet, but judging by the fond smirk on Calum’s face, you fail terribly at it.

“Good.” Calum chuckles. “Then I can take you both out in the morning for breakfast and we can talk about this whole, not wanting to leave each other at night, stuff.” 

Okay, so maybe calling into work sick just one time wouldn’t be a disaster. Breakfast with Calum and Michael definitely sounds a whole lot more fun than sitting behind your desk in that glorified store cupboard you’re forced to call your office. “Sure, sounds like a plan, Cal.”

Your beautiful boyfriend stands up and takes your hand, smiling softly as he leads you towards the door Michael has just disappeared through. Calum knocks lightly, not wanting to barge in just in case the blonde is changing already, as he still seems quiet body-conscious around the two of you. “Can we come in, kitten?” 

There’s a series of shuffling footsteps from inside the bedroom before Michael opens the door, keeping his gaze aimed at the floor as he leans awkwardly against the doorframe. “It’s okay, I know I was stupid, you can go home now, you can give me the lecture in the morning.”

Calum rolls his eyes, taking Michael’s hand in his free one before placing a kiss to his pale knuckles. “We don’t want to lecture you, kitten.” He promises. “We were just hoping you wouldn’t mind sharing your bed with us tonight? I just want to fall asleep cuddling my boys, does that sound good to you?”

Glancing up timidly, Michael gives a weak nod. “Are you sure you want to stay?” He moves his gaze from Calum’s chocolate-brown eyes, to yours, seemingly awaiting a punchline to a joke. 

“Never been more sure of anything in my life, Mikey.” You grin, completing the circle of hand-holding by curling your fingers gently around Michael’s. “Calum said he’ll buy us breakfast in the morning too, so that just seals the deal.” You smirk cheekily, knowing that Michael will appreciate that. 

Just as you’d hoped, the blonde man does that blushy smile you love so much as he opens the door further. “You better make yourselves, comfortable then. I’m just gonna use the bathroom and then I’ll be back for cuddles. Help yourselves to pyjamas, they’re in the big dresser in the corner, second drawer down.”

A part of you is a bit disappointed by the idea of your boyfriends wearing pyjamas, however you don’t push the subject. It’s clear that Michael isn’t quite in that place yet. 

Calum seems to bite back a comment about it too, nibbling at his bottom lip again as Michael grabs a loose t-shirt and a pair of grey sweats from the end of his bed before scurrying off to the bathroom. 

“Maybe we can suggest a naked sleepover, next time.” You giggle, as soon as Michael is out of earshot.

Nodding, Calum leads you over to the bed, urging you to sit down whilst he continues onto the dresser that Michael had indicated to the two of you. “I’m excited for when he feels ready for that.”

A moment later, Calum hands you a pair of black sweatpants and a faded Green Day t-shirt. “Lucky for you, I’m not shy at all.” He winks, immediately dropping his trousers to reveal his muscular thighs. 

You have to stop yourself from groaning, you’ve never wanted to put your mouth on anything more in your entire life. The lustful feeling inside of you multiplies even further when Calum removes his shirt. The way that his long fingers work the buttons of the garment before he slides it off his arms, spark a million different fantasies of what you’d like him to do you with them. 

“Enjoying the show, angel?” Calum smirks, his air of confidence intensifying as he steps closer to you. “Are you gonna leave me to be almost naked alone?” He offers his hand out to you and helps you to your feet before unbuttoning your skinny jeans. 

Having Calum undress you, makes your skin tingle with anticipation, like every inch of you is screaming out for him to touch you. The way that Calum bites his lip as he rakes his eyes over you once he’s stripped you down to your boxers, draws a tiny whine from you.

Calum hums in response to your needy gesture and tentatively places a hand on one of your hips. “I wish you didn’t have to put those sweats on…” He whispers, pulling you closer until you can feel his breath on your lips. 

“Me too.” You reply lowly. “Do you think Michael will mind if we sleep in just our boxers?”

“Not at all…” Michael interjects, drawing your attention over to the door where he’s standing, now dressed in the sweats and loose t-shirt he’d taken to the bathroom with him. He looks so soft and cuddly that your heart melts. It hits you in that moment, just how amazing your life is. You have two of the most beautiful men on earth looking at you as though they want to eat you alive. Despite their stark differences in personality and physical appearance, their biggest common denominator is you, and that makes you feel giddy. “I wish you two could be just in your boxers all the time.” The blonde man continues, a light blush colouring his cheeks as he shuffles further into the room.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” You reply, winking suggestively.

Calum raises an eyebrow at Michael in response to his question. “Care to join us, kitten?” He asks hopefully, holding out his hand. You’re quickly learning that there are few things in the world that Calum loves more than having his hands on both of his boys.

Tag list: @clffrd @byxthexway @afuckingunicornn @painkillerash @moonchildsblack @calumbbyyy @h0tsos @loveroflrh @sexgodashton @megz1985 @myfalsedevotion @aulxna @honeyedlashton @tea4sykes @ghostofmashton @fairyintheglass @cashworthy @cashtonasfuck @opheliaaurora23 @5sosnsfw @wildmichaelflower @myloverboyash @loverofcashton @irwinkitten @cxddlyash @wildmalumflower @cashtonasff5sos @iovehemmings @kindawannacryx @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles​ @celticclifford @5-secondsofcolor

[erintoknow]

leave no room for anything

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

You need cover, you need an alibi, and you need a place to plan and work out your next criminal action. What could go wrong from combining all that? [Survival]

[Read on AO3]

Another day, another spike of adrenaline courses through you as you dive feet first through a stack of boxes, sending crates of delicate electronic equipment everywhere. You can hear alarms sound around you as the factory goes into full alert, the clanging of barring gates. You grin under the mirror sheen of your helmet. That suits you fine, keep the small fry penned up and out of the way? You’re too kind.

The wall in front of you collapses into dust thanks to the nanovores and you tear through the office, grabbing at papers at random. What you take doesn’t actually matter at this point, compromising their records is the goal here.

Damage done, you refer to your map, dissolve another wall and follow your thread out, back to the main entrance.

The woman standing in your way gives you pause. You’d been psyching yourself up for a rematch against Chen, but no, its Lady Argent, hands at her sides and poised to rush you. A half-circle of rent-a-cop security goons behind her block you in. “A factory, Puppetmaster? What, they stop inviting you out to parties?” She smirks and hunches down, fingers lengthening into sharpened claws.

Your face twitches under your helmet. “Don’t read the papers, Argent? It’s Ghost.” You hiss. Your voice, filtered through your helmet has a hollow, flat sound. You take a quick count of Lady Argent’s back-up, who’s most pliable to tying up the rest. None of the officers seem to trust Argent. Good. That makes this easier.

The woman of steel looks unimpressed. “Can’t say I care what you call yourself.”

That does it.

One of the rent-a-cop’s guns goes off ‘prematurely’, firing wide to your left, the rest follow in blind panic as you dive to the side. Argent is too focused on you, but with the Rat-King’s help you’re able to pull the rest of the goof troop into your song, pulling their attention in random directions. One of the shots dings Argent in her shoulder, bouncing off to through ground and to her credit she doesn’t look for the culprit, making straight for you.

You run your hand along the ground as you move, leaving a split in the asphalt as the Nanovores chew through material. Lady Argent tries to cut you off so you encourage two of the goons to stumble into her way as you continue your circle around them. You can’t afford to move slow enough for a deep groove, but if this works as planned, all you need is to prime the cut.

If it works.

Argent huffs, shoving one of the men the side, only for another to conveniently take position between the two of you. “Get out of the way!” It doesn’t slow her down for long, but it’s enough for you to finish the circle. Under your helmet you grin, heart pounding.

All that’s left is the magic word. You give the Rat-King the command to pull the strings and yank everyone back in.

You dash forward and slide down, just under the swipe of her claws. She turns to stab down at you as you come to halt. You roll out of the way and kick her arm aside on your way back up.

You check to make sure everyone’s inside the circle you’ve carved through the asphalt. “Heads up.” is all the warning you give before an explosion rocks the ground under everyone’s feet. A furious Argent diving towards you finds only empty space underneath her, and you leap back as the asphalt caves in.

When the dust clears you risk taking a quick check of everyone’s mental state; a lot of fear and alarm, some pain, but the headcount is still the same. You think.

Hopefully.

You shake your head. Focus. Don’t get distracted. Stay in control. You watch Argent and the rest pick themselves up, clear rubble off their buddies. You have to harden your heart against it, remember who they are, what they represent. “Next time,” you call down, “remember my fucking name!”

Admittedly, Argent makes it easier. She’s staring up at you, a single silver middle finger outstretched.

You don’t like the way she’s eyeing one of the support columns. Can she climb her way out? You don’t intend to stick around and see, it’s time to make yourself scarce.

–––

Every super villain needs a secret lair. A base of operations. Somewhere you can plan your next move, keep mission critical materials. If Ariadne is going to be stuck playing retired civilian, it’s even more important to keep her as separated as you can from Ghost’s activities.

Eventually the day will come when you have to cast off that identity completely, but two years isn’t long enough to make you eager to resume a life of being actively on the run from a government agency. You need to gather more influence – and protection – if you’re going to ever unmask without it being an immediate disaster.

To that end… Ariadne needs a cover. She needs a job, co-workers, hobbies. A new wardrobe. You need Ortega to take a breather and ease off on trying worm her way in and fix every little aspect of your life.

So you’ll combine the two.

Technically a ‘Melissa Simone’ owns the computer repair shop you’re standing in front of. Ms. Simone also interviewed and hired yourself and the middle-aged lady with greying hair now manning the front counter.

You put a hand on the front door, hesitating. You keep putting this off but… guess you better ‘officially’ meet your new co-worker.

A bell chimes as you step inside. Old computer advertisements adorn the walls while parts and models are neatly stacked into three aisles across the open front half of the room. The building itself is on the older side. Hopefully a bit more use will get it looking properly run down enough to seem like it’s always been a repair shop here.

The woman at the counter looks up with a smile, a phone pressed to her ear. She holds a finger up as you approach.

You didn’t hire Marcie for her customer service skills. You hired her because she’s a terminally incurious middle-aged woman who fully intends to spend as much of her time talking to friends on the store phone or otherwise shirking her duties as much as possible.

Leaning an arm against the counter you wait for her to finish her current conversation, drumming your fingers against the wooden countertop. Watch the clock on the wall tick the seconds by. Finally she hangs up and turns back to you with a tired expression. “Alright, what do you want?”

You put on a sickly sweet smile. “My name is Ariadne Becker? Y–your um… co-worker?”

Marcie blinks, frowns, then flushes red. “Oh!” She hurries out from behind the counter, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought you were a customer.”

“I could tell.”

She puts her hand out and you give it a quick shake. “Are you really the only repairm–person here?”

“Eh.” You shrug, glancing at the beaded doorway to the back room. “If business ever picked up maybe it’d be worth hiring more.” Glance back to her, smile again. “For now, I’m it yeah. I don’t usually bother with – with um, the front entrance.”

“Well, if you ever need something from me, sweetie, you let old Marcie know, okay?”

You blink, not sure how to respond. She wasn’t this nice to Jane– ahem ‘Melissa Simone.’ “Uh. Y–yeah, sure. Thanks.” You cough. “Um… Ms. Simone gave you the – the rundown about the back right?”

Marcie looks at you, arching a skeptical eyebrow. “To stay the hell out? Yeah.” She leans in, “So… what are we fronting here sweetheart? Drugs? It’s drugs isn’t it.” She straightens her back with a dramatic sigh. “It’s always drugs.”

“I – what???” You stare at her. “W–we’re not – not ‘fronting’ anything!?”

She frowns. Is she… disappointed…!? “Oh? Really? Well. A job’s a job, I guess.”

“I… I just have a… very particular system. Okay?” You shove your hands into your pockets, looking away from her. Stare at the posters on the wall.

“Ah. You’re one of those.” One of those what? You can’t pick it up from her thoughts, just the sliding of her changing expectations. “Well, I’ll keep out of your hair, sweetie.” She steps aside, “It was nice to meet you Ariadne, dear.”

You walk past her in a daze. Push through the bed curtain into your ‘workshop.’ A central table has a pile of half-deconstructed computer cases, their silicon guts scattered haphazardly. A tool kit hangs from the wall alongside a clear plastic cabinet of replacement parts.

Hopefully the facade holds up. You don’t have much intention of actually doing computer repair work here. It’s more than a little concerning that Marcie of all people immediately jumped to the ‘criminal front’ explanation. Was hiring her a mistake? She doesn’t seem to actually care. Maybe you should go out of your way now and then to drum up business. Put some effort into looking legit.

Aside from the bathroom and breakroom, there’s one more room. Your actual workshop. The shop technically is built onto the side of an old warehouse. You’ve walled off most of the space, installed a hidden door, just inside next to the back door out.

You didn’t use up the entire warehouse. Just walled off a decent sized chunk. The rest has been dressed up. Mostly shelves of boxes full of bricks. Something that’ll pass at least cursory inspection.

The door slides open to your touch, keyed to your fingerprint. It springs back into place as you step past. The lights flicker on at low-power. Now here is where you can finally start to get shit done. Your armor is mounted to a secondary hidden compartment recessed into the far wall, next to a bed in case you need to crash or puppeteer Jane for a bit.

You’re particularly proud of the hiding place you’ve created for the Rat-King; an oversized lava lamp sits on the bedside table, a soft blue glow filling the room. Even if anyone breaks in here, anything of value will still be hidden. You’re not completely stupid.

One corner of the room is taken up by a bank of screens and a computer terminal. A system of motion detectors, CCTV, and trip alarms have been carefully set up over the past month in a two block radius around the shop. Nothing is coming near here without you getting some kind of record of it.

And then, last but not least, against one wall a full-length table stretches underneath a pristine corkboard.

Not pristine for long… You reach back into your pocket and pull out a wad of folded up, blood stained papers. The only thing you were able to salvage from the Marconi fiasco. Could have just pinned this while you were setting everything up, you guess.

But this feels more dramatic.

You grab a pin from the cork board and smooth out the creases with your other hand. Jam the paper to the middle of the board. A bill of sale for something called a ‘Regenerator.’ You don’t recognize the name of the buyer, but the listed seller is the personal assistant to Mayor Alvarez.

You pin a scattering of related articles next to the receipt, your prize from today’s factory theft. They’re all related to the sudden government take-over and closure of the regenerator’s parent company, PharmaCore.

What exactly is going on here; you have no idea. But it’s shady as shit, and that means it’s a point of attack. If you’re going to crack the damn city open, this is your starting point. You grab a pen and paper as you sit down at the desk.

