#obviously i took liberties with punctuation but you get it

[hbogirls]

an underrated funny taylor lyric is “and i could go on and on and on and on … and i will!”

[mostsanegirlever]

Hi :) 

I’m writing this as a direct response to whatever the hell went on yesterday. Before I directly offer my counterpoints I just wanna make some things clear:

1. English is not my first language and I don’t use any proper translation app for revision. I use a lot of adverbs because that’s how I express myself in my mother language. The punctuation also goes with how I use it in Portuguese.

2. I’m not offended on Chan's behalf, I’m just extremely passionate about debating (both online and irl), especially when I think others are objectively wrong.

3. I’m not only pro boycotting this single, but I also pray every night that it never sees the light of day.

I’ve been against this collab and voiced my distaste as soon as I was made aware of its existence. At first it wasn’t because of Charlie Puth’s “opinions” on the Genocide being conducted against Palestinians in their occupied mother land (I actually had no idea where he stood since I have him blocked everywhere for being annoying, ugly and untalented), but getting to know that he’s an actual Zionist was the final straw for me, and I won’t be listening to it at all. That’s where I personally stand and I’m not known for changing my mind.

As soon as the news dropped, I took this feature for what it is: a chart gambling move by Republic Records (Stray Kids’ American distributor and promoter). Releasing a soulless English single featuring a C-list American “artist” is basically a trend in K-pop nowadays, since it places the group in the charts fast enough before the actual comeback, has viral TikTok potential and extends by 2 the promotional period.

I never actually expected JYPE to follow suit with SKZ, as much as they have given other groups the tired and bland English pre-release. As I said, it was a no for me from the start because I don’t like nor do I listen to something that’s so shamelessly a marketing strategy made for an easy cash grab.

I expressed my opinion that it was a sell-out move that would taint SKZ’ original and cohesive discography. 

As soon as the credits were posted, my first thought was that it was never SKZ’ song to begin with. In my opinion, it was very clear by the credits positioning that the song was made by Charlie and the other dude (who isn’t even like just a random Zionist but a full Israeli that has undoubtedly served the IOF) and the featuring was orchestrated in a reunion with people who see music as business and artists are decided by they capacity of making profit by charting. 

Once again, I personally refuse to consume this type of slop, especially when it comes from people who openly align themselves with a genocidal ethno-state.

I’m aware that my decision to not listen to this song won’t have any impact on the decisions both companies will make for SKZ in the future, since the music industry isn’t known to take morals into consideration when it comes to easy profit.

I also keep my opinion that media consuming (or non-consuming) isn’t activism, and there’s a fine line between reasoning on why you chose to boycott and empty virtue signaling. The latter always comes with a huge deal of self-righteousness, which we’ve seen plenty of since yesterday.

My expectation was that everyone who agreed to boycott directed their indignation towards RR and JYPE, since it was obviously an administrative decision and this has no artistic value. MUCH TO MY SURPRISE! (not really, this always happens) Chan has been in the front-line for getting all the lashes.

No mention of the other members of 3RACHA, who were also “in the room with racists” and have the exact same amount of credits and creative liberty, no mention of RR who obviously was the one orchestrating the promotional single (as they did with that TXT song with Jonas Brothers, Usher feat. Jungkook and the list goes on).

Lots of people questioned this when they saw that tweet, with no concrete response by OP or the ones who backed her up on why he was solely being condemned and blamed for the collaboration.

After a while, many came to justify that directing the anger towards Chan is valid since he is “the leader”, “the oldest” and “the spokesperson” of the group. For me personally, it’s hard to understand why a group made out of fully adult cisgender able-bodied males would need a spokesperson when they’re perfectly capable of speaking up for themselves on instances like this, but it’s interesting to see him suddenly become the only one who can speak for the group considering many people were shading him for being the one who always gives the speeches earlier this week.

Although the main claim is that he has more power because of his position as leader, I don’t think anyone actually believes that. The blame falls strictly onto Chan every single time because he made the biggest mistake an artist can make: treat his fans as equal.

He established an open line of communication as he presented his own authentic self, showing his flaws and often putting himself down and accepting the blame as means of maybe alleviating the inhumane amount of hatred he’s been submitted to since he dared to share his passion with the most demonic industry with the biggest amount of brain-dead fan-girls.

This made Chris the main character of arguably the most intense parasocial relationship I’ve seen in years of fandom hopping.

The post that started the blame shift towards Chan referred to him by his full name (weird, but punctual since many seem to believe they know him personally) and goes on to say “I know that you’re reading these quotes” or something like that.

See what I mean? That struggling to fulfill obligations as an idol and cutting himself open to give the fandom unrestricted access to him for years only made them believe that that’s all he does? That he’s #oomf and they can just say anything and it’s part of his job to acknowledge it? That any problem is for him to solve individuality and every praise is meant to be shared?

This entire idea that Bang Chan is somehow different, more important and more impactful than his coworkers isn’t because of the leader title, it’s because of the close relatability due to his openness.

Chan deals with the producer role much as he did with his relationship with the fans: he’s always made it clear that 3RACHA has the same amount of power when it comes to the creative direction of the band. Changbin and Jisung always acted alike, never letting it seem that Chan is the one who calls the shots or takes on “the leader” role inside the producing unit.

This message has never seemed to reach the fandom for some reason and when it comes to highlight something negative it falls strictly on Chan to acknowledge it. His coworkers who are on the exact same level and have the exact same power are never expected to stand up for anything.

Many argue that it’s because Chan is a native speaker but it’s actually, again, because people have a parasocial relationship with him specifically, to a level the other producers never allowed.