You hum a tune under your breath as you work. Time to start planning out your next moves.

[moonlightwinterdxxix]

Your first Bits of my Brothers (acronym BomB?) anon here again! Could I request a pretending to be each other Zaimoku at Sutabaa or something? There's just not enough canon Zaimoku and sextuplets identity thief shenanigans in the anime! Maybe Totty is trying to get work there again but gotten sick or something and Karamatsu decided his beloved brother can't miss out on his chance to return~✨. Whether or not it'll end in brotherly fluff or Totty & Karamatsu butt monkey angst is your choice! xD

Hello again! I hope you like this one! It’s at 7K words and I didn’t want it to be longer than it already was 😅😅. Zaimoku is one of my favorite combinations (as I’ve kinda made clear in TVV), and I hope you enjoy this little drabble I’ve made of them. 💙💖😎😘

~~~

Whenever Todomatsu Matsuno was sick, he was more than just manipulative. He was manipulative enough to be entitled as the king of manipulation, besting Ichimatsu’s cruel authority might he be the only one in a safe spot outside feverish sensations and phlegm wanting release. No, Todomatsu treated all of them like butlers and castle servants, taking advantage of his vulnerable position to get them to do his bidding and bless him with their feeble-but-ultimately-needed-to-succeed attempts.

The common instance always left the rest of his brothers with a single prayer in mind: that Todomatsu never got sick. They vowed, each and every one of them, to move mountains for hell if it meant they were to be released from the shackles of Todomatsu’s superiority. But no matter the prayers sometimes getting sick was inevitable, and each time at least one of them would be willing to gamble his life off in the Pachinko parlor if it meant escaping Todomatsu’s ruthless jurisdiction.

And Todomatsu was always proud of it.

But today, he wasn’t. He was far from happy, very distant from it in fact. For when Karamatsu had returned from the shop with a can of warm soup, he had opened their shared bedroom door to find Todomatsu curled up and bawling on the futon. The call of ‘I am back with refreshments for your unwell soul, my star of hope!’ was transformed differently in a mighty scale as Karamatsu dropped the soup bag and raced to his brother’s side with a skipping, worrisome heart.

“Totty! What’s wrong, my brother?” Karamatsu asked, placing his hands on Todomatsu’s shoulder with all the gentleness his muscles could allow. “Are you feeling cold? Or warm? Oh, please speak with me through your unfortunate misery, my dear littlest brother!”

“Shut up! I...Cod, why does it have to be you? Cod, why does it have to be you?!” Todomatsu crumbled entirely, giving in to the cries that racked his body as he tucked his face off in the crook of his arms. “Where are the others?” he asked hopefully, his sore voice muffled with the fortress of cloth acting as transparent muteness.

“Ah, yes, about that.” The thing was, the rest of their brothers had surrendered. They’ve yielded into irresponsibility, wanting no relevance whatsoever with Todomatsu’s cruel behavior for this specific occasion.

Osomatsu had decided to spend his entire day at the races, regardless of a win or a lose. Choromatsu had resorted to paying a visit to the all-week international book fair at the end of the city, hoping to find something new out of his pathetic excuse in being alive. Jyushimatsu chose to spend all of his allowance on the zoo, specifically on dolphin shows to satisfy his mammal cravings. And Ichimatsu...Er...Well...

“I’m gonna jump off a cliff,” Ichimatsu deadpanned.

“Nooo~ Please contain your dark tendencies, my dear Ichimatsu!” Karamatsu wailed.

Then Ichimatsu had strangled him for a bit before leaving the house.

“Forget I asked. It’s hopeless anyway.” Todomatsu smacked his face into his pillow and sobbed openly, gripping his pillow with the force of a hundred rakes on the dirt.

Karamatsu let an apologetic breath leave his lungs, before blinking in confusion at the phone propped face-first next to his brother’s space. As Todomatsu resumed his dramatic storm, Karamatsu picked it up and swiped the screen with his two fingers, the password an easy input, before his pupils scanned through the message and his eyes went spherical.

“Todomatsu! You were supposed to have a Sutabaa job interview this afternoon?!”

“Don’t rub it in! Shut up!” Todomatsu yelled, carrying his body’s weight with his elbows and sending Karamatsu a glare that would’ve been knife-sharp piercing might it not be for his scarily flushed face and red-rimmed, teary eyes. “And yes, I was, if you really wanted to know. It was supposed to be a short one, maybe five minutes at most, but as if I can do that with this stupid fever crap, obviously.” His face crumpled, and he toppled back onto the futon. “Just leave me alone in my own problems, niisan. You’re gonna make it a thousand times worse.”

Karamatsu continued to stare at the text on the screen, scrolling upwards and back-reading. “Oh, my Todomatsu,” he sympathized. “I should’ve known that there was more information you had refused to share. And this has been...two months in the ready?”

“Karamatsu-niisan! Quit it!” Todomatsu pleaded. “I didn’t ask to get sick today, okay?! But how am I supposed to tell Aida that I wouldn’t be able to attend?! Cod, I can’t just say it to her face like that! It’s a huge blow to my pride and I...!” He whimpered, dropping to the futon with watery defeat. “Please, just...I can’t tell her. It’s too embarrassing. Can you call her up for me and tell her that I...? Bullhooey! No, I can’t have you of all people talk to her either!”

Todomatsu continued to break down on the futon, and Karamatsu tried his best to shush his brother to the best of his extent. But it made itself clear to him that there was no way to calm him down at this point, or at least calm him down enough that he was going to stop feeling so sad.

After all, the status of Todomatsu wasn’t difficult for Karamatsu to understand, along with the personality and character that came with it. He had made actual friends at Sutabaa, both being of the opposite gender—two pretty girls with kind personalities and proper standards—a miracle remaining unaccomplished by the five other roaches of their household. And for that alone, Todomatsu was in a position in life maybe more heavenly than heaven itself.

Yet of course, naturally...

Nothing lasts forever, is what Todomatsu had to learn next. Well, it would’ve, but when you had five older brothers who were careless, unreliable pieces of crap, then any ounce of happiness might as well be a disregarded atom of dust from a distant dream. For a few months, even lasting until effing Christmas, Todomatsu had lost communication with the girls because of his brothers’ lack of sensitivity. They had publicly made him strip naked in the mixer, dressed him with a pair of banana earrings and stained underwear, and made him strike a pose at the head of the table in front of a set of pretty girls who deserved better after a dance.

So Todomatsu’s hatred towards them was justifiable.

On the other hand, he shouldn’t have lied as well. To be a person once acquainted in one of Japan’s best schools wasn’t something that would up his ratings with females if it were far from the truth. Heck, he was a literal baby during their third year of high school, crying over spilt milk and reporting himself to the police as a lost child when Choromatsu had to take a trip to throw something in the closest garbage bin.

Truth hurt, yes. But it was unstoppable.

But...Todomatsu was right about one thing. Lying did make himself gain more respect, and saved him from a closed spot that would���ve dropped his person into oblivion. It didn’t last long, but...

Sometimes it didn’t have to.

“Aha! Todomatsu, an idea has been brought forth!” Karamatsu announced, straightening his posture with a finger raised theatrically towards their ceiling.

Todomatsu squinted at him. “Nope. I don’t wanna hear it,” he decided.

Karamatsu’s broad facade faltered. “Eh?”

“That’s a recipe for disaster,” Todomatsu explained, a normal tone bringing forward how awful his voice was. It was scratchy and wiped-out, more huffs in it than actual syllables forming his words. “Every time one of my brothers says something, all that happens after that is me wishing I crashed and burned on the spot. It never changes. And with you specifically trying to subside my torture, I think I’d rather let myself die on the spot than let my ear-drums break at your first sentence.”

Ouch. Karamatsu said, “Oh, you are too early to judge, my Todomatsu!” He laughed, emphasizing his breaths in order to mask his apparent hurt. “Please. Allow access first to the plan concocted in my mind. I assure you, you might eat your words once it is laid out for you. Your misery would at once be hurled into the distance, to become nothing more than a star that glinted before joining with its fallen brethren. Heh.” He tapped a finger-gun to his chin smugly.

Expression contorted in absolute disgust, Todomatsu recoiled. “If you tell me what it is, would you please stop talking in that stupid as hell fanfaronade?”

“It would be my pleasure.” He fluttered his dazzling, anime eyes.

Todomatsu made a hurling noise, slamming his fist against his chest before he deadpanned, “Just say it.”

“Hm. Todomatsu.” Karamatsu began twirling around in swooshing motions, swaying his arms in a slow, whipping circle before posing in a fabulous, dazzling stance. “I shall impersonate you and attend the job interview in your shoes!” he declared.

Todomatsu’s sanity dropped. “EEEHHH??!!”

Without warning, Todomatsu snapped up and grabbed Karamatsu by the neckline of his hoodie, shaking him without a pixel of mercy. “Are you effing kidding me, you piece of crap?! There’s no way in heaven nor hell I’m letting you do that! Are you literally waiting for me to die?! Heck, you’re even stupider than I’ve ever imagined—I’ve been too kind to misjudge you, Karamatsu-niisan! Because you’re so much worse and that idea is absolute garbage!”

“A-Ah! Totty, don’t yell too much with your sore throat!” Karamatsu stuttered out, smiling nervously. “Totty, it’s gonna work. I’m sure of it.”

“As if!” Todomatsu retorted, ignoring Karamatsu’s previous suggestion completely. “You’re gonna go out there making me look like an idiot! I’ve lost friends because of you and the others, and when I might be bouncing back you have to idle up to me all, ‘I’m gonna impersonate you and ruin your life more’—BULL!” He shoved Karamatsu down onto the futon. “What do you think of me—a fool?! You may be an actor during elementary but you’re out of your gosh-darn mind if you think you’re going to do good playing me!”

“How hard could it be?” Karamatsu asked, crawling a few spaces backwards with slight terror. “You have a simple personality, my brother! You have a phone, you can converse rather easily, and you have a light voice that makes you all nice and cute!”

Changing the rules of flavoring, Todomatsu’s grin was incredibly bitter. “You really have the guts to compliment me like that, don’t you? Forget it. Not gonna happen.”

“C’mon, Totty, give me a shot!” Karamatsu argued. “You said it yourself! I’m an actor, and with the hundreds of times we’ve spent together since childhood it won’t be hard to capture your essence! Give me a chance.”

“I don’t believe it,” Todomatsu said, rolling his eyes. “The childhood thing is a good excuse, but it won’t make the cut. Literally everyone in Sutabaa knows who I am, and like hell I’m letting someone like you of all people try to use some gosh-darn trickery on them. I’m not going to let you go out there pretending to be me, niisan. And that’s final.”

“But if you don’t get the job then you won’t be happy!” Karamatsu shouted, placing his hands on his hips. “Todomatsu, I want to be able to assist you as well. It’s what we do when we’re sick, isn’t it? We take care of each other? This is part of the treatment—it’s even better because we’re all identical brothers! Give me a chance. I promise I won’t humiliate you, or do something stupid. I’ll imitate you to the best of my abilities, change nothing from your usual self and keep your relationships as stagnant as you want them.”

“That doesn’t sound reassuring,” Todomatsu said, but he was contemplating.

“It doesn’t sound it, okay,” Karamatsu stated, “but I mean it. I really do want to lessen your stress over the matter. I’ll work to my skeleton if it means doing well in that job interview, Todomatsu. I swear, and Akatsuka-Sensei knows I do. Just...trust me, brother.”

Todomatsu narrowed his eyes, but his eyebrows didn’t follow. They shaped his expression over to consideration other than irritation, his body relaxing from its sitting position on their shared bed.

Finally, he said, “How about we make a deal? Since you’re the only one who stayed to help me with my fever—and I have to say that I appreciate that—how about if you do a good job getting me my old job back, I could be your servant the next time you get sick? I’ll suck up to all those painful demeanors of yours and stand it until you get better.”

“I...It’s fair, I suppose,” Karamatsu assessed.

Todomatsu’s grin was not reassuring. “Yeah? Think so? Sure, it could work out, won’t it? But if you make an absolute fool of me...!”

He stood up from the futon and marched over to their closet, pulling out his huge flamethrower and aiming its front at Karamatsu’s terrified face. “I’ll incinerate all your sequined pants and personalized tank tops until they’re nothing but ashes,” he completed viciously, grin worth jealousy from a sadist.

Karamatsu gulped, feeling uneasy with the top he was currently wearing underneath his hoodie. But he supposed it was a fair trade, with both of them receiving equal shares at each side of the bargain. And both their downs...It wasn’t worth a complain. Losing friends was just as bad as losing all of his wonderful, designed Karamatsu fashion.

Tilting his head down, Karamatsu decided. And it wasn’t even a minute before he reached out a hand and gave Todomatsu a worried smile. “I digress. I accept the terms of our deal, my dear brother Todomatsu. Turn all my clothes into smithereens might I annihilate your persona, Todomatsu. I accept thy conditions.”

“Good.” Todomatsu grabbed his hand and shook it, the resolution of their bargain firm. “This is my lifeline in your hands, Shittymatsu. Your clothes, and my lifeline. Don’t mess this up, or else.”

He wouldn’t. He hoped not.

~~~

With Sutabaa towering over him, it looked like the gateway to judgement. It was a taunting, expectant thing, half a thumbs up as it was a middle finger, and Karamatsu’s nervousness and anxiety sloshed in his stomach and burned his skin. His complexion was moist with his sweat, his hair that he had combed to perfection beginning to paste himself on his forehead, and Karamatsu rubbed it with the back of his shaky hand.

For his clothes, but more for Todomatsu’s reputation.

Shoving Todomatsu’s phone into his pocket and arranging his tie, Karamatsu let himself sigh unsteadily as he let his feet take him towards the doorway. He felt like he was dragging ten-thousand anvils behind him. But it was worth it, he decided, as long as he could finish the interview with a proper attitude and a selfless intention. This was for Todomatsu’s job, Todomatsu’s friendships, and Todomatsu’s reputation.

And his clothes.

But Cod, he hoped he would do well. He wished to say exactly what Todomatsu would say in his position, move with the accuracy of his little brother, and speak with a timbre close enough to the original that the term ‘identical’ made more sense than it had the past few years. But perhaps, he thought, as long as nobody who knew Todomatsu approached him, he would be absolutely, absolutely, without a feather of a doubt, fine.

“Totty? Is that you?”

Ah, shoot.