That’s exactly the reason you can see here:

if you're like, okay yeah screw all those other people, but why are you blaming chan? niru @/the_kpopalypse on twitter wrote it very well:

"I think Chan is one part of a large team that made this happen. That being said, as a leader, as someone who has generally made it a point to communicate his views on anything that goes on in fandom or the world, and the one who has emphasized the social justice angle of skz's brand since day one...[he] is a grown man who can and should hear the truth."

The expectation doesn’t come from actually believing he’s the leader or the spokesperson, it comes from taking his openness and treating fans as equals, as exposing himself in a genuine way and continuing to attend to expectations in order to keep the crowd pleased and now it all falls on his shoulders, even though not for a minute has he claimed to have more creative freedom or power than any other member in the producer line.

The whole “because he is the leader” means nothing but “because I have higher expectations when it comes to him, because the close relatability made me think I have an open channel of communication and I can demand he attend to my expectations, because I know him on a personal level and he frustrated me”.

I don’t blame anyone for growing such a deep rooted parasocial relationship with him, Chan is indeed a charismatic leader, it’s the hypocrisy that I can’t stand. It’s clearly not his move to go on with this collaboration, and if you decide to critic him in hopes that he’ll see it somehow (as if he has nothing to do but sit around reading your demands and taking notes but once again this belief comes from this parasocial relationship where you guys are convinced he’s the one who’s always there and he’ll be a hero and make everything alright again), then Han Jisung and Seo Changbin, the other men who are credited the same amount, are just as capable of standing up for this.

The parasocial relationship this entire fandom has with Chan (that can be both for love and admiration or hatred and jealousy btw) comes with this huge amount of expectations for him but also for the infantilization of the other members.

Chan is the dad, the one who’s capable and dependable and calls the shots and the other 7 fully adult cis able-bodied millionaire males are just...there. They have no opinions, they have no responsibilities, they have no say.

They’re all 23+ in age and Chan being the oldest is hardly an excuse as to why he’s being pointed as the sole member who needs to take a stance since Minho is no more than a year younger than him.

These are grown men who have been legal voters for years already, and have been raised and socialized in a culturally conservative country. Chan being brave enough to talk about his own political and social views (not the group’s, since the text I’m replying to seemed put him in “skz” when it came to praising) should be a breath of fresh air but instead it only gave him more responsibility when it comes to “educating” the other members, somehow.

I am of the opinion that these expectations only fall on him because you think you know him on a personal level, whereas the others kept the fans at a safe distance from the beginning.

Singling someone out for being “the oldest'' doesn't fly. He speaks for himself only, not for everyone. If it’s about taking a stance, I need all of them to come forward individually and use their social status for what they believe. They aren’t alienated from the world and they have the same amount of free time Chan has, signed the same contracts and are just as grown and capable.

What happened yesterday with name dropping Chan exclusively was no more than people who cultivated a deep rooted parasocial relationship with him  (easily noticeable since skz_8283 and the people backing her up are all +18 RPF writers) and seem to think that media consuming and tweeting is activism.

The doubling down on still pointing him out as the sole precursor instead of actually demonstrating their distaste towards the people who decided that this chart gamble would be real, or even at the very least expecting the same amount of responsibility from the other members was even more upsetting.

The anger towards this project is completely justified, but as long as you keep Chan in the middle of your rage it will also be completely misplaced. Chan doesn’t have a choice in this, redirect your demands towards the people who actually call the shots: Republic Records and JYPE/DIV1.

[gonzo-rella]

Talk It Through As A Crew (pt. 2) | Izzy Hands (ft. The (Reunited) Crew Of The Revenge)

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

PART 1, PART 2

Requested by: Anon

I love your work!! If you still want ofmd requests… maybe a part two to “talk it through as a crew” where everyone gets back together and everything’s settled except for Izzy. Then reader confronts Izzy? They yell at him for abandoning them and maybe even throw a punch.

But Izzy doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t yell or try to stop them. Just takes it. That pulls reader out of their anger and they’re more concerned. They reach out to him, telling him they forgive him, and that’s when he does something.

He’s furious with himself for what happened and wants the reader to be mad at him, maybe if they took it out on him, he’d feel better.

Reader comforts him?

Just angst with a happy ending, please.

Relationship(s): Izzy Hands x gn!reader (romantic), Oluwande Boodhari, Lucius Spriggs and Stede Bonnet x gn!reader (platonic)

Summary: Somehow, everything is relatively back to normal. Well, everything except things between you and Izzy. Concerned that you’re bottling things up, Stede, self-appointed relationship therapist, suggests that you talk things through with Izzy, who (surprisingly) doesn’t protest.

Warnings: Intense (one-sided) arguing (like my parents pre-divorce), description of an injury (and the worsening of said injury). (Let me know if I need to add any)

Word count: 3.1k

(A/N: To quote my post-season 1 finale Blackbonnet x reader one-shot, this fic reaches ‘‘somehow, Palpatine returned’ levels of me not explaining how on Earth we got here’. I took some creative liberties with this request, though it’s quite faithful to the request, I’d say. That previous statement isn’t to say I don’t ever take creative liberties with requests. Creative Liberties is my middle name- my full legal name is Soph Creative Liberties Writesfanfic. Also, Lucius is alive (as he should be). Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this!)

“Doesn’t look broken.” Roach shrugged, holding your wrist as he examined your hand.

“Fucking feels it.” you hissed out through gritted teeth.

“I doubt it’s broken. Maybe a bit fucked up, but not broken.” Olu (the one who had escorted you to the galley) tried. He patted you on the shoulder. His noticeable veneer of calmness wasn’t lost on you; you could tell how concerned he actually was. “No offence, but punching really isn’t your strong suit.”

You probably would have laughed if you weren’t in total agony.

“I’ll just clean your hand, bandage it up- should be fine.” Roach said nonchalantly. “If you need to punch something, you should probably use the other hand. For a while, at least.”

“Or, maybe hold off on the punching entirely.” Olu quickly suggested.

“If they’ve gotta punch, they’ve gotta punch, man.”

With that, Roach went to gather the supplies he needed, leaving you and Oluwande by yourselves. 

He cleared his throat.

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m pretty good, considering I just punched the rock-solid bloody mast.”

“I meant… well, you obviously didn’t just deck it for no reason, did you?” He looked at you with worry in his eyes. “Did anything bring it on?”

“I made eye contact with him for too long.” you admitted. “I don’t think I’ve got any tears left in me. So, I didn’t know what else to do to get out the… rage and other feelings.”

“Alright.” Olu nodded.

He paused and glanced between your hand and your pained face.

“I get why you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder for all this time- I really do. I’m actually surprised you haven’t, like, hit him or yelled at him or anything yet. Well, aside from when you kicked him in the shin when we first got back.” Olu stated. “But, I don’t think avoiding him and ignoring him’s doing you any good.”

He used his head to gesture to your hand, thus punctuating his point. You bit your lip.

“I think you should speak to him.”

You clenched your jaw.

“He doesn’t give a shit about what I have to say.” you muttered. “I think he made that perfectly clear when he marooned me.

“And besides,” you went on. “He already apologised to us. What else can I expect him to do? Get on his knees and beg for forgiveness?”

The thought of Izzy grovelling at your feet was more disconcerting than cathartic considering his usual demeanour, though you couldn’t say you entirely disapproved of the idea. Still, you couldn’t really expect it; he would barely (and begrudgingly) do it for Ed, but not you. It’s not like he deserted Ed on an island, after all…

“Exactly.” Olu answered. “That’s why you need to do something.”

Blinking away your tears, you shook your head. Finally, you glanced up at Olu.

“I'll just… not punch anything again.” you said weakly. Your gaze fell back down to your hand. “I’ll get over it.”

━━━━━━━━━

While Roach scrubbed at the blood on your hand, Lucius stepped cautiously into the kitchen.

“Just to warn you, Captain Bonnet wants you when you’re done with this.” 

He approached you and cringed upon seeing your hand.

“Oh, that’s not good.” he commented.

“Thanks for the observation, Dr Spriggs.” you retorted dryly. “Remind me to seek your expert medical opinion the next time I get injured.”

You knitted your brows when you noticed him anxiously wringing his hands. That paired with the lack of a biting response and a glare alerted you to the fact that something was amiss. Perhaps he didn’t have the heart to fight back (which was so unlike him, you thought). You suspected it had something to do with his announcement.

“What is it?” you practically whined.

He swallowed his saliva.

“Um,” he faltered. He scratched his face. “It’s just… I really don’t think you’re going to like what the Captain has planned.”

“I rarely do.”

“I mean it.” Lucius insisted.

The grave look in his eyes near enough sent a chill down your spine.

“Lucius…” Oluwande said suspiciously.

“I can’t say what it is.” Lucius stated adamantly. “Y/N won’t come, otherwise.”

“I could just not go anyway.”

“Everyone else is going to be there!”

You looked at him incredulously. Immediately, he realised that he had fucked up. In any other situation, you supposed the fear of missing out would have compelled you to attend. That said, you had to wonder what in the world possessed him to think that that would be a selling point given the circumstances.

“So, there’s going to be an audience for this thing?”

“Well, Captain Bonnet told them to go away, but everyone wants to watch. There wasn’t much he could do.”

Picking up on your decreasing desire to leave the galley, Lucius folded his arms and sighed.

“He really wants you to go.”

You took in a deep breath and closed your eyes. 

Stede was the one who rescued you from the island. Without him, you’d more than likely be dead, so, ever since he saved you, you felt indebted to him. The least you could do to repay him was this one thing, even if you were going into it knowing that you were in for a miserable ride, right? From the way Lucius was talking about whatever this was, you guessed you’d probably come out of it wishing Stede just left you to die.

“Tell him we’ll be up in a minute,” you caved in. “But, I can’t promise I won’t throw myself overboard.”

━━━━━━━━━

When you, Roach and Olu arrived on the main deck, most of your crewmates were leaning against the railing in a faux-nonchalant manner. It seemed as though they’d been told to pretend that they weren’t anticipating your arrival with bated breath. Your cheeks burned beneath all of their stares. Oluwande patted you on the back and retreated to Jim’s side, while Roach joined Frenchie and Wee John.

Your throat felt tight when your eyes landed on the only two who weren't situated on the sidelines: Stede and… Izzy. The latter of the pair stood there with folded arms. You were surprised they didn’t have to tie him up. 

You looked to Stede expectantly, awaiting an explanation you were sure you could figure out for yourself.

“You need to sort things out with Izzy.”

Izzy shrugged him off when Stede clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry I decked the mast, alright?” you blurted. “But, there’s nothing to sort out. He left, like, half of us for dead on an island, and it was a beyond shitty thing to do. That’s it.”

“We all… know, Y/N,” Stede admitted. “And it’s okay! I promise. This is a safe space.”

You froze. You were well aware that the other six who had been marooned with you knew about your feelings, but everyone else? You glanced around. Everyone awkwardly averted their gaze.

“Y/N?” Stede asked. He approached you, brows furrowed in concern, and rested a hand on your shoulder.

“That confession was supposed to die with me on that island he left us on.”

Stede gently seized your forearm and dragged you closer to Izzy, who was watching you with an unreadable expression; you stared back at him with wide, uncertain eyes. You swallowed your saliva and shook your head. Stede held you in place so that you were only a couple of feet away from the man you least wanted to see.

“Stede, I’m not- this is mortifying!”