Karamatsu pulled up a kitty-shaped Todomatsu smile. He brightened his eyes and raised his brows from their thick, constant furrow. And as he spun his heel to face the source of the familiar voice, he tried to recap every single piece of information he knew about Aida as she came to him in her recognizable Sutabaa work uniform, her brown curls bouncing on her shoulders.

Aside from seeing Aida then while humiliating Todomatsu at work, and seeing Aida and Sachiko participate unsuccessfully at the baseball space tournament, the last thing Karamatsu remembered about her was she and Sachiko giving him dark, murderous death-stares on the bridge. That..didn’t seem like it was a good thing. Not then, and certainly not now.

He was so dead.

“Totty, there you are!” Aida said, stopping next to him. Cod, she was so pretty, no wonder Todomatsu was so upset to lose someone like her. “Are you ready for your interview? I hope you can get the job again—it was a shame you had to lose it last time. I have a hunch you’ll be able to do it now.”

“Ah-ha! Hopefully, yes! Thank you so much!” Karamatsu said, forcing his voice up from the low baritone that came with his genes. “Hello, Aida! I didn’t think you’d come from that direction!” He pointed. “I could’ve sworn you were in there.” He jabbed his thumb towards the Sutabaa entrance.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that.” She giggled apologetically, and Karamatsu felt his cheeks grow warm. “I wasn’t skipping work, I promise. I just got distracted a little, but it was only for a few seconds before I saw you. I was worried! I thought you weren’t gonna come anymore! It would’ve been so embarrassing to cancel last-minute on the manager.”

His gut plummeting, Karamatsu’s laugh came out less of a laugh and more of the sound of a dying hyena. “Well, I’m here! So you don’t have to worry about that anymore! I made it, so no humiliation whatsoever!” He was tempted to pose, but held back at the right second before he could crack.

Aida eyed him dubiously. “Are you alright? Your voice sounds very...breathy.”

“It does?” It did, and it was because Karamatsu’s voice wasn’t at its quality to accommodate a pitch and speaking pattern similar to Todomatsu’s. When he tried, the result came out very breathy, or if not, very screechy and...wrong. It would’ve given away his true identity so quickly might she be an expert in discerning him and Todomatsu from their brothers. So speaking with his normal, light pitch with added cheerfulness was the only way to match closely to the original source. He thought that perhaps it would be enough.

But apparently, it wasn’t enough.

“Ah, it does!” he corrected, rubbing the back of his head with a laugh. “Sorry about that! My throat really hurt this morning and I guess this is the aftermath of that!”

Except Todomatsu’s throat really did hurt that morning, and it continued so until this point. Hence, Karamatsu being here, in his shoes.

He was almost starting to regret doing this. But keeping his brother’s sad, weeping face in mind was plentiful to glue back Karamatsu’s determination. This was for Todomatsu. He had to remember: this was for Todomatsu.

And his clothes.

“It did? Oh, I feel so bad for you,” Aida said, sounding like she meant it, but Karamatsu’s anxiety told him otherwise. Drawing the line between reality and fiction was difficult when he was living in fiction, that fiction meaning, a world where he wasn’t himself. And he wasn’t, because he was Todomatsu. And ‘Todomatsu’ was talking to Aida...

He had to gather up his Todomatsu-ness.

“Would you be able to complete your job interview with that?” Aida asked.

“Oh, I’ll be fine, don’t worry about it,” Karamatsu reassured, flipping a palm. “As long as my brain works fine, I could accomplish what needs to be accomplished. And since I have experience, I don’t think I’ll do so bad, right?” He pulled up two peace signs and waved them energetically. “It’ll all be a matter of time though before we truly see. Heh-heh! So for the time being—” he put the peace signs towards his eyes “—all it takes is a little more determination! Yeah!” He posed, but it was overly cutesy.

Her smile was somewhere between amused and petrified. “Are you sure you’re okay, Todomatsu?” she asked.

“Never been better! Why would you question it?”

“I, well...” She reached to one of her elbows, rubbing it. Dang, she was so cute. “If you had a sore throat this morning, then I wouldn’t think you’d be okay so fast. And your...Oh, I hope I’m not offending you or anything, and I hope I could say this more politely, but have your eyebrows always been that thick?”

I knew I should’ve taken Totty’s word and shaved them a little. Karamatsu laughed again, but inside, he was screaming about his soul and how it could get ripped out of his body. “I suppose—I never really mind them! I hope it doesn’t bother you or anything!”

“It’s fine, I swear.” She tilted her head, her hair hopping a little. “Are you really Totty? He’s got five lookalike brothers, and I honestly won’t be surprised if you’re one of them. Not saying you are, but your behavior is a little strange. Or is that just nervousness for the interview talking?”

“I’m just nervous! That’s all it is!” Karamatsu lied, clasping his hands not out of the hopes to make himself mimic one of his brother’s cute gestures, but so that he could grab something before he combusted from her accuracy. Shoot, how did she find out?! Keep calm, Karamatsu. You’ve got this! This is for Todomatsu’s reputation!

And his clothes.

“But I’m so touched to know you’re so concerned,” he continued lightly, waving his peace sign again. Was he overdoing it with the peace signs? The last time he impersonated someone, he had made paw gestures and moved them with a tenderness like he were an actual feline, and that wasn’t something Ichimatsu would normally do. Or, maybe it wasn’t something he would to at all. “I really wish to get the job again, so we can hang out more often! I miss the regular days before me and my brothers messed things up.”

Because, duh. Todomatsu did have to take a little blame for the incident none of them asked for.

“Uh, yeah...I miss those days too.” Aida gave him a toothy grin laced with the same uncertainty. “Anyway, we’d better get going. You have that interview and I have my work, so we’ll see each other again later after, alright?”

“Yes, sure! That would be spectacular!” He’d actually hope he didn’t see her again later, not if it meant pretending to be Todomatsu for another round of cringe-worthy torture. But if that made Aida happy, he might. As long as he got a better hang of his little masquerade, then maybe he might offer her the opportunity.

It just needed to be at the extent that he would receive no beating once the day was over.

“Great. See you later...Todomatsu.”

Crap, what was with that hesitation? No, it couldn’t be. But the way she was so casually leaving, preparing to get inside...

He had to make up for it now, or else he was to expect an entire army against him and his feeble-sighted efforts! He shouldn’t let her leave with whatever impression crept beneath that hesitant farewell! No, he wouldn’t allow that! If anyone was ever to question any person involved in this mess, then it would be Karamatsu! So no, Aida-chan! You would not walk away with a remark hanging on your lips that left judgement over Karamatsu’s hapless impersonation of their darling star of hope!

“Aida-chan!” Karamatsu called out, grabbing her wrist before she could enter completely, and bringing Todomatsu’s phone out of his pocket. “Sorry for startling you, but, would it be alright if I got a picture with you? You know, before perquisite or calamity?”

Aida shot him a look, and Karamatsu winced internally, wanting to slap himself with the force of a Titan to a mosquito. Shoot, watch your choice of words, you stupid, second eldest! Todomatsu would never speak like that—he calls it out for how painful it was! You will ruin everything if you try that again, you crap!

“Sure, I don’t mind,” Aida said, settling herself by Karamatsu’s chest, her spinal cord parallel to where his heart reverberated in his chest in a wild, twister of patterns. He had a girl leaning against his body. A girl. Was this what it felt whenever Todomatsu hung out with them? This closeness, this wonderful emotion that made him want to laugh and cry at once? It had to be. It just had to be.

Suffering from his unbridled, unexplainable joy, Karamatsu lifted the phone above their heads, his thumb sliding against the selfie option of their camera. And when the camera flipped, he saw Aida and himself on the screen, the girl raising her peace sign with a smile, waiting for Karamatsu to do the same. But he stared at himself in his reflection, reading through the curves of his features and where he was going wrong. And it saddened him, when he looked at himself with the acumen of exposure.

He looked nothing like Todomatsu.

Because unlike Todomatsu, who wore a smile because it was part of him, Karamatsu wore his so he could be him.

But he had to remember: this smile wasn’t for nothing. It was for Todomatsu too. It wasn’t a selfish desire that had brought him into this spot, this tight corner, this unpredicted catastrophe of self-humiliation. He was doing this so that Todomatsu had a better life, one he deserved, after he and the other four cowards elsewhere had ruined it.

So he smiled at the camera, and as that smile illuminated his features, a small sense of the Totty he loved as his little brother and once best friend filled his face. His spirits left their corpse-like slump on the ground. “Say cheese, Aida,” he coaxed, his voice not leaving its lightness.

“Cheese!” Aida said, getting her peace sign into a good position, and as Karamatsu did the same, he snapped their picture.

The output was cute, he had to admit. Though the way his hands were positioned had added exaggeration than what Todomatsu would normally have in a casual photo with one of Sutabaa’s infamous baristas, this was still an image convincing enough to fool an outsider who knew nothing about their miracle of six same faces. Or Iyami.

“Alright! See you later, Todomatsu. Good luck with your interview. Just take a turn to that door at the left, and I believe the manager will be waiting for you.”

“Okay, thanks, Aida! I’ll see you as well!”

With that, Aida and Karamatsu exchanged a few waves, and Aida was out of his view as she let herself in before him, vanishing with her grace behind the employees door of the shop, her figure still leaving an imprint in his retinas.

But he shook it off. Entering himself, Karamatsu followed her direction and went towards the meeting door she indicated, stopping in front of it and taking a deep breath. This was for his brother, for Todomatsu who was sick in bed and unable to come. He needed to make this right, and beyond everything else, natural. So without further stalling he was knocking twice before pushing it open hesitantly.

When it was open, he let himself in, and bowing down, he announced, “Good afternoon! My name is Todomatsu Matsuno, and I am applying for a job here!”

Who must’ve been the manager sat up, eyebrows shooting upwards under his glasses. “Ah, Matsuno-kun! You’re here! Welcome! Please, take a seat.”

He indicated to the one in front of him, and Karamatsu followed his order and sat. Inhaling, the scent of coffee saturated his lungs, and the hunger he had that didn’t even know existed let itself be known as a tremor sounded under his blue suit. But praise the gods, it was silent enough for a pass. He had to do this. Todomatsu, his lifeline depended on what Karamatsu said in this one-one-one speech. He had to approach this correctly without error. He had this. Or didn’t he?

“So, I guess we already know each other, since you’ve been here before,” the manager said, arranging a set of papers by clicking their edges against the wooden surface of the table. “But it has been long enough, so how have you been? What have you been up to?”

Okay, so he wasn’t pissed. That was good. Luckily being absent from the mixer’s horrific presentation was enough to keep his perception on the youngest Matsuno well enough that anger wasn’t a visible option for him. Case in point: visible. Any anger or rage was easy to hide behind a mask of a smile, a knife easy to assume as close by and prepared for its session of stabbing. When it came to Akatsuka Ward, knives weren’t for chopping tasty or delicious portions for any lovely course. It was for chopping distasteful NEETs like them.

Thanks, Ichimatsu.

“Ah, I’ve been very well, thank you,” Karamatsu replied, stretching the muscles that wanted to pull up a whimper into a broad, toothy smile. “It has been quite some time. How have you been?”

“Great, really. Thanks for asking.” Interlocking his fingers, the manager rested his chin on them as he straightened his gaze collateral to Karamatsu’s. “I remember that article you once mentioned about the firefighter and the maiden. Thought I forgot about that? Nah, it was too iconic for the mind to sweep away so easily, Matsuno-kun. That was how funny it was! You do still laugh about that experience, don’t you?”

Karamatsu laughed out loud, and the manager flinched at the unpredicted. “Of course! I’m laughing right now! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!”

You’re messing this up, Karamatsu, you idiot! Don’t laugh like the lunatic you are! You will massacre all of the chances granted for your brother’s probable forthcoming! Quit breaking Todomatsu’s person and show the decency he would when faced with the challenge of real-time communication!

Crap, Todomatsu! You stupid lovable little pice of garbage, why oh why do you need to be the type to camouflage so many secrets from your dear older brothers?! You bring tears to this gullible fool, wanting out of your social status but resumes the struggle just for you! You are loved, little star of hope! And in love comes the infamous, one-lettered word called trust! And by hiding your soul away, you—

“Heh, a bit excessive there, Matsuno-kun,” the manager observed, the waver in his grin a strong symptom to Karamatsu’s fiasco.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m just very thrilled to be here again!” Karamatsu amended. “Please go on. I won’t interrupt you if it means the interview gets postponed.”

The manager dipped his chin, not commenting any further.

Nice. Do more of that and do less of you, Shittymatsu.

“Alright then.” The manager cleared his throat, picking up a pen from the table and clinking it against the papers. “So, I just want to tell you that there are things I would no longer ask, since information regarding your background and education was already accounted for during your first interview under the Sutabaa name. This won’t be a long interview, Matsuno-kun. Just enough for us to decide over your return or permanent departure.”

Karamatsu sweat-dropped. “Oh, sure. That’ll be fine.”

It was now or never.

“Okay then. We’ll begin now.” The manager pressed the pen’s black tip to the paper, marking it with an inky dot. “I bet you recall crystal clear how you lost your job in the first place, Matsuno-kun. How about you remind me of the situation, and follow it with what you might be able to do to repent for the trouble.”

“Eh-heh, of course, sir.” Karamatsu cleared his own throat, summoning up the memory of the situation and picturing it with Todomatsu’s young, victimized eyes.

(But with his undeniable lack of backbone to keep all senses straight and alert, he had lost control over his own, painful words. And he was so naive, so stupid, to have missed it. Darn Shittymatsu, that’s what he was)

“It all began because of the mixer. I made the mistake of abandoning my brothers because of it when Sutabaa’s special glowing girls had gifted me with their invitation. Therefore I made myself look my best in front of them, that was until your doors were opened and my kin of older brothers summoned themselves in our divine territory. They were rather disgruntled with my behavior, and all my efforts to rid them from your wonderful establishment resulted in the turning of tables. Almost literally, as I might say so myself, since we were all so caught up in Matsuno shenanigans that resulted in spilt drinks and traumatized patrons. Sad to say, the mixer was almost as unfortunate, as humiliation had produced scowls and dusted trust. Aida-san and Sachiko-san were quick to strip me of my job the day following.”

The manager nodded, a cringe in his posture at Karamatsu’s theatrical choice of words. “I see you recall the experience as if you had taken it to heart. You sounded like you were out of a stage play, Matsuno-kun.”

Karamatsu blanched, his own blunder dawning on him. “Ah, yeah! It’s an experience that makes a mark on my person!” he alibied gaily.