“Come on, Y/N.” Stede insisted. He backed away. “Say what you need to say.”

“I don’t need to say anything.”

“You punched the mast because you looked at him, mate!” Olu argued. “You said yourself that you’re full of rage and… other feelings- now’s your chance to let it out without fucking up another part of your body.”

“You could punch him with the hand that isn’t broken.” Jim suggested.

Olu sighed and sent them a disapproving look.

You inadvertently mirrored Izzy’s stance by folding your arms, then looked down at your feet as you shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m not punching him.”

“Can I punch him?” Black Pete requested hopefully.

Not bothering to dignify his plea with a response, you rolled your eyes and looked at Stede.

“Don’t you think this is a bit pointless?” you asked. “It was a complete dick move for him to leave us on the sodding island, but it’s not his problem that…”

“Go on.” Stede prompted.

“That my… feelings were hurt.” you reluctantly admitted through gritted teeth.

“Alright- we’re getting somewhere!” Stede rejoiced, clasping his hands.

You finally looked at Izzy again.

“This’d be a really good time for you to insult this whole exercise and storm off.” you commented bitterly.

It was the first time you’d spoken to him in the three weeks you’d been back.

He just stared blankly at you, a stoic expression settled on his face. You glared at him.

“Nothing? Really? You’re going to go with ‘nothing’? Fucking typical!” you fumed. “You-you abandoned me in the middle of the fucking ocean and all I got was one lousy apology three weeks ago and jackshit else!”

When he displayed no visible reaction, you chewed your tongue irritably. An exhale escaped your nostrils.

“We’ve known each other for years, and this is still all I get?” you ranted, your voice cracking slightly. “I thought, after all this time, I’d be worth at least something to you, but I’m not even worth not being left for dead, and I’m barely worth a fucking explanation!”

Nothing. Again. Though you bit your lip, you were unable to contain another trembling huff. Tears built in your eyes, but you were too emotional to be embarrassed. Not only that but you guessed most, if not all, of the spectators were on your side (and desperate for you to tear into Izzy).

“I don’t know if I’m more of an idiot for feeling anything for you in the first place or not being able to fucking stop.”

The tears began to spill, prompting you to avert your gaze. You absently massaged your injured knuckles. 

“I don’t even have the sense to hate you.” you continued, your voice now significantly quieter. “I thought I did. I really thought you’d managed to do it. But, when we got back to the ship I saw you and I realised... you can fuck me over, and I can hate that… but not you.”

You looked back up at him and were met with that same stony expression.

“Fucking say something, Iz!”

Nope.

“I deserve at least something.” you said, your voice a mixture feeble yet furious. “I know we weren’t exactly ‘friends’, but we were whatever the equivalent of ‘friends’ is for miserable pricks who are too embarrassed to consider people ‘friends’. I mean, that’s why I defended you whenever these guys’d get pissed off at you for being a dick.”

You paused expectantly. Unfortunately, you were (once again) disappointed. You groaned and marched towards him, closing the gap between the two of you. The crew leaned forward in anticipation, the majority of them appearing too excited about what they thought was going to happen. Without thinking, you struck Izzy’s chest with the palm of your injured hand, not bothering to meet his gaze or check for any sign of pain on his face (you guessed your efforts were in vain). You then balled up your hand into a fist and slammed it into his chest again. Part of you doubted it actually hurt him, which was why you decided to continue. You wouldn’t admit that you didn’t really want to hurt him. From the sidelines, you heard some satisfied muttering.

“Say something!” you demanded, interrupted by a series of sobs. You continued slamming your hand into his chest. Another series of sobs escaped your lips, while tears of frustration and pain leaked from your eyes. “Fucking say something! Stop giving me nothing after everything I’ve given you! Just… give me something!”

“Y/N,” Stede hesitated. When you didn’t look at him, he stepped forward. “I don’t think that’s very good for your hand-”

“Fuck my hand! What’s a bit more fucking pain?”

Without saying anything for roughly ten seconds, you hit Izzy in the chest with increased frequency and intensity (still not enough to injure him).

“Say… something…” you croaked.

Slowly but surely, everything- the slamming, the sobbing, the speaking- came to a stop.  You rested your hand on Izzy’s chest.

Finally, you dared to look up at his face. It was the same as before- hard, unbothered. However, when you locked eyes with him, you discovered something else.

“I-Iz?” 

Your voice was soft and pained, just like Izzy’s eyes.

After a moment of consideration, you cleared your throat and (without looking at Stede) declared, “I’m borrowing your cabin.”

“Oh. Alright.” Stede agreed, albeit with confusion and mild concern.

You grabbed Izzy’s wrist and began dragging him to the aforementioned location.

“Don’t fall for it, Y/N!” Lucius protested. “I’ve been given that look so many times, and not once did any of them mean it.”

“I’m not off to shag him, Lucius.” you huffed, not bothering to stop.

“Oh. Right. That’s fine then.”

When you arrived in the cabin, you let go of Izzy’s wrist. You weren’t completely sure of what you were going to say, but you knew it wasn’t a conversation that should’ve taken place in front of the whole crew (not that you had wanted their audience before).

Wordlessly, you looked up at him as you considered what you wanted to say and how you wanted to say it.

“What you did was fucked, Iz. Completely and utterly fucked.” you began, sniffling and furiously swiping at your tears. “But… I know you’re actually sorry because you let that whole thing out there happen without killing me or Stede.”

You bit your lip and, hesitantly, placed your hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not okay, but… I can forgive you for it.”

Relaxing beneath your touch, he let out a trembling sigh.

“And,” you added hastily. “I’m sorry for hitting you. It hurt me more than it hurt you, literally, but still… you don’t hit people that you… y’know.”

“You don’t leave them for dead, either.” he muttered. “Don’t apologise.”

He watched you silently, unable to tell if you’d managed to pick up on the significance of his words. 

“I don’t want you to forgive me for my sake.” Izzy insisted. “I only want you to do it for yours.”

“Trust me, Iz,” you sighed, lifting up your damaged hand. “This is for me.”

He stared at it. His breath hitched in his throat. You felt him grow tense once again.

“You shouldn’t ‘ve done that.”

“I know.” you answered lightheartedly, removing your hand from his shoulder to massage the injured one in an attempt to soothe the pain. “Fucking kills.”

“No. I meant you… should’ve just punched me instead.”

“Probably.”

Izzy went silent.

“I’m kidding, Iz.” you reassured him.

“I’m not."

“Iz…” 

You reached out to grab his arm but he recoiled.

“I don't deserve this.”

“Deserve what?”

“Things going back to how they were before.” Izzy replied. “You should still be pissed off at me, not forgiving me and apologising to me and joking around like everything’s alright.”

You sighed.

“I know everything isn’t alright. It probably won’t be completely alright for a while.” you stated. “But, I’m feeling kinda better now, after saying all of my shit- it’s like we’re a step closer to ‘alright’.”

After an uncertain pause, you timidly asked: “Could you… say something, please?”

Izzy ran his hand over his face. He knew exactly what you meant, and he was surprised that he’d managed to avoid explicitly expressing it.

“You mean the world to me.” he confessed. “I didn’t show it when I left you for dead, but that’s how I feel.”

“Why’d you do it, Iz?”

He hesitated.

“The idea of loving you still absolutely fucking terrifies me. I had a chance to push you away for good when I was gonna get rid of the rest of the crew anyway, and I took it. I know it’s a shit explanation-”

“I get it.” you interrupted. “It’s not a great reason to leave someone for dead. Of course I don’t agree with it- I get it, though.”

Izzy swallowed his saliva and observed you. He was deliberating, you guessed. That’s why you patiently awaited his next words.

“What do you want to do?”

Despite the vagueness of his question, you understood what he was asking.

“Well, I want us to sort things out.” you expressed. “I don’t know if we’d work together, but I’d like to try. That’s just what I want, though. If you don’t-”

“That’s what I want, too.” Izzy agreed weakly.

You sensed his reluctance. 

“But?” you prompted.

“I don’t understand… after what I did to you…”

“I don’t understand either.”

You absently rubbed your cheek.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you went on. “I don’t want to force you into anything you’re uncomfortable with. But, I, for one, want to give this a chance, and I want to give you a chance. I mean, there has to be some reason I fell in love with you, right?”

You offered him a faint smile. 

Tears formed in his eyes and he looked away. 

Your face fell.

Before he could register what was happening, you engulfed him in a hug. Gradually, he wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in the crook of your neck, which dampened upon contact. You stroked his hair as his body jolted with the quiet sobs that tumbled from his mouth. His hands gripped the back of your shirt. 

Seeing Izzy in this state caught you off guard as much as it caused your heart to ache. It wasn’t every day that you saw him in pain and distress, especially to this extent, hence your cluelessness of how to comfort him beyond a hug. Perhaps that’s all he needed- you wouldn’t know.

You settled on not saying anything. It was a risky move, but everything was when you had no idea what you were doing, or what exactly had brought this on. Did you say something wrong? Or, was he just overwhelmed with everything?

When he pulled away, you didn’t resist, instead loosening your grip. You reached up and dried his tears as best you could with one good hand, then absently traced his cheekbone with your thumb.

“Thank you.” he murmured.

Those two words allowed you to understand the cause of his tears. Your worries melted away.

“Aw, Iz.” you cooed. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do. You’re giving me a chance. Not every day someone does that for me.”

“So, you’re taking me up on my offer?”

You grinned, eliciting a weak smile from him.

“Of course I am.”

[beelsnack]

Obey Me! Boys Taking Care of a Sick MC

In honor of me no longer having covid, I decided to write down how I mentally coped with having the plague  some headcanons about our boys and a sick MC. Because I’m all about the hurt/comfort life.

-----

Lucifer: “You should be resting.”

The human scowled. Of course Lucifer was standing guard at the bottom of the staircase.

“I’m just going to get some water,” their voice sounded like sandpaper against wood as they spoke. They felt like the living dead, and judging by the cool stare Lucifer was giving them, they looked it, too.

“No, you’re just going back to bed.” He caught them by the elbow as soon as they were within reach. “I’ll bring a pitcher of water to your room for you.”

“Lucif--” their complaint was cut off by a sudden coughing fit. The force of it made them double over, and they clutched at their chest with one hand while the other went to cover their mouth. Demons couldn’t catch human illnesses, but old habits die hard.

It wasn’t until their lungs stopped trying to eject themselves from their body that they realized that Lucifer had sat them down on the bottom step. He was rubbing slow, soothing circles on their back, a rare look of concern in his dark eyes. “Easy now, my dear,” he murmured as they caught their breath. “You’re shaking, are you chilled?”

“...Just a little,” they wheezed. They must not have sounded very convincing, because Lucifer quickly removed one glove and gently pressed the back of his hand against their forehead.

“Your fever has come back.” In one quick, fluid movement, he had taken the cloak from around his shoulders and wrapped it around them like a blanket. “Go back to bed, now. I’ll bring you water and something to bring your fever down,” he spoke softly, like raising his voice would trigger another coughing fit.

It was too bad they were too sick to appreciate Lucifer’s soft side.

Mammon: “…A’ight, that should be everything.”

Admittedly, he might have gone a bit overboard. But, could you blame him? He’d never nursed a sick human back to health before!

…Okay, so Lucifer may or may not have let Mammon use his credit card to get stuff for them. And he may or may not have taken a few liberties. It was for the human though!