“And for the repenting?” the manager asked, clicking the end of his pen as he prepared a paper. “What are your plans specifically, and how could you say that those contributions of yours would better the ratings of our business?”

Karamatsu gave himself a few seconds to think. Digging deep in the vault of his memories, Karamatsu pressed on imagining anything that Todomatsu might’ve done that related closely with coffee or anything that could better the antes of the Sutabaa chain. But each option that sprouted to mind gave Karamatsu difficulty, because why won’t it, really. How was tapping on a phone screen nor running some lame puns with Osomatsu going to help in any way?

Shoot, when was the last time Todomatsu even made them coffee? The only person who had come close to trying that had been Jyushimatsu, and Ichimatsu had been confined for three days straight out of food poisoning. So really, what contribution whatsoever would Todomatsu have? Basically nothing, as Karamatsu recalled. But for this interview to work, he had to use what he knew and warp around it.

“I’m skilled in promoting, if that’s what you need,” Karamatsu improvised, Todomatsu’s smartphone in mind. “Since I was gone I had a lot of friends on social media, and I’ve discovered a lot of new ways that could help with marketing. Promotional posters, digital editing, and brochures! I can make the products of Sutabaa stand out more than they normally would!”

“Hmm, I see.” The manager wrote down, and Karamatsu’s anxieties tingled. “Are you describing this as a part-time thing to working as a cashier? Because last time, that was your main job, wasn’t it? And to be a cashier was what Aida had mentioned when she stated that you wanted to reclaim your job here. Am I right?”

“Yes, sir. One-hundred percent.” Heh, if he was wrong about that, then Todomatsu’s career was over. He wished he was right.

“But what of your cashier skills, Matsuno-kun? How much in terms of skills would you say your improvement is? When you still had the job, you were a solid employee with proper manners and the right choice of speech, making our customers feel welcome. Would you say that you graduated into someone better than then? Or are you the same, and want to focus more on marketing than counting money and taking orders this time? Because it would contradict the information on my papers.”

“Uhh...” Karamatsu tugged lightly on his collar, gulping. Save Todomatsu. Save Todomatsu. “Naturally, I’d wish to continue my status working as a cashier. But your question revolved around what more my contributions would offer when it came to the establishment. That’s why I mentioned the marketing. It was merely a suggestion around my part. But if I was to resume as a cashier entirely, then I won’t fight against it. I would be happy with whatever job you offered me.”

The manager eyed him for a bit, the tension killing Karamatsu that it made his nape sweat. The manager then nodded, sold, writing the information down. “Alright. That’s good confirmation.”

Bingo. Nice save.

“So correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems like over time you have turned more adaptable than before. Would you think that’s the case for you?”

Was Todomatsu flexible? No, he was far from it. Todomatsu would never bother waiting for the shampoo at the bathhouse and snag a bottle none of them knew he ever brought with him. He was impatient when it came to his brothers, and very short-tempered when things didn’t flow like the rivers he dwelled in. So no, Todomatsu wasn’t adaptable. He was obdurate, and it was annoying.

But he was making Todomatsu look good here.

“Yes, I am,” Karamatsu lied, smile saccharine. “So if I needed my job here doubled in terms of stress or hard work, then I would be happy to oblige. Being an employee in Sutabaa really was something that I loved dearly, and to be able to comply with any requirement would make me very much grateful. That is, if you brought me back. Then I would go straight to business and work myself to my very core. That’s how much I love it here!”

Which was in fact, the truth. Todomatsu’s love for being in the Sutabaa was stronger, and could surpass any of Karamatsu’s lies by millions and billions of kilometers.

“Hmm, alright. I’ll keep that in mind.” The manager jotted down. “How about your pay? Are there any expectations for you when it comes to the income you will receive from working here?”

Karamatsu went rigid. “Pardon?”

“How much do you aspire to earn?” the manager clarified. “From your salary last time, do you expect to earn twice as much if you did multiple jobs, or are you going to be satisfied with the same amount as before? Or less? And no matter what answer, how much would it be, and what would justify it?”

Oh Cod, why. Why, why, why. Todomatsu never mentioned how much he ever earned working in this dumb establishment ever! And without experience whatsoever with this kind of stuff, how on earth was Karamatsu supposed to know?! He’d be making numbers that didn’t even exist at all on the number line! What was supposed to be the answer to this gosh-darn question if he had never even heard of these kinds of questions since the day his baby form came into reality?!

This was it. He was dead. Deader than a decayed corpse or an animal rolled over on desert roads. He was so, so dead.

“Since I was here before, I was surely satisfied enough with the pay I earned,” Karamatsu replied cautiously, “so I wouldn’t be surprised if you decided to give me the same amount. Most especially since I would—without a doubt—be receiving extra monitoring due to the impression I last left, even if the job was doubled. With that, it shouldn’t be a startle if a few of the workers were weary of me, and I’d accept that. So the money would easily follow the flow of that behavior.”

“Hm. Continue.” He was writing again.

“Not that I would get two jobs when it came to Sutabaa at all, it’s not a priority to extend the marketing. For me now, it’s just to get to work at the cashier again, to reclaim my old position. But when it comes to money—because of the establishment and name that Sutabaa has made for itself, one of the most important things I’d hope from it is honesty and a fair game when it comes to distributing my salary. No bias, but judgement based on my efforts and the way I had attracted patrons into the department. Plenty of agencies in the present are culprits of fraudulent funding, and I believe that Sutabaa follows none of that outlandish conduct. Therefore when it comes to my pay, I wish it to be the amount equivalent to what I have produced for you.”

“Which is?”

“Ah-Ah...” Dang, he was doing so well, he thought. He had no specifics in mind—what was he to say? He blubbered out, “T-The one...before...?”

The manager stared at him. Karamatsu stared back. The terrifying staring contest was getting unbearable, with a smile and the connection of eyes making Karamatsu want to just break away and crumble from insanity. He couldn’t take it anymore. He just couldn’t, he wanted to go home, to crash onto the roof and sing a soliloquy of his own pain and sorrow for the world to hear! He could bear no more of the coffee drifting in the air like a stab to the gut, a spear to the heart, a sword through the spi—

“Have you had any other jobs following the first one here, Matsuno-kun?” the manager asked, already glanced down over his papers again.

“Oh, I haven’t, sir.” There was under the Flag Corporation that one time, and that other thing when he switched with his brothers. But would those really be called jobs? Karamatsu didn’t think so.

“Okay. One more question, Matsuno-kun. What are your opinions on simplicity? Simplicity in a sense that you start small before evolving? Like, a chrysalis before it becomes a butterfly? That kind of evolution on simplicity.”

He couldn’t help it this time.

(Now, here’s the deal: Karamatsu was just plain dumb. Because any smart person would ask why a question like that was necessary at all, especially when it came to working at a cashier for a coffee shop, but this lunatic of a man went straight to standing and posing his arms like he were Romeo might he have broken his back while hunting for Juliet in a poor man’s excuse of a garage)

“The butterfly effect! Oh, how a concept like that just warms my heart!” Karamatsu extolled. “I do believe that simplicity goes in many ways! Plenty of opportunities might blossom like a rose, the sun strike it at the right moment, sending the rose into a mainstream for attention as a result of its beauty! But woe is the past, dreadful and sorrowful for what it contains, when it tears the heart and ruins the soul of its hopes and dreams! The rose, that poor rose, so bundled in its misery, to sit until its last few seconds, ready to fall into despair!

“Then the sun, that glorious sun! Oh, it was the rose’s guardian angel, sending it a spirit for life and the will to fight forward! Oh, and it would now attract all the butterflies that followed a path so similar to it’s! Yes, the simplicity of life’s evolution is a concept to be shared to all ages for the will to fight when life’s chains wish to drag you down! Yes, simplicity is a concept that as it mentions, is simple. And yes, simplicity is a perfect, perfect thing that—!”

“Alright, thank you for your time, Matsuno-kun.” The manager stood up and walked to the other side of the table, standing next to Karamatsu. His smile was anything but sweet, but an amalgamation of horrified, baffled, surprised, and furious. “We’ll send you a call if you get the job or not. Let me lead you out.”

He did, and when Karamatsu was at the other side of the door, he said, “See you then, Matsuno-kun! Have a nice day!” And he slammed the door shut.

Karamatsu stood there.

“Totty?”

Oops, that was Aida from somewhere in the shop he didn’t want to turn towards as his anxiety flopped and flipped and cartwheeled inside him. Nope, he didn’t hear her. And because he didn’t, he dashed out of the shop with speed faster than lightning and ran until the coffee establishment was nothing but a diorama behind him.