“Mammon, holy shit,” they mumbled, poking their head out from the blanket burrito they had cocooned themselves in. “Is there anything left at the convenience store or did you buy them out?”

“Shut it.” he set the last six-pack of Gatorade (well, the Devildom equivalent of it, anyway) at the foot of their bed. “Ya’ weren’t specific, so I just got one of each!”

Their room looked like a doomsday prepper’s bunker. Cans of soup, a myriad of flavors of instant noodles, a portable heater, the works. Maybe they should have been more specific.

“Do ya’ need anything else?” Mammon sounded vaguely annoyed, but underneath the gruff tone he spoke with, his concern was obvious. They had given him a scare when they first came down with the flu two days ago, temperature so high that they ended up collapsing on their way to RAD. He had been fussing over them since. They weren’t even sure if he had slept.

“...Just one more thing.”

“Yeah?” he perked up like a dog waiting for an order from its master. “Whaddaya need?”

Instead of speaking, they wiggled their arms free of the blankets and held them out. For a moment, Mammon just stared at them in confusion. When what they were asking for finally clicked, his face grew so hot they could use it as a space heater.

“What are you, a little kid?” he grumbled, but there wasn’t even a moment’s hesitation as he climbed into the bed with them. They settled themselves against his chest, sighing contentedly. Sleep had taken over in a few heartbeats.

“...Get better soon, you hear?” they didn’t, obviously, and Mammon took the opportunity to gently pat their head, like they so often did for him. “If you’re gonna be all cute and stuff, I want ya to be conscious of it.”

Leviathan: “You know, I really thought you would take longer to go through all of these.”

The human looked like a whole new person compared to the last time Levi had seen them. They were sitting upright, although they looked ready to slide back down into their previous coma-like state any minute, and the number of blankets wrapped around them had been reduced to just one instead of three. They managed to shoot him a weak grin as they handed over the manga he had let them borrow.

As much as Levi loved staying locked away in his inner sanctum, it was only an enjoyable experience if one’s source of entertainment was also locked away with them. And he couldn’t, in hood conscience, let the human die of boredom instead of dying of illness, so he had ventured out of his lair armed with his collector’s edition box set of I’m A Scholarship Student At An Obscenely Rich School and Now I Have To Work Off A Debt Because I Broke A Vase That Belonged To A Host Club!

That had only been a few days ago, but this morning he had gotten a text from them saying that they were finished.

“It’s not like I have anything else to do, Levi.”

“Pretty sure you could have been sleeping, but okay.”

They stuck their tongue out. “I couldn’t put it down.”

“Right?” Levi nodded enthusiastically, clutching the box to his chest like it was worth his weight in gold. Actually, knowing him, he probably paid his weight in gold for it. “I definitely bawled my eyes out at the end. You have to watch the anime next, the music really brings the scene together. And, like, I’m not usually into pastel themes, but the color scheme actually really fits the mood, and - “

Somewhere in the middle of Levi’s overly-excited info dumping, the human’s eyes had slipped closed. By the time Levi realized he was geeking out, their breathing had evened out and they had slumped against the headboard.

…Oh. They looked really cute like that.

“Sheesh, c’mon, normie,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I bored you to sleep.”

He set down the box on their nightstand and, very carefully, so he didn’t wake them up, inched them down to lay were laying against the mountain of pillows they had. Once they were settled into a position that wouldn’t give them a crick in their neck, he pulled the blanket up to their chin.

“There,” he nodded to himself. “You rest up, because you and I are going to have an anime marathon, and I won’t forgive you if you fall asleep in the middle of it.”

They mumbled, but otherwise stayed unconscious. Levi had definitely seen this in an anime before. His heart was pounding somewhere around his throat, but he wasn’t getting this opportunity again any time soon. Gently, like he was approaching a wild animal, he leaned in close and pressed his lips to their forehead.

“Seriously, get better soon.” he murmured. “I don’t like seeing you sick.”

Satan: His leg was falling asleep.

He had been sitting in the same position for at least an hour, and if it were anyone else he simply would have shoved them off and went about his day. But, how could he push the human away when they were curled up like a kitten in his lap?

They had been complaining about being bored, since they had been too feverish to attend RAD for the past few days. So Satan, always the man with a plan, had arrived in their room ready to binge watch his favorite crime drama. Even though he had seen this show at least eight times, he still found himself getting absolutely sucked into the plot. So much so that he didn’t notice the human starting to nod off until they landed against his side.

“Honestly, you could have just told me you were tired.” he muttered, gently rearranging them so their head was resting in his lap. They made a small noise in their sleep, but otherwise remained unconscious.

It was so rare that the human was still. They seemed to have an endless source of energy, able to be embroiled in all of the shenanigans that tended to happen around the family without absolutely disintegrating. To have them finally at rest, even sick, was quite the treat. Satan couldn’t quit help himself as he reached down to pet their head.

Well, if he was going to be stuck here until they woke up, at least he had a good show to watch.

Asmodeus: “Asmo, I can bathe by myself.”

“Yeah, no, don’t even try it.” Asmo shook his head as he ushered the human into his bedroom. “You passed out in the shower the other day, darling. This is the only time I’m grateful for Mammon’s snooping, because you might still be there if he hadn’t heard you fall.”

They subconsciously touched the sore spot on their shoulder where they had collided with the wall. The pain blended in with the rest of their body aches, but the bruise certainly didn’t.

“Besides,” Asmo sat them down on the chaise lounge. “A nice, hot bath with some quality oils will rejuvenate you like nothing else. Now, go on, strip.”

When they gave him a clearly unamused look, he just laughed. “Not while you’re sick, darling. You know full well being with me requires you to be at peak energy.”