Todomatsu was going to kill him.

~~~

One week later...

“Okay, thank you.” Todomatsu lowered the receiver and returned to the main living room, expressionless, mouth a tiny line of nothing on his face.

“Hm? Who might that be, my brother?” Karamatsu asked, glancing up from his mirror.

“Sutabaa.”

Karamatsu immediately sat up with tension freezing his body to its very core. “Y-Yes? What did they say?”

“I have a job.”

Karamatsu’s heart fluttered, and he broke into a wide smile as his eyes shined with starlight. “Oh, my brother! I am so glad you managed to score a position in Sutabaa once more! Thank goodness of your good fortune, your luck be blessed by Akatsuka-Sensei himself! To return as the cashier was what you have wan—!”

“I have a job as a janitor.”

Karamatsu’s smile melted. “Ah, you...Eh?”

Todomatsu’s blank gaze swept over to him. “You turned me into a janitor.”

“I, uh...” Clearing his throat, Karamatsu put down his mirror. A thousand words wanted out for the sake of explanation, but none left him as he tried deciding if he should be apologetic or terrified. Maybe the right answer to this was that he be both. He had been the one to decide the fate of his brother after all, so if it meant feeling both of those things at once, then so be it.

Karamatsu laughed nervously. “You...You still have a job though?” he pointed out hesitantly.

Todomatsu stared down at him without anything in his eyes. “I’ll burn one of your clothes combinations,” he decided.

“A-Ah...! Oh...But would you still care for me if I was sick?” Karamatsu asked.

At first, Todomatsu didn’t say anything at all. Then putting his fingers to his mouth, Todomatsu made a dog whistle.

At first Karamatsu had no idea what that was for, when suddenly Ichimatsu leapt out of nowhere with a feral cat screech, grabbed Karamatsu’s mirror, and slammed it across Karamatsu’s face. Luckily it wasn’t strong enough for the glass to break, but it was enough to leave a burned mark on Karamatsu’s face as he reeled back onto the floor from the force of Ichimatsu’s slam.

Crashing onto the floor and clutching his cheek, Karamatsu doubled over with a yelp and a whimper, a sound of suffocation faintly stuck in his throat. Putting a hand to his cheek, there might’ve been a small wound that bled, now that he touched his face, and it hurt like...It hurt. It really, really hurt.

Karamatsu whimpered.

“I’ll fix that wound up for you, I’ll burn one of your clothes combinations. Can we be even then?” Todomatsu deadpanned, grabbing the mirror from the ‘claw’ of Ichimatsu’s hissing form, and tossed the mirror back onto the table.

“Yeah, that’ll be fine,” Karamatsu rasped.

So Todomatsu’s reputation was secured. As were his clothes.

Partly. Only partly.

[etraytin]

Quarantine, Day 154

August 12

LOL my computer won't show me my pin login screen unless I press the soft boot keys first, that's not a bad sign, is it? 

Anyway, another day of entirely kittens! Three hour feeds means breakfast starts at 6am, bright and early! Second breakfast rolls out around 9, just in time for a nice lunch at noon. Second lunch is at 3pm, followed by early bird dinner at six. Fashionably late dinner (attended by all the same diners, of course) is at 9pm, then we all have a midnight snack that is in fact a full meal. A 3am top-up finishes the day's menu, and everybody gets one more nap before breakfast. Whew! In the middle of this, the weanlings also get fed on their own, slightly less rigid schedule consisting of "We have finished the food, human! What the hell are you playing at?" 

The good news is that eight daily feedings are paying off in terms of baby weight gain. All of the teenies are up by at least 20g over yesterday, which is an excellent daily gain equivalent to the weight of about four US quarters. Given that they were very underweight to start with, rapid gain and good suckling are very encouraging signs. Orphan kittens always have a tough row to hoe and things could go wrong, but it's a great start. They also have names nowI I ran the two sets of names by the coordinator and she okayed the Harper Hall set, woo-hoo! Without further ado (or photo editing to make these pics smaller because I am exhausted), meet the Harpers! 

First off is Menolly, of course. She is white and black with a mostly white body and a white blaze on her face (her first given name for my notebook was "Stripe"). Menolly is the smallest of the kittens by just a few grams and earned her name by being the loudest and most energetic yeller by an order of magnitude. She always gets fed first, because she is apparently always STARVING. Menolly was also the first kitten to escape her bin; I found her snuggled up next to Audiva this morning and had to put binder clips on the towel cover. 

Next is Audiva, the other female, and much less obvious of a naming choice. If she'd been bigger or louder she might have been Silvinia, but she's pretty laid back and mostly enjoys snuggling in with her stuffed puppy fake mama and sleeping on her back. (She was "Dot" to start with, because she has one black spot on her back and the white stripe on her face wraps around her ear to make the black spot a round dot.) 

Sebell has facial markings that are not dissimilar from Menolly's, but where her body is mostly white, his is tuxie black. (He was "Blaze" to start with becausse of the white blaze up his face and chest.) Sebell just about gave me a goddamned heart attack this afternoon by not only slipping out of his bin but leaving the bins entirely and going a few feet away to a place where I could easily have stepped on him. I like to think I would've noticed him before I did, but luckily the kiddo was with me and quickly pointed out the wanderer. Yikes! There is such a thing as living up too much to your name, journeyman. 

The final kitten is Robinton, the biggest and most distinguished of the kittens thanks to his handsome white mustache! (He was "Stashy" in the book for obvious reasons.) Robinton is possibly the most businesslike kitten I have ever encountered. When I pick him up he pees and usually poos as well, lets himself be wiped up, then latches onto the bottle like it's going out of style. He's gained 30g already and has a handsome portly tummy to go with his handsome face.

  The little kittens did well today, but Zuko lost some weight and I'm not sure why. I'm hoping the tick we pulled off him isn't making him sick a few days later. I penned him up with some food to make sure he'd get enough, but all he did was cry, so I pulled him out, snuggled him, and then syringe fed him meat mush through a luer lock with no tip in it. It was messy work, but he ate some! I'm going to keep on keeping an eye on him, but he's certainly been very active. The others are all gaining well and eating well. The kiddo has been spending a lot of time taking Aang into his room and playing with him whenever I say he can. It's probably just as well if these kittens depart this weekend; we cannot get another cat if we want to keep fostering and I don't want him to get his little heart broken when it's time to say goodbye. 

In non-heartbreaking news, I proved my Minecraft chops and general motherly acumen today when I fixed the kiddo's bugged game by successfully typing /gamemode creative into the text window in the very few seconds between respawn and death after the kiddo accidentally redrew the borders of the world to exclude the place where he was. He'd been getting a little wound up worrying about it but all's well that ends well, and I showed him how to back up his game to prevent future disasters from being ruinous. It's funny because I remember back when he was maybe two or three years old and my motion sickness wasn't so acute, he'd like to sit on the arm of my recliner and watch me play Minecraft. It was fun, but it added difficulty because he unconditionally refused to let me kill the cute animals for food or materials. Suffice it to say he has gotten over that qualm and is now a first rate hunter and farmer. 

The only other real thing of note today was our trip to the thrift store. The thrift store was closed for many months during the pandemic, and we've only been back a couple times since they opened despite it being one of my favorite places. Today's trip was ostensibly for the purpose of acquiring suitable fake mama animals for when the teenies inevitably pee or poop on the ones they have, but we found many other goodies as well. They put all their pet, garden and summer stuff on half price sale, so I got a Topsy Turvy planter for a buck, a couple of blue ice cooler packs for less than a dollar each, and a really startlingly nice crate-style cage for small animals for just three dollars. I am betting it was probably 40 at the store and it looked new, so I'm very pleased. We're always looking for crates for transfering kittens or friendly ferals without taking up our scarce box traps! I also got six or seven appropriately sized stuffed animals for the non-hypothetical kittens. 

The kiddo got into a bin of 50 cent electronics toys with no batteries, sold take-your-chances style, and got a little ray gun, two Perry the Platypus walkie-talkies, and a bluetooth speaker. Everything but the gun worked, so it was a heck of a good deal even though he did wind up getting his finger stuck in the ray gun while disassembling it and needing a good spritz of cooking spray to release him. My best find was probably the nonstick Pampered Chef two-handled skillet in great shape for five bucks. I couldn't find the exact pan online because it's probably older, but I don't think PC sells any pans for less than like 100 bucks, so I was quite pleased. It's a great size for omelettes, stir fry, eggs, whatever. Every time I move, I have to go through and get rid of most of my pans, and every time I settle down again, I rebuild my collection. It's the circle of life! 

[degenerate-perturbation]

Chapters: 3/? Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe Additional Tags: Established Relationship Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one who was shackled next to you? What do you have in common, save for the chains that bound you both?

Yvanne didn’t remember what she had gone to Amaranthine for, afterward. Somebody had needed something from the city market. Anders, maybe? He’d been there. Loriel hadn’t come, due to some pressing meeting or another, but that was fine. When they’d first straightened things out between them, and for months after that, they’d been joined at the hip, awash with new-old feelings, but that had been then. They were hardly a brand-new couple unable to stand a moment apart now . It should have been fine.

She hadn’t been expecting to see a familiar face.

Yvanne caught sight of Wynne too late to avoid her, and too early to just walk past her. Worse, Wynne had spotted her, too, at almost the same moment.

“Amell,” the old woman said by way of greeting. “How nice to see you well.”

If Loriel had been here she would have smiled pleasantly and talked to Wynne about nothing whatsoever, maybe offered to do her a favor, and the conversation would have ended with everyone feeling a little bit better about themselves. And probably later Yvanne would have made some kind of snotty comment and Loriel might have rolled her eyes, or maybe snickered in guilty agreement, or just put an arm around her waist as she grumbled.

But Loriel wasn’t there, and Yvanne had to face Wynne alone.

“Right,” Yvanne said. “How nice.”

During the Blight, she had resented Wynne’s presence with their group. She had tolerated it only because Loriel had insisted they needed every hand they could get, and anyway Yvanne knew her own skills as a healer were nothing compared to a senior mage’s. Probably they still weren’t—Yvanne had spent less time pursuing spirit healing in the past year than she had on playing at being a swordswoman. And she wasn’t much good at that, either.

Wynne had made a brief overture at rekindling that relationship, an overture which Yvanne was quick to crush. Having had it made abundantly clear to her that Yvanne would not be tolerating her input on anything she did, Wynne had refocused to Loriel. Loriel was a much better student, it was true. She had smiled and nodded and agreed entirely with everything Wynne advised, and then ignored all of it to do what she wanted instead.

Yvanne had hated her so much, for so long.

In her teenage memory Wynne was worse than the Templars. She’d collaborated. She’d made excuses and agreed with their hateful lies and tacitly allowed it all to happen. Yvanne had seen her treat people who’d been beaten, people who’d been whipped, who’d been raped. Seen her saying nothing, like it was alright, like it was fine. She’d hated her complicity, hated her kind voice, hated her patience, hated how she’d tried to be Yvanne’s mother when Yvanne had never had one and had never wanted one, anyway.

She hated that in a weak and watery sort of way, she almost could have loved her.

She hated that looking at her now, just a little older, just a little more tired—Yvanne didn’t hate her anymore.

Where had the hatred gone? She searched for the raw and bleeding center of venom and rage, and yes, it was still there, perhaps it would never go away, but for now it was dormant.  When had it left her, so bereft and without direction? During the Blight, when she’d first sorted things out with Loriel? No. Not then. Not the night after, either, or the one after that. But somehow, little by little, she had changed.

Now when she looked at the old woman, she felt only a vague and piercing sadness and regret that it hadn’t been different.

Before she could stop herself, Yvanne’s lips were moving. “I—uhm. Would you maybe—would you maybe like to get a drink?” she said, hardly believing the words coming out of her mouth. “And you can tell me how you’ve been. And I know you like wine. And the Crown and Lion is nearby.”

Yvanne at least had the satisfaction of catching the old woman off guard. “Well,” Wynne said, “I must say, I wasn’t expecting that. And truth be told, I don’t have much time…” Yvanne’s heart seized with relief and disappointment, “…but perhaps I can make some, for you.”

Her stomach clenched. “Right. Okay.” She glanced round for Anders but he was nowhere to be found. She’d last seen him speaking with an elven woman she didn’t recognize. This, too, brought relief and disappointment. She’d be doing this by herself. “This way, then.”

The Crown and Lion was just loud and crowded enough to disappear in, but still warm and bright to not cloy. They sat. Wynne took wine. Yvanne took something bright blue and caustic that tasted like fire and ice at the same time. It didn’t do much to calm her nerves, but it did seem to do something.

They talked of nearly nothing at all. Wynne asked after Loriel. Yvanne said she was fine. She told her Anders was a Warden now. Wynne asked how he was, in a tone of faint disapproval. Yvanne said he was fine, too. She mentioned about Oghren also being a Warden now. How nice that was, Wynne said, sounding almost but not quite sincere.

And it was utterly vacuous, and very nearly not so horrible, until Wynne seemed to forget completely who she was speaking to.

“Have you considered at all,” Wynne said, “returning to the Circle?”

At first Yvanne didn’t understand her. Surely nobody could say something so insane on purpose. “What? No. Why in the void would I do that?”

“To help rebuild,” Wynne said. “After what happened, things are—well, not ideal. Every pair of talented hands helps.”

“I’ll kill myself before I ever go back to a Circle,” Yvanne said, and drank the rest of whatever was in her mug.

“I see,” Wynne said crisply. “Well, I suppose not everything can change at once.”

“It won’t change at all,” Yvanne said. “Ever.”

“Of course you think so now, dear. No matter. I’ve said my piece.”

A number of responses sprung to Yvanne’s mind, each more awful than the last. She rose slightly to spit out one or the other, the motion coming as easily as breathing, but at just as soon, they died on her lips. She thought about relating the whole incident to Loriel later, and how disappointed she’d be, how she’d pretend that she wasn’t but still sigh and look away from her.

“Fine,” Yvanne bit out instead. “It doesn’t matter.”

Wynne sensed that the truce was coming to its natural conclusion. “But as I said,” she said, “I don’t have very much time. I am on my way to Cumberland, for the convening of the College of the Magi, and my colleague is missing.”

“Well! That sounds like a whole lot of none of my business,” Yvanne said cheerily, wondering if she ought to order a third one of whatever it was she’d just drunk.

“On the contrary,” said Wynne, “It is very much your business. You are still a mage, and the legal affairs of mages concern you. The Libertarians are voting to break away from the Chantry entirely.”

Yvanne snorted. “Yeah, I’ll bet they’ll achieve lots that way. Let’s just vote our troubles away! That’ll work!”

“If the vote goes through, we may have a disaster on our hands.” Wynne looked steadily at her. “You truly care not at all?”

“I truly care not at all.”

“Then what do you care about, I wonder?”

Yvanne wasn’t about to answer that. “I hope the vote does go through and I hope there is a huge disaster,” she said. “And I’m not a mage, I’m the Warden-Lieutenant. This was a bad idea, and I’m done talking to you now. Goodbye.”

She stood up, rattling the chair so hard that it fell to the flagstones with a clatter. She started to stomp away, but not fast enough.

“Hmph. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. At this rate it’s a matter of when disaster strikes, not if.” Wynne said, ostensibly to herself—but just loud enough.

Yvanne turned. “ What did you say?”

Wynne shook her head. “It was clear to me even during the Blight. If, as you say, you are the Warden-Lieutenant, then Warden you must be—but to be a Warden is to put duty above anything else. Loriel understands duty, but you do not. You have changed very little since you were a child. I had hoped she would be good for you, but you remain as selfish and impulsive as ever. I fear very much what your relationship with Loriel will bring to her, to you, and to everyone around you. Your actions will reflect on all mages, mark my words.”

Yvanne burned. “You’re a horrible mean old woman and you don’t have anything to teach me, and you’re wrong about—about all of that! To the void with you!”

She came away blistering, humiliated, feeling stupid for having ever had a single tender feeling towards Wynne, or the Warden recruits, or anyone, or anything.

—

“Oh, thank goodness, you’re back, I wanted to—you’re upset. What’s upsetting you?” Loriel stopped up short, tilting her head.

“I’m not upset. Nothing’s upsetting me. Quit worrying.” Yvanne closed the door behind her, tapping her foot. It had been late when she’d come back to the Keep, and she’d gone to her and Loriel’s chambers, expecting to at least be able to sink into a warm bed, but Loriel hadn’t been there. She’d been in the Warden-Commander’s study, her eyes drooping over a scattered bunch of parchments.

Loriel placed her knuckles on her cheek, blinking slowly.

“Alright,” said Yvanne. “I ran into Wynne.”

“Oh. How is she doing?”

“I don’t know. She’s fine. She’s going to some College of the Magi thing in Cumberland, or something.”

Loriel sat up straighter. “They’re convening? Over what?”

“I think the Libertarians are voting to secede from the Chantry. Something like that. Who cares! That’s not the important part.”

“It’s not? Then what’s the important part?” Loriel furrowed her brows. “I would think that an attempt to leave the Chantry would be extremely important.”

Yvanne didn’t seem to have heard her, pacing feverishly. “She said—well, all sorts of things—and she had this expression on her face, like—sure, other people looked at me like that, but Wynne didn’t used to. I hate her! Maker, even when I make an effort, it never matters.”

“But what did she say?”

When disaster strikes, not if—changed very little—selfish, impulsive—

“I don’t really remember,” Yvanne said. She ran out of steam and collapsed at the desk, burying her head in her hands. “It’s not important.”

“Okay,” Loriel agreed. “It’s not important.”

She felt Loriel’s hands on her weary shoulders. “So what is important?”

“What’s important is,” Yvanne said fiercely, “is that I love you.” She lifted her head to kiss her fully. She stood— selfish— she wrapped her arms around her, and she felt so easy and familiar and perfectly correct— what do you care about, I wonder?— Loriel made a hungry noise in the back of her throat,  and she fisted her hands in her hair, hoping somehow to kiss her hard enough to scrub the afternoon's events off her skin.

The door opened. They broke off.

Anders waved. “Sorry to interrupt. I’ve got something sort of important to tell you about.”

—

The three of them sat in the Warden-Commander’s office, on the floor in a loose circle. The door was locked, barred, spelled shut. Loriel had insisted.

“This could be big,” Yvanne said.

“It could be a big trap,” Loriel said. “Like when we went after Jowan’s phylactery. Remember that?”

“But that ended out alright, didn’t it?”

“All I’m saying is it’s an opportunity,” Anders said.

“Loriel,” Yvanne said, “they might have ours there, too. Anders said they moved the whole cache. If it really is still there…”

“I know. I know, Yvanne.” If she could get Yvanne’s phylactery, her own phylactery, that would be it. The last thread severed. Not total safety, never total, but much closer to it.

She bit her lip. “Maybe…maybe there’s another way. I could write to the Circle, as Warden-Commander. Demand the phylacteries for Warden business. I’m not sure if it’s legal, but it might be. I could look in the codes. Even if it’s not, I have influence…”

“And if they refuse?” Yvanne insisted. “It took the king’s authority to even get Anders recruited. Hell, both his and mine recruitments were carried out over loud objections. They’ll never let you have them.”

“If the Crown supports me, too, then—”

“You know he won’t.”

Loriel fell silent. She did know.

“Look,” said Anders, raising his hands, palms up, “forget I said anything. Don’t worry about it. I’m a big scary mage, you know. Just give me official, Commander-y leave, and I’ll go alone. Anything goes tits-up, it’ll be on me. But if we don’t do it now they might not be there tomorrow.”

“Absolutely not,” Loriel said at once. “I couldn’t possibly allow it.”

“What?” Yvanne said, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but also like it was exactly what she expected. “How can you say that? Loriel, if there’s any chance at all—”

“I mean,” Loriel said wearily, “I couldn’t possibly allow him to go alone.” Not so long ago, she would have said that she was doing this for Yvanne, only for Yvanne, and hang the rest of them. And it would have been true. She wished it still was.

She sighed. “No. We go together.”

"I—really? I mean, great!" A smile cracked across his face, bright and sunny and ridiculous. He swept them both up in a grateful hug, then hastily backing off, still smiling. She told him to come back around midnight, and off he went.

"Thank you," Yvanne told her later, so seriously, so earnestly, as though there were anything to be grateful for. As though Yvanne wouldn’t have gone with her friend, even if Loriel had attempted to forbid it. As though she was doing for just for her in the first place.

—

Her mistake was in not bringing anybody else.

She’d thought about it, very carefully. Oghren almost would have worked, even if that did mean subjecting Loriel to the journey to Amaranthine in the company of Yvanne, Anders, and Oghren all trading jests, trying to out-do each other in overt horribleness. That by itself would have been acceptable, but could the old warrior be trusted to keep quiet about this? She didn’t doubt his loyalty, but supposing he got drunk, and he was always drunk, and let something slip, and something got back to the wrong person, and the whole legitimacy of Loriel’s command fell to shambles as everyone together remembered what she was?

Velanna was a mage herself, and as much at risk as any of them. She couldn’t ask her. Nathaniel Howe, for all his posturing, would follow orders, she was sure of it. But he was a human nobleman, or he had been. He knew the Chant. She had no reason to believe he didn’t believe it was all true, all the parts about magic.  What would he think of his Commander, if he found out she was willing to defy the Chantry, to shake off that yoke? No, she couldn’t trust him.

She could have trusted Sigrun—what did casteless dwarves care for surface mores about magic?—but Loriel hated to put the Legionnaire in any danger, when she was so void-bent on throwing herself into it all of the time. Of all the new recruits, she liked her best. Grey Warden duties were one thing, but this desperate attempt on the phylacteries was base fear, pure vanity. She couldn’t justify it. She couldn’t ask a good woman to do this for her. Not even for all three of them.

And so foolishly, they had gone alone.

They’d expected guards. When there weren’t any, Loriel should have known to turn everyone around. But she hadn’t.

Because she’d wanted the damn phylacteries. For herself. For Yvanne, too, and for Anders, but also for herself. It frightened her, how much she wanted it. She shouldn’t have wanted it, not this much.

The door wasn’t even locked. It had been so obvious.

The warehouse was dark inside. Yvanne lit a spirit-light, casting the space in a greenish hue, though it did not quite reach the corners. The wisp hovered in place, keeping near Yvanne like a child to its mother.

Loriel was thrown back to the day after her Harrowing. How afraid she’d been, how horrified. Had she been afraid? She must have been…but when she thought back to that journey, she found that she could hardly remember it. Only a few snatches of speech, a few fragmented images. She had been outside herself, a prisoner within herself watching events unfold against her will.

But she was not a prisoner now. And she was beginning to remember…

Loriel gripped her staff and gestured them forward to the next room, where the phylacteries would be.

But the warehouse was empty. Of course it was.

A heavy door slammed shut behind them.

A mundane orange light joined the ghostly green. There were heavy booted footsteps, the clank of plate armor.

“Stop right there.”

Loriel stopped. She turned. She adopted a pleasant smile.

“Ser Rylock,” she said, not missing a beat. “Should you not return to your post at Kinloch? Surely they will be needing your help with the rebuilding.”

Rylock’s hawkish gaze pierced her, but only for a moment. She looked through her, not at her. Loriel was an afterthought. “Warden-Commander,” she said by way of greeting, and nobody could miss the sardonic note in the way she spoke the title. “How unfortunate it is to see you. There is some unpleasant business my men and I must complete.”

Anders said something flippant, something rude. Loriel ignored it. This would be delicate.

“If this has anything to do with one of my men,” she said evenly, “then I am afraid the position of the Crown is against you. These Wardens are entirely under my jurisdiction.”

“As though your jurisdiction could mean anything,” said Rylock, and she said it not unkindly. She said it as though it was a mere fact of life, that Loriel was perhaps too dim to fully grasp. “In this, Chantry law supersedes that of the Crown.”

Loriel opened her mouth to say something else, but Rylock was through with talking.

Two Templars against three mages. No fair contest at all.

The first Smite was enough. It boiled the lyrium in her veins, set it flaming and freezing at once.  Loriel had never experienced it before. She lost awareness of everything but her body, all the magic ripped out of it. If Yvanne screamed, she didn’t hear her. She did not remember falling, but her cheek ground against the dirt floor, her shoulders trembling, no air in her lungs.

And that was it. Total incapacitation. Even if Loriel could have moved or thought fast enough through the haze of breathless pain, she had no mana, and neither did Yvanne, neither did Anders—he was as good as dead, and there was no telling what would happen to Yvanne.

She struggled to cast a spell, any spell, but it was like drawing water from a stone. She was cut off from the Fade.

How easy it was for them, how almost thoughtless. Why even wear armor? Just for show? They didn’t need it. Loriel was the greatest entropy mage Kinloch had seen in generations, the Hero of Ferelden, the Warden-Commander, the Arlessa of Amaranthine, and all of that was so much debris in a ditch. Right now she was an uppity robe who’d gotten above herself, being put back in her place. What did it matter, Commander? What did it matter, Arlessa? She was still just a mage.

One of the Templars stepped closer to her, nudging her with the side of his sabaton. She couldn’t see his face, but he’d drawn his sword. The naked blade was within her reach.

She thought fast, and acted faster. She grasped the blade hard. It bit into her skin—pain shot through her, bright and blooming and wonderfully welcome. They’d cut her from the Fade, but not from herself, not from her own native power.

With a thought, the man’s blood was boiling in his veins. He jerked, his blade cutting deeper into Loriel’s hand—unfortunate, how unfortunate for him, now all three of them were in her control, now all three of them were boiling in their blood.

They did not even scream, for they had not the control over their bodies to produce a scream. They were frozen place, helpless.

She lay in the dirt for a moment, all her concentration bent upon maintaining the spell. She forced herself to sit, then stand.

They stood there, twitching. She could feel them struggling against her, but any move they made would only hurt them worse. If their faces were contorted in pain, it was hidden by their helmets. But they were still alive.

It would need a deeper cut, less clumsy this time. Now, with the Smite beginning to wear off, Loriel’s hands were steady. This time the blood flowed smoothly, drip drip dripping on the dirt. This time she would have power enough.

She extended a hand, and crushed it into a fist. Three hearts collapsed at once, then three metal-shod bodies hit the ground. She felt them die when her control relinquished.

The Wardens, the former wards, were alone in the warehouse.

They were safe.

Loriel turned woozily to her companions. Yvanne seemed to be alright, although for some reason she couldn't quite see her face clearly. She hadn't been thinking of at all of her—or Anders—a moment ago when she'd been helpless on the dirt floor. She made a note to feel guilty about it later, when she didn't feel quite so lightheaded.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she meant to say, but somehow it came out as “M’sor…seethe…”

The world seemed to spin chaotically. Somehow she was on the ground again, but this time someone’s arms were around her. They looked awfully blurry, but Loriel would know Yvanne’s touch anywhere.

“Oh, Maker, you’re so pale…can you hear me? Loriel, love? I don’t have any lyrium on me—fuck, that was so much blood…”

“Here, I’ve got some.” The other voice. A moment later, the cool-water feeling of a healing spell. She shuddered. Pure spirit magic always felt strange to her.

Loriel’s heart still beat against her ribs like a caged bird, but things didn’t seem so blurry now. “I’m alright,” she assured. “We…we’ve got to get out of here. Now.” She tried to struggle up, and couldn’t quite make it. Yvanne lifted her, looping an arm around her waist, her fingers digging into her side. The Smite must have still been affecting her. Normally she was easily strong enough to take Loriel’s entire weight.

“Wait. We can’t leave. What are we going to do with the bodies?” Yvanne said. “Anyone would be able to tell it was blood magic.”

“Leave them to rot and whistle innocently anytime we pass by some guards?” Anders suggested.

Loriel said, “I know a spell…”

“Don’t you dare!” Yvanne said. “You’re already—” But before she could finish Loriel was murmuring an incantation. The bodies disintegrated within seconds, leaving bleached skeletons lost in their armor. Then even the bones turned to dust. Rust ate the armor, and that too collapsed into a reddish dust. An unnatural indoor wind blew, and even the dust scattered. No evidence that anyone had ever lived and died in this room remained. Loriel hadn’t become the best student of entropy magic in a hundred years for nothing.

Anders looked like he might be sick. “Alright,” he said. “ Now let’s get out of here.”

They hobbled out into the cool night air.

Loriel didn’t make it far. She had to call a halt halfway out the city, for which Yvanne seemed grateful.

“So that was a wash,” said Anders.

Yvanne didn’t reply. Loriel was pressed against her chest.

“Got rid of Rylock,” Loriel managed. Not quite a complete sentence yet, but getting closer.

“Hah. That’s definitely true.” Anders was looking at her, his expression carefully guarded. He chuckled. “Well, how about that. Little Loriel Surana, a blood mage? Now I’ve seen everything.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen the half of it,” Yvanne said with artificial lightness. “You should hear about the old hermit we met in the Brecilian forest. Poet-trees weren’t the half of that place.  Ask Oghren, he’ll tell you.”

They chuckled, but weakly, and not for long.

“I’ll, uhm, check the perimeter, in case anyone…just in case. Yeah.” Anders gestured vaguely behind him with his thumb. “Rest up, Commander. I’ll be right back.”

She wanted to speak up and tell him not to go alone, that it could be dangerous, but somehow he seemed to move very fast. Or maybe she was being very slow. She let him go and let her eyes slide closed for a little while, listening to the steady beat of Yvanne’s heart.

“Yvanne, listen…”

“Yeah?” She brushed a sweaty piece of hair away from her forehead.

Loriel swallowed. “It…it was irresponsible of me to refuse to teach you blood magic. What happened at the warehouse—it can’t ever happen again. You should be able to defend yourself against a Templar, even if it means....oh, Maker, I feel so stupid. If you still want to learn, I’ll teach you, right away.”

“You aren’t stupid,” Yvanne said. “We’ll talk about this back at the Keep.”

Anders came back not long after that, suggesting they get out of the city. Loriel staggered up, leaning heavily on Yvanne, but managed to keep her footing. Anders gave her a reassuring grin and a thumbs-up.

It was then that Loriel managed to place that strange expression Anders had been wearing as he’d looked at her in the warehouse. It had been fear. Naked fear.

—

Loriel wrote to the Circle with a request. They responded. Loriel wrote to them again, and to Weisshaupt, and to Denerim, with ever more official-looking seals and signatures at the bottom of the parchment. They responded again. Loriel wrote back a third time, suggesting that she would pay a personal visit back to Kinloch—purely for personal reasons, of course, to see how the rebuilding was going, see some old friendly faces. And also to see if perhaps anybody else would like to be recruited into the Grey Wardens there, as she was after all the Warden-Commander, and retained the Rite of Conscription, and surely there would be many willing recruits among Kinloch’s survivors…

They sent her the phylacteries. Loriel agreeably cancelled her planned visit.

They came in a mahogany box, secured to the fabric padding with twine, lest they break. They were delivered by a Templar that Loriel didn’t recognize, who must have been new. She smiled pleasantly as he completed his delivery. He did not smile back, and forgot to salute her before departing.

She took the mahogany box to her office. Yvanne was already waiting. Anders turned up shortly after. Loriel locked the door, and barred it, and spelled it shut. Then she opened the box, and there they were. Three little glass vials, belonging to the mages of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, neatly labelled for the Commander’s convenience. Loriel took hers out, watching her own blood slosh around inside the crystal. Strange to see it still red and living, nearly fifteen years after they had taken it from her.

Then she handed Yvanne hers, and Anders his. She wondered if maybe she should have made a bigger deal of it. Lit some candles. Arranged for some chanting.

But no. It was just three mostly-grown mages, alone in a quiet room, bizarrely afraid to do something they’d dreamed of doing for years.

“On three, then?” Yvanne finally suggested.

“On three,” Loriel agreed.

They counted together. One. Two. Three.

All three phylacteries smashed on the stone floor. There was hardly any blood at all, between the three of them. I’ll have to clean this up, Loriel thought. The glass was easy, but blood would stain the old stones. But then, she was a blood mage now, wasn’t she? It ought to be easy for her.

Maybe she’d just cover the stain with a new rug.

“That’s that, then,” Anders said with relief. “It’s really over.”

“Yep,” said Yvanne, popping the ‘p.’

“Makes me feel rather silly about the whole bit with the warehouse, really.”

“Don’t,” said Loriel. “The important thing is it’s over.”

They kept staring at the bloodstain. Loriel reached out to take Yvanne’s hand. She grasped back fiercely, and her other hand came up to squeeze Anders’ shoulder. They stayed like that for a while.

Then Anders shook Yvanne off. “Well,” he said, “I’m off towards the rest of my life, I suppose. I’ll see you two at dinner.”

And it was just the two of them.

Yvanne drew Loriel close, but it was not as lovers drew each other close. She drew her close as a child draws her friend close in the dark, when one of them has awoken from a nightmare and is not yet quite convinced it was only a dream.

“That’s it, then,” Yvanne said into her hair.

“That’s it,” Loriel murmured against her collarbone.

They stood like that for a long time, until Yvanne whispered, “What are we going to do now?”

“We’re going to live our lives,” said Loriel, and the future opened wide, yawning and expansive, sure to swallow her whole.

The bloodstain never did come out of the flagstones.

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome (again) to the Order of the Phoenix, Bee!

You have been accepted for the role of ISLA SELWYN-MACMILLAN, with the requested faceclaim change to Adelaide Kane! We particularly enjoyed the discussion of Isla’s reasoning to join the Order, as well as the conflict with people not trusting her because of who she is. We think she’ll be an excellent addition to the cast! 