With a sigh, they began peeling themselves out of their days-old pajamas. Admittedly, they did feel like a bath would help them feel a little better. They were pretty sure they read somewhere that the steam from hot water would help clear out all the gunk in their chest. And if anyone knew the intricate rituals of bath time, it was Asmodeus.

While they were stripping, Asmo had made his way over to the Grecian temple that was his bathtub and turned on the tap. After a few moments of running his hand under the stream to test the temperature, he stood and began browsing his impressive collection of bath accoutrements. “Hm, let’s see, let’s see…here it is!”

Asmo turned around, holding up the little bottle like he had just found buried treasure. “Eucalyptus, to help clear out the lungs. It’s good for muscle aches, too!”

With a flourish, he put a few drops into the water. “Alright, ready. Can you get in yourself or do you need my help?”

“I’ve got the flu, not the plague, Asmo.”

“You. Fell. In. The. Shower.” he punctuated each word with a poke to their cheek before holding out his hand to help them. Although they grumbled, they were still feeling kind of weak, so they allowed Asmo to pull them up.

“There, now, easy does it,” he spoke softly as he guided them to sit on the edge of the tub. If this were any other situation, they would be painfully aware of the fact that they were completely naked in front of the Avatar of Lust. But, the fragrant steam rising from the water was beginning to ease the ache in their chest, and Asmo’s soft hands had begun massaging their shoulders. They barely even noticed when they were fully seated.

“You’re not coming in?” they murmured sleepily as Asmo sat himself along the edge of the tub. He just laughed.

“Next time, darling. Now, you just relax and let me take care of you.”

Beelzebub: The phrase “don’t have much of an appetite” just didn’t make sense to Beel. How could someone not want to eat? Maybe he was a bit biased, being the ever-starving Avatar of Gluttony, but still. Humans needed lots of nutrients to get better when they were sick, right? He was pretty sure that was what Satan told him.

Beel scowled, scrolling through the eighteenth listicle about foods to eat when sick. Honestly, he was making himself hungry, but he was starting to get the general idea. Looks like he’s making them some soup.

The kitchen was separated into “human” and “demon” sections, after the one time that they almost used cyanide instead of salt. Human cuisine took less time and involved less magic, so Beel knew his way around the human spice cabinet. Making the soup was the easy part, making sure it got to its intended recipient was another matter.

Climbing the stairs to the human’s room felt like a Herculean task, but he did it - mostly. He may have taken a few bites here and there. But he had purposely put more in the bowl than he knew they would be able to eat, so it was fine, right? He knocked on their door twice, listening to them shuffle around before they finally called out weakly that the door was open.

“I brought food.” he said, shutting the door behind him. “You haven’t been eating much lately.”

They poked their head miserably out of the blanket burrito they had wrapped themselves in. A thin sheen of sweat covered their forehead, but they were shaking, which meant their fever hadn’t broken yet. Did humans always take this long to get better? Another question for Satan.

“I’m not really hungry, Beel.” they mumbled, voice thick and gravelly due to the sore throat they had. “You can eat it.”

Shaking his head, Beel sat himself down on the bed beside them. “I had some already.”

“Have some more.”

“No, I made it for you.” his stomach growled, completely undermining his words. “It’s basically just broth, you can drink it.”

They wiggled around for a bit before they managed to extract themselves from the absolute cocoon they had made. “…What kind of broth?”

“Just chicken, I promise.” he laughed. “I wasn’t about to try to get you to eat a Devildom recipe.”

Finally, they got themselves into a sitting position, but even that seemed to wear them out. They flopped against Beel’s shoulder, and he definitely didn’t like how hot their skin felt against his. Their breathing was ragged as they tried to get the energy to sit up.

“Here,” Beel dipped the spoon into the broth. “I’ll help.”

“I’m not a baby…”

“No, but you are really weak.” he replied gently. “Let me help you.”

He could feel the urge to protest vibrating through their body - their independence was definitely an endearing quality of theirs. But, eventually they must have come to the conclusion that a content of tenacity between the two of them was going to take longer than simply waiting out their illness. With a huff, they opened their mouth and let Beel feed them.

“Oh, wow, this is pretty good.”

“I’m a good cook if I don’t eat the ingredients first.”

Belphegor: “I thought humans slept a lot when they got sick.”

The bags under the human’s eyes were almost as intense as they glare they gave him. When the rest of the brothers had begun arguing over something stupid, Belphegor had taken the opportunity to bundle them up and whisk them away to the peace and quiet of the attic. His intent had been to take a nice long nap with them, but apparently their lungs had a different plan.

“We should,” they groaned, sounding like their throat was made of sandpaper. “Every time I feel like I’m going to fall asleep, I start coughing.”

“That sounds counter-intuitive.”

“Tell me about it.”

Belphie rolled over so that he was lying on his side, facing them. “Well then, you picked a good nap partner.”

They blinked blearily up at him. “Why is that?”

“Come here, I’ll show you.”

He reached out, tugging them towards him until they were settled comfortably against his chest with their head tucked beneath his chin. Although he wasn’t the tallest of the brothers, he had enough height to basically surround the human. “Can you hear my heartbeat?”

“I’m too tired for you cheesy lines, Belphie.”

“No, seriously, just listen.”

He could practically hear them roll their eyes, but they quieted down. Once he was sure they were synced up with the steady ba-bump, ba-bump of his heart, he began to work his magic - literally.

He brought his hand up to cup the back of their skull, fingertips tingling as he focused his magic their. They squirmed for a moment before sighing as the cool rush of Belphie’s special brand of sleep magic washed over them.

“I told you, being tired isn’t the prob - “

“Hush,” he murmured, letting them feel his voice rumble through his chest. “Just relax for me, okay?”