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Bee

AGE: 21

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m a college student, so my activity tends to revolve around my schedule, though I tend to be online at some point every day (unless there’s a big paper to write or a project or a test or something the next day, in which case maybe not… but still probably because I am a disaster). If I had to give it a number? 7.5, 8.

ANYTHING ELSE: OOPS HI LOVELY ADMINS

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Isla Evelyn Selwyn-MacMillan

AGE: 25

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis Female, She/Her, Sexuality was a weird thing for Isla- she was never entirely certain as to how to define it, or what made sense to her. Yeah, sure, guys were good, she guessed. Girls were nice too. Either or, both, sure.. But it was never really important. At least, not the sex part- not to her. She could take it or leave it. Sometimes it was nice, but most of the time she could live without. What she couldn’t live without was some sort of emotional connection. She needed someone to care about, and who cared about her- that was always what mattered most to her. In terms of labeling, she’s probably demisexual and gray ace.

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor

ANY CHANGES: I’m 100% okay with Ernie being Archie and Isla’s kid. I actually kind of love how complicated it makes their little, odd family’s life. As for faceclaims,would it be okay if I used Adelaide Kane? If not, Melisa Pamuk is perfect <3  

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Isla falls into a sort of gray area when it comes to personality. She is a messy conglomeration of the things that she needed to be for her family as well as the things she wanted to be for herself- therefore, it really depends on which Isla you know. She can be vibrant and exuberant, a free spirit who loves to run wild, who loves to do things that make her happy. She can be wildly fierce, especially when it comes to taking care of people and standing up for what she believes in. She can be a whirlwind of passion and fire. She’s warmhearted, treating friends more like family and strangers like friends.

But there’s also the uncertainty of who she’s supposed to be. The feeling of being lost in who she wants to be and who she’s had to become in order to hold on to the people she cares about, to protect the people she cares about, to protect herself. It’s like living a masquerade every day of her life. Pretending and lying, giving up the things that she was so passionate about, it’s deteriorated her spirit a little bit. But the Order has given her a little bit of that fire back. She has a cause to fight- she fights for the person she once was, the person she’s lost. She fights against the stupid, archaic world that the Death Eaters and Voldemort are creating. It helps her hold onto the scraps of herself that she knew. It’s like looking into a crystal ball and seeing who you were, but not seeing any path as to who you’re supposed to be now that the chips are down and you’ve found yourself in your current situation.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Isla has never really known where she fit in with her family. There’s a family portrait that hangs in her family home’s parlor that was done when she was about four. Her mother and father looked like the regal couple they’d always been, standing behind their four children, elegantly dressed, her mother dazzling with the diamond necklace that twinkled upon her neck, her father with a stern sort of half smile underneath his mustache. Her older sister, Maeve, sat on a fainting couch with herself and their little brother, Grant, just in front of them. All three of them in pristine, mint condition. Long, dark curls on Isla and Maeve, half tied up in white bows. Little Grant in a suit, his hair slicked back with what had to be gallons of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. Every single detail of the five of them was perfect, to a t. She was sure that somewhere, in the back of her parent’s minds, that’s how they’d hoped their children would stay. Perfect little angels who knew their place, who had cherubic smiles on their faces and soft giggles. As an adult, Isla would find herself staring at the middle child, squirming ever so slightly in her little white dress, her eyes glinting with just a hint of mischief, and want to tell her to run away and never look back.

But then, really, would Isla be Isla?

Isla was a ball of energy that was almost impossible to tame. Of course, she knew when not to overstep her parent’s wishes, but oh Merlin, was it fun to toe just a hair over the line. As a little girl, she wasn’t given much opportunity. She would run wild around the nursery, declaring herself a dragon on any given Tuesday, or the Quidditch World Champion for a weekend. She jumped off beds, had notebooks full of doodles, sang at the top of her lungs- she was absolutely her own person. Willful, too. From about the age of three, there was no getting Isla to do anything that Isla didn’t want to do. She would sit, stubborn as an ox, in the same spot for hours on end. It drove her mother and father absolutely mad- but her aunt had always laughed and remarked that as long as there were Selwyns, there would be willful, headstrong witches in the world.

Hogwarts was the time for freedom that Isla really needed. It was freedom, at least to a point, to explore and experience and learn what she liked, to do what she wanted. Of course, she was never encouraged to do certain things. It was almost an unspoken thing- of course her parents wanted her socializing with students from pureblood families, of course they wanted her in the Frog Choir, of course they wanted her in the Slug Club- these were things that they could brag about to their friends, things that would make their daughter sound like the creme of the crop. It was easy with Isla’s older sister- Maeve had always been the golden girl. But Isla liked to subvert expectations and do what she wanted to do. She loved flying. Soaring above the world in the red and gold of the Gryffindor House Team, a very unladylike beater’s bat in one hand, she felt freer than free. Like she never wanted to touch the ground again. She loved Care of Magical Creatures, her gentler side emerging from the usual ferocity of her spirit. She could speak to the creatures for hours. She’d watch flobberworms, and somehow, not get bored. She hid a niffler in the Gryffindor Girl’s Dormitory for a month because it had hurt itself and she wanted to heal him up (his name was Gregory, and yes, she got found out by McGonagall… Gregory got taken away, and in a rare sighting, Isla cried for hours). She’d make friends with anyone and everyone from any house, even though there were certain friends that she had to tiptoe around, lest naive Grant slip up and tell their parents. Hell, she even snogged a few guys, a few girls, a few neither, and a few both. She had a relationship or two, though nothing romantic ever really lasted. All of this was okay because it fell within the realm of education. It wasn’t the real world- not yet. Her parents didn’t care what she did, so long as she brought no irredeemable shame to them.

Soon after graduation, her mother first used the most dreaded word in all of English: marriage. And thus began Isla’s great attempt to avoid ever talking about getting married. She quickly found a quidditch team that would sign her on, and thankfully her parents indulged her ‘whim’. For five years after Hogwarts, five glorious, beautiful, amazing years, she flew professionally. Isla knew it wasn’t exactly what her parents wanted- she knew the remarks regarding their younger daughter’s occupation that ran in their little circle of pureblood friends. But Isla didn’t care. Until she had to care. Until her parents told her she couldn’t fly anymore, even though she was so close to landing a spot in the big leagues. No. That word came back to haunt her. Marriage. Isla had to get married to some nice pureblooded boy that they approved of- preferably another old name- and have little pureblood babies. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t in love with anyone, it didn’t matter that she didn’t want to get married- it was marry or be cut off. This was the only place that her parent’s held the power, where the line was drawn in flames rather than chalk. They threatened her with stories of Andromeda Tonks, who ran off with a muggleborn and had a kid, who was cut off from the family, burned off the family tree, shunned from all of society. And while Isla didn’t care about the rest of society, she did care about being cut off from her family.

Enter Archie.

Archibald Macmillan, one of Isla’s closest friends in the world, was in a similar conundrum: his parents were demanding a marriage to a nice pureblooded young lady- the catch in his particular situation was that young ladies weren’t exactly his type. Thus, the world’s most perfect plan was hatched: Archibald Macmillan would marry Isla Selwyn. They would be married for the sake of marrying- to placate their parents and the demands for traditional pureblood values and a path for an eventual heir- but have the freedom to be themselves within their own relationship. Freedom within the constraints their families had placed upon them. Thankfully, Archie hadn’t fussed when she asked… or really demanded… she keep her surname as well as take his. She was Isla Selwyn after all. Now she was just a Macmillan too.

It wasn’t until after the wedding that Isla found out why her parents had been so demanding and had threatened to cut her clean off if she hadn’t married. The reason was referred to as You-Know-Who and other darling pseudonyms. He wanted a pureblood society, full of traditional pureblood values. If you defied him and his followers, you often ended up dead. It had been her family’s way of protecting her without really explaining why. That knowledge made her blood boil. She had been so angry with her family, but so afraid that they would cut her off just like Andromeda Tonks had been burned off the Black Family Tree that she caved. But it was this… this slimy, foul, miserable wretch of a wizard who wanted a perfect world for himself to rule over. What You-Know-Who didn’t know was that he had made an enemy on her wedding day, whilst she was saying her ‘I do’s to a man she loved but wasn’t in love with, while her family sat, painted smiles on their face. He had made her choose to clip her wings. And for that, he would pay.

OCCUPATION:

Once upon a time, Isla was going to fly for the rest of her life. She was going to live on her broomstick and make it big one day. Maybe she’d even fly for the Holyhead Harpies. She’d already planned it all out. Unfortunately, Voldemort and, because of their fear of their daughter being hurt or worse, her parents, had more traditional plans for her. So Isla Selwyn MacFusty is a wife. It isn’t an occupation she wanted by any stretch of the imagination- but at least it’s a marriage to Archie, and not one of the arrogant ministry goons her mum would have picked out for her. She supposes that the Order is more of an occupation in the traditional sense- it doesn’t pay (but she doesn’t need money, what with the Selwyn and Macmillan money floating around), but it gives her something to do. She’s also taken on a new occupation- one that she wasn’t certain that she’d ever wanted. Being the mother of Ernie Macmillan was the best job she’s ever had. She’d do anything for her little boy, anything in the world.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDERS:

Isla’s fairly certain that most of the Order does not like her because of her last name… or last names. Sometimes it makes her feel like she’s sticking out like a sore thumb- the pureblood girl with the perfect pureblood life, what’s she doing fighting with the underdogs? Isla wishes that there were some way for her to reassure the Order that she’d do just about anything to help, because she doesn’t agree with anything that Voldemort says… the slimey old git. The past is the past, and it should stay there. Archaic and old, let it mold away. Fighting this fight lets her at least try to banish the past way of thinking. Plus, she believes that every good secret organization needs a few good men (or women) who have insight and connections to the enemy. Fortunately, Isla believes herself to be the exact girl for the job, She’s high enough up in pureblood society that people don’t suspect her. While most people in high society know of Isla’s fiery disposition, they believe her to be ‘tamed’ by married life, settling in as a graceful and elegant lady of the house. She can work her family’s circles to pick up intel and feed it back to the Order. Hopefully good information helps turn the tides on the war.

SURVIVAL:

Once upon a time, Isla thought she was invincible. Nothing bad would happen to her- the Death Eaters, while winning, were too dumb in her mind to think that one of the Selwyn girls was working against them. She was certain that they’d think no sweet, demure, little housewife and mother would ever be involved with an organization actively trying to take down Voldemort. Especially not with a surname like Selwyn Macmillan. But the events of October 31st 1981 have rattled the optimistic perspective of Isla. People got hurt. Really hurt. Before the Masquerade, she was fighting by sneaking around, bringing in information that could only be provided by someone in upper crust pureblood society. But the evening of the masquerade was the first time that she could actually die. Be it getting caught in the crossfire trying to save someone, or being caught working for the Order, or simply being in the wrong spot at the wrong time. And if she died, that left Archie and Ernie alone- the two people she’d do anything in the world for. If she got caught, or if she died, that put both of them at risk. Or worse, she got caught, and something happened to them- she’s not so sure if she could handle even thinking about something like that happening.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Archie Macmillan: She loves her husband to the moon and back- just not as one would normally love their husband. Marrying Archie was a no-brainer once the ultimatums began to be thrown around by her parents. He’d always been a close friend, he was someone her parents undoubtedly approved of, and he needed a safe marriage where he could be himself without sneaking around. She thinks the world of him, and she would do anything for him. Of course, the Order has put a bit of a strain on things, but she appreciates him being right by her side. It makes her feel less alone in things.

Andromeda Tonks: Isla can never decide whether or not to be jealous of Andromeda. She was free to live the life that she wanted with whom she wanted, but at the cost of losing her family. Isla is certain that she maintains a large amount of respect for the woman. She might have been the horror story her parents plagued her with, being left without a family or a home, but at least Andromeda didn’t give in to her parents. There’s a piece of Isla that eats at her every day for not fighting for just one more second of her freedom.

James Potter: Isla really cannot stand James Potter, and it’s not even his fault… or it is… it isn’t but it is. James has never had to worry about losing his family for dating who he wanted, for marrying or not marrying- he’s completely free. And even worse, he’s pitied for being in a relationship simply because Lily is a muggleborn. As if Lily Evans wasn’t smarter than ten purebloods combined… at least, in her humble opinion. All of these thoughts have given Isla a sort of prickly disposition whenever she’s around James. She doesn’t hate him, but she doesn’t like what he gets away with all because he’s James Potter and because he’s a bloke.

Emma Vanity: Emma Vanity is like looking into a mirror. A slightly more innocent, naive, little lamb of a mirror, but a mirror. She’s from a pureblood family, one that had wanted her to get married to a nice pureblood boy. And god, the girl almost did get married, and Isla still isn’t sure that that’s what the girl had wanted. She was freed from her betrothal by the untimely death of Mulciber, but Isla knows that that sort of freedom only lasts so long, especially nowadays. Hopefully, with a little bit of her help, Isla can get Emma to truly decide what she wants, and then help the girl with whatever comes next. Merlin knows Isla wishes that she had had someone who would have done that for her.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: Isla x chemistry. A warning that she will never do anything that would put Archie or her son at risk, any extramarital relationships will likely be secretive.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Isla has led the glamorous life- she hasn’t had to worry about much of anything, ever. She never had to worry about being bullied or tormented about where she came from, let alone any other reason. Up until her time at Hogwarts, she hadn’t really met a muggleborn, let alone really understand what the muggle world was like- it wasn’t like she didn’t know that muggleborns existed, but they weren’t in the social circles that her parents ran in. So when she got to Hogwarts, she was a little bit too eager to find out things like how they got around or how they got rid of the boggarts in the attic or how they ever got their mail. There were times she was surprised how good at magic a muggleborn friend was, and as she got older, she’d kick herself for ever thinking like that. Having magic, she learned, didn’t mean you had to be good at it. For example, she was awful at transfiguration, whereas other students- muggleborn, halfblood, and pureblood alike- succeeded and even thrived at the art of changing one thing into another.

The only thing in the world she has working against her is Voldemort’s need for his rather archaic pureblood society and it’s ‘traditional’ values. Traditional in the sense that it was her job to be a delicate flower doing household magic and being demure and lovely as opposed to zooming through the air on a broomstick and feeling free. That freedom to be who she wanted to be has given her the tiniest sliver of a glimpse into a world she knows she could never dare to imagine. Ernie, she’s decided, will be raised to respect every wixen of every background. Her son will be better. She won’t let him be another pureblood thinking that he is the center of the universe, and all should bow before him.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? I have never loved a group more, I swear to god. I am here for all the angst and in depth character writing.

PLOT DROP IDEAS: LITERALLY ANYTHING. Y’all have come up with better plot drops than I could ever imagine. But I’d love something that lets Isla really do some recon and bring back whatever information she can to the Order.

ANYTHING ELSE? AAAAAAAAAAH I LOVE YOU ALL

[tobns]

gather round fellow crackheads, it is time for me to break down sign by none other than the captain of our ship and expose how not-subtle he was

friendly disclaimer: jeremy hasn’t shared the official lyrics for this song jeremy renner sir i know you’re stalking my blog so like get on that thank you! so anything wrong is on me, i’m going by ear