Belphie massaged their scalp like he was washing their hair, working his magic into their skin. Slowly but surely he felt them soften, the tightness in their chest easing. Finally, their slightly labored breathing evened out, and the poor human finally succumbed to sleep.

“About time,” he kissed the top of their head. “You need to rest if you want to get better, so let’s sleep as long as we like, okay?”

[mimisempai]

Reassurance

Summary:

Mobius has a particular request for Loki...

Notes: For @jaylh49

Dialogue prompt : "Call me when you get home, so I know you're safe."

ON AO3

Rating G - 469 words

"Mobius, I came to bring you my mission report and then I'm going home since I'm done for the day."

Mobius watched Loki enter his office and gasped when he saw his condition. The sleeve of his shirt was torn, revealing a bandage around his upper arm, he had a black mark on his cheek and a cut above his eyebrow.

Mobius exclaimed as he stood up and walked quickly towards him, "Loki, what happened to you?"

Loki had a small sheepish smile, "Nothing too bad, you should see the other guy."

Mobius asked abruptly, "What other guy?"

Loki chuckled softly, "The tree branch I couldn't avoid as we were walking back to where the time door was supposed to appear."

Mobius sighed in relief, shaking his head at Loki's tale.

He asked, however, "Are you sure it's not serious?"

Loki kissed him on the forehead and replied, "I swear to you."

They walked to Mobius' desk where Loki gave him his report. Then he got up to leave. 

Since they were alone, he took the liberty of walking around the desk and hugging Mobius before turning to the door.

Mobius told him in a soft voice, "Call me when you get home, so I know you're safe."

Loki turned around and his first reaction was to take offense and retort that he was a god and this was just the ride home, that nothing could happen, but he stopped short of opening his mouth when he saw Mobius' expression.

Mobius was really worried. 

Loki could see it in his face and in his eyes.

Mobius smiled weakly and continued, "Oh I know what you're thinking, that you're a god, that nothing can happen to you blah blah blah... but this was a routine mission and a branch fell on you anyway. So you can make fun of me, but I still like to know that you're safe and sound."

Loki nodded with understanding and replied, "I promise, I'll call you." he walked to the door and then changed his mind and came to sit in front of Mobius.

Mobius asked him with a puzzled look, "What are you doing?"

Loki smiled softly at him and stretching his legs out in front of him, clearly getting into a comfortable position replied, "Well, rather than call you and tell you I'm safe, I'll wait until you're done and you can take me home safely yourself."

Loki punctuated the obviousness of his reasoning with his usual gesture of spreading his arms openly and smiling broadly.

Mobius reached over his desk and Loki, understanding his gesture, put his hand on Mobius'. Mobius squeezed it, then released it, saying, "Thank you for indulging me."

Then under Loki's gaze, he hurried to finish what he had to do to get his lover home safely.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Lokius masterlist : here

Lokius drabbles collection : here

[dropssofjupitter]

The American

Pairings: Fred Weasley x Slytherin!Reader [Platonic] , George Weasley x Slytherin!Reader [Semi-slowburn]

Summary: A new transfer student is welcomed to Hogwarts during the politically tense times that have befallen the wizarding kingdom. And despite their better judgement and the new (and frankly horrifying) DADA teacher, the twins can’t seem to get her out of their mind

Word Count: 2.5 k 

Warnings: Umbridge (I feel like that’s enough said for that one), anxiety mentions, swearing (light. maybe one f-bomb), Ron being a lil prejudiced against Slytherins

Next >>

A/N: I took a small liberty with the last name just to help the story flow better, so I’m sorry if that’s upsetting. I am also apologizing ahead of time if I wrote the twins ooc, it’s my first time writing a fic for them! [Not beta read, any mistakes are mine and mine alone]

You took a breath, hands smoothing down the sides of your skirt, twisting nervously in the folds. You could do this. Nerves ran throughout your body, making it feel like it was humming with energy as you shifted on your feet. You could do this. The professor next you, McGonagall if you remembered correctly, placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. You forced a small smile, turning your face back to the set of great wooden doors in front of you. You could barely hear a thing that was being said, you just knew that you would be introduced after the new teacher and then sorted into your house.

“In other news,” a voice raised from behind the doors and you looked up sharply. “We have a transfer student joining us this term. We have decided that it would be best for everyone if her sorting ceremony were as public as the first years, so please. Join me in welcoming Y/N Jones.”

The hand left your shoulder and you looked up, taking in another nervous breath as you watched McGonagall place her hand on one of the doors, nodding to you to motion that it was time before pushing the doors open. You forced your face to remain neutral, and straightened your back as you walked alone up to the Headmaster in the front of the room.

The sound of your shoes hitting the stone floor caused your anxiety to rise again, but you pushed it down, forcing yourself to keep your head high and act like you knew you belonged here. You stopped in front of the stool placed at the top of the steps and turned, sitting down on it and effectively silencing the whispers that had been floating around the Great Hall.

The headmaster (god, what was his name again?) raised a dusty old witches hat and placed it on your head. The brim of the hat slipped over your eyes, and an older sounding voice resounded in your head, mulling over where to place you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fred and George had fully expected this year’s welcoming feast to go like all of the others. Cheer when the first years were sorted (booing when it was into Slytherin, of course), boo again when the new DADA teacher was announced, and then gorge themselves as they planned the perfect way to sneak puking pastilles into Draco Malfoys food (it never worked). However, they were both pleasantly and utterly surprised when Dumbledore announced a new transfer student. Hogwarts had never really had a transfer student, at least while they were there.

Fred turned to George and elbowed him slightly, a half smirk on his face. “Maybe we’ll have another gullible second year to talk into insulting Snape, eh George?”

George grinned as he swallowed