ALRIGHT LADIES so, we all know that after engagement number #3 jeremy renner said he gave no single fucks anymore and that he was gonna call this bitch OUT and while i knew this was coming all the way back in the days of 2014, i was not. expecting. this. shit. i need to preface by saying i did not think this song was about scarlett until we got to the chorus and after that, i had to comb through every lyric and realized that even if you don’t hear “oh scar” it is about her, welcome to the hell in which i break it down for ya. i’m gonna try to stay as clear to what i personally think is the most unbiased version of the rennerson timeline as i can, so if you have any contributions you would like to make as well, SEND ‘EM TO ME we are officially in crackhead hour! as the vine once said THIS IS ALL MY OPINIONNNNN! it’s all jeremy’s fault so he can’t say shit to us! alright, buckle up!

i went down to the river and lost my mind i said lord won't you save me just one last time thought i told ya i was looking for a sign

alright, well, first of all, we KNEW you lost your mind. got that much, good sir. so in my unbiased timeline scarlett and jeremy have hooked up at least one time. we all know that they’ve had a super flirty friendship for YEARS now and during the our town play just about anybody who was in the room and has reported back to the internet said that their nonverbals were off the charts and that there was obviously some kinda something that either was/had gone on in the past with the two of them (duh). 

to me, this verse talks about a situation where jeremy and scarlett are together and how whenever he’s around her, he just kinda loses his mind? there’s reference to them hooking up in their whole weird “no strings attached we’ll still be just friends after we kiss or have sex or whatever and we won’t get into a relationship!” agreement thing even though that’s not what jeremy really and truly wants from her. he wants a sign that she wants him for real for real and he’s gonna ignore everything saying that issa bad idea to Go There and just shoot his shot, hoping that the lord or something will save him from himself and all his rather poor impulsive decisions & something different will come of it (spoiler alert: it doesn’t) 

had it once wonder if i would get it twice peace of mind only comes in the afterlife thought i told ya i was looking for a sign 

...i mean, how fucking obvious? is this? he had her once. wondered if he would get her twice. the peace of mind in thinking about that and everything that they could be will occur only when he is dead. he said it all, not me

i need something to believe in throw my hands up to the ceiling oh sky, won't you give me a sign tell me will the world one day ever be mine will it ever be mine will it ever be mine tell me will the world one day ever be mine

*cracks knuckles* this CHORUS IS LOUD, YALL. let’s start with the first two lines, “i need something to believe in / throw my hands up to the ceiling” i think the first part about needing something to believe in is generally straightforward?? after everything that he’s gone through, UNDERSTANDABLE! he needs something that he knows will be there long-term and that’s not gonna let him down since everything else kinda has????? that’s what i get, anyways??? he just wants something that’s real??? and then if you are throwing your hands up to the ceiling you are essentially saying “i give up” so i think this is him saying that he’s giving up on trying to influence the situation himself and is taking on the whole “what will be will be” stance, trying to put it in the universe’s hands because clearly he ain’t getting anywhere doing what he’s doing 

and then we get to the very end of the chorus with the line “oh sky won’t you give me a sign, tell me will the world one day ever be mine?” which threw my ass for a LOOP when i first heard it. maybe i’m a delusional fangirl but i absolutely heard “oh scar” the first time??? no matter if you read it as oh scar or oh sky, he’s asking for the same thing regardless: he wants to know if the world will ever be his. i don’t think this is necessarily in the fame money power glory sense because? that’s never truly been jeremy — my mind always relates back to this interview where they talk about how jeremy would have loved to have had more kids and how there’s a moment where he thought he and raincoat and ava would have been a real family forever and sksksk that part of the interview always breaks my heart but i digress! to him, the world is having stability in his personal life (he’s got stability in his career okay he’s an a-list actor with music and home renovation and he’s got it made. that’s not what this is about). he wants to settle down and raise ava full time, that’s been his mission since the day that child was born. he wanted to have more kids. he wanted to have a WIFE (“I’ve done so many amazing, cool-ass things in my life — but I think as we get older, there’s more value in doing something with somebody.”) AND A FAMILY. to him, i think having the world was having all the things he’d dreamed of and he was still missing that one part of it which was someone (scarlett) to raise a family and grow old with and he is asking if it’ll one day ever be his because he’s gotten close before and it fell through and sksksks okay i gtg

i was down on my knees i was living a lie i was king of the rubble just wasting time thought i told ya i was looking for a sign

okay, this is where i need yall to just like, hang in there and stick with me while i iron out my thoughts because this is where things get a lil more muddled depending on which way you wanna look at it

one way you can interpret this verse is that it’s about the s*nni situation. “down on his knees and living a lie” having ava obviously put him in an entirely new position where he was essentially at this woman’s mercy since she had his fucking kid and could VERY EASILY WALK OUT WITH HER (never forget her threatening to leave to canada with ava where he would have no say!) hence being down on his knees and then living a lie, the lie being him and s*nni’s marriage actually being happy or whatevs and him trying to own the mess it made in his life (don’t tell me s*nni didn’t complicate things for him) and making a throne on it, hence him being king of the rubble and him wasting his time in that marriage is just kinda straightforward — he thought he told y’all he was looking for a sign OUT!!! *cough scarlett is the out*

another way you can interpret this is still through the scarlett lens! “down on his knees and living a lie” she has him whipped, i think we all know and recognize this, so that’s where we get him on his knees, and then living the lie that something’s gonna change with her, that she’ll wake up one day and walk away from her other relationships or that she loves him back in the same way that he loves her (sidenote: ouch) and again, he’s sitting in the rubble of EITHER a) his own pile of failed relationships or b) where the two of them crossing the line destroyed him ever being able to just see her as a friend and he’s wasting his time waiting on her to come around and he’s like “bitch i thought i told you i was looking for some kinda sign outta you and that you wanted me”

sick and tired of running circles for miles and miles being lost ain’t ever really been my style thought i told ya i was looking for a sign

i think this is pretty straightforward no matter what stance you take for the first half of the verse: jeremy lee renner doesn’t play games, he doesn’t like getting the run around and going in circles that lead him nowhere. he doesn’t do being lost. even when he doesn’t quite know what direction he’s heading he’s got some kinda plan, something to keep working towards (bc that’s him) and being lost isn’t his style!! no matter if you read it about s*nni giving him hell and he’s looking for scarlett to give him the out or scarlett just giving him the run-around now that she’s 2x divorced and finally single sksksks, they’re both doing laps in his head and causing him to lose sight of what he really wants (bc he’s either rolling over on his back for s*nni since she’s got his kid and he won’t jeopardize it regardless of what he really wants outta the love department aka scarlett OR he’s rolling over on his back for scarlett deluding himself into thinking he can live with her jerking him around because he would do anything for that woman and to stay in her life)

he thought he said HE WAS LOOKING FOR A SIGN aka some kinda sign that will help him find his fucking way out of whatever disaster and into the life where he gets the world in his hands not on his fucking back

i didn't want to have to sell my soul so i took the hard road please won't you show me a sign

THIS BRIDGE WAS?????? WHEW??????? “i didn’t want to have to sell my soul” i think he (and we) all know that he would just about do anything scarlett asked of him, even if it’s something that’s not really him? he’s that whipped? and i think this is him saying that he didn’t want to compromise who he is just for something that he wanted, when he knows full well there’s a chance it’s not going to be a fair trade and he won’t get all of what he wants from her — that she’d walk away or they’d really ruin their friendship or smth they can’t bounce back from??? so he takes the hard road and he takes the step back & says “what will be will be”, he puts the ball in HER COURT because if it’s coming from her then that’s how he knows it’s for real for real. IT’S WHY HE SAYS PLEASE JUST SHOW ME A SIGN bc scarlett sis if you give him a sign then he’ll hit the pedal heavy metal but until then he’s content to take the back seat and love you like a friend???

in conclusion: jeremy renner ain’t subtle, this song is about wanting scarlett johansson (but not having her because she’s a dumbass who literally finds all her boyfriends on the shelves at the food lion) and i really and truly don’t know who he thought he was fooling with all of this, thinking that the subliminal would remain subliminal, that man couldn’t do something discreetly if his LIFE DEPENDED ON IT mister “she makes me want to be more of a man” renner

if you read all of this i am so absolutely sorry but i’d love to hear your thoughts on it as well and how you interpret the song (or any of his new songs tbfh) ok thanks for coming to this wildly pointless tedtalk

[mina-lovely]

What El Paso Knows

When Blue Beetle first became the town’s hero, people were skeptical. There was no way to tell who he was. There was no way to know if he was Latino, if he had black or blond hair, how old he was, even if he was actually male since the armor didn’t seem to give away any identifying marks. Then again, there was his behavior.

At first the town had gone without really interacting with him. He stopped crime and then went away with often only a glance to make sure that the victim was safe. Then, after a few weeks of gossip about the elusive hero, he finally stopped.

The reason was that, though the victim, an old woman, didn’t notice yet, she was slowly going into shock. So he stayed and talked her through it, walked her home and only left when he deemed her fit enough to be okay. The next day she told her friends in detail how he acted, teenage awkwardness included. Her description of him, of being kind and awkward but nice and able to tell if a person is going into shock, made the round the next day.

The gossip turned to that. Was that hero socially awkward? Did he wear the pretty strange armor because of that? Did he make that costume himself or was there somebody else fashion-blind around him? Granted, it was rude to comment on his costume when he was saving people, but at least the helmet looked ridiculous. They guessed it was for the whole bug motive he seemed to have going.

Another thing they turned to was the fact that he knew before the old lady did that she was going into shock. Was he maybe a nurse or doctor? A medical student given how young he might be? If he lived in the town then surely they should be able to narrow it down.

They didn’t figure it out like that. They had suspects, but all of them were disregarded after some investigation. No, the way they figured it out was a lot simpler. One woman had been growing flowers, and at that time they were in full bloom. They were beautiful, and her neighbors would look out of the window ever so often to stare at them before continuing with whatever they were doing. Of course, teenagers didn’t exactly think of that when they saw flowers.

So an elderly woman looked out again to see the flowers just in time to see the teenage boy, that she vaguely recognized, change into their hero. She described it as if darkness spread out and covered him. That of course gave the town more to gossip about.

The darkness thing was only talked about in whispers, but it stopped once the old lady repeated what she knew. He was kind. He was good. He cares. He is not some hell spawn because of how he changes into his costume. The gossipers looked kinda sheepish after that and stopped whispering.

The fact that he was a teenager made the gossipers both brighten with the knowledge that they weren’t too dumb to figure his identity out, because hey, who would have thought it was a teenager, and also frown in dread when the realized that there was a kid protecting them. Not dread for themselves, because he was handling crime rather well, but for him. He was just a child for god’s sake.

He was fifteen they figured out. It took some time and a lot of photos until they found out that it was Bianca’s kid. The Reyes boy had good grades and a few good friends from what the town could tell. They would ask another teenager, but the younger generation was still entirely unknowing of what the rest of the town had figured out. Of course, the older Reyes had been in the gossip circles too. Did they already know? Had they known before?

One brave soul asked Bianca, after a hard day of being a nurse for both of them. They were the only ones changing and packing their things, so she tentatively broached the topic.

“So, you heard about how that one old lady saw the Blue Beetle change, right?” she started. She got a non-committal hum from Bianca so she continued. “Well, apparently they finally figured out who the kid was.”

The knowing smile she got in return made her freeze. She was stuck for a few seconds while Bianca was still gathering her things.

“You knew.” She said when she finally stopped staring. She said it like she was stating a fact, and by the small laugh she received, she knew that she was right.

“Of course,” Bianca told her, “He’s my son after all. He came to us the moment… that happened to him.”

She left soon after, without explaining what had happened. It got shared around, but they had nothing to go on. The Reyes boy was normal in most aspects, with nothing really notable. He would disappear now and then, but that was all they really had on him being strange.

He never really seemed hurt, even though he was out fighting. The only time they saw him hurt was when he got shot the night before. He had taken down a gang of teenagers while only hurting them the bare minimum. He had turned away and hadn’t noticed that one was conscious and had a gun until he was shot. It was only the arm that was hit, but it was summer and the next day, the bandage peeked out of his short sleeves every once in a while. The next day the bandage was gone, to the towns relief.

The Justice League tried to recruit/talk to him in broad daylight, but by the way the kid was nervously leaning back, they guessed it wasn’t the first time he had met them. Nor did the kid seem comfortable in their presence. When he had noticed that most people were staring, he had tensed even further. Well, he was a teenager. He probably thought that they expected him to be nice to the senior heroes and be comfortable. Superman just went on and on, talking and apparently not noticing how the kid nervously crossed his arms and fidgeted.

Superman just stopped when a middle-aged woman walked up and pulled the kid to the side a bit. She looked at him and said in a deadpan voice, “This conversation is over.” Before pulling the kid gently away from the hero. He went with her, confused, and she pulled him into a crowd of people that all conveniently blocked Superman’s path though he was too stunned to follow. They got to an alley, where she gently pushed him to.

“Don’t worry.” She told him. “If they bother you again, just get to an area with people.”

She gave him a reassuring smile. “El Paso takes care of their own.”

Superman had to be wacked with a walking stick to finally stop bothering Jaime. The old man doing so didn’t regret it the slightest. He found it hilarious when people came to question him on why he did that, since apparently the whole thing was a hit on the internet, and he took to describing how uncomfortable their hero looked when Superman showed up. He explained that superman continuously made him more and more uncomfortable, that he didn’t think of Superman as bad but simply hoped to shake him out of his obliviousness a bit.

Blue Beetle was their hero. He stayed their hero, even during the whole reach fiasco. And El Paso would always protect this kid.

(After the reach was finally gone and the El Paso citizen were still confused, a young man found Jaime crying on his rooftop out of armor. It was then, while Jaime tried to explain how he got there, that the young man decided that the whole let’s-not-tell-the-kid thing had to end. He invited him in, ruffled his hair and told him that after whatever happened with the reach it was okay to cry. Jaime had tensed, but the young man had just gone on, telling him that if he wanted to talk about it, he would listen. El Paso took care of his own after all. Jaime told him, and he spread it. If the Reach had still been there, they would have had an entire town after their heads. Nobody hurt their own like that.)

(When the Justice League tried to stir up trouble, the town kicked them out without Jaime even knowing until later on. He made sure to leave chocolate to the people responsible in gratitude.)

(After some time, an old friend of Bianca’s asked her how she could deal with knowing that her son was getting himself into danger like that. She had smiled sadly, with a hint of resignation, and asked how she should stop him. She clarified that she didn’t mean physically, but how she should justify it for herself. After the Reach fiasco, it seemed like her son was only happy when he was helping people. As if he had to make up for something. With the look that he sometimes had- she didn’t think that she was allowed to stop him. So she made sure to tend to all his wounds and hope he would make it back in one piece.)

(The younger generation still had no idea who blue beetle was, and sometimes the adults shared a chuckle at their expense. Even Posse didn’t know that the older generation knew, though that might be because they were rather disconnected from the rest of the city. It took Esteban shapeshifting for him to hear about it. La Dama still has no idea.)

(It took a disaster for the younger generation to finally be in the know. Still, his identity never spread further than the town borders. Those who left the town took the secret to their graves.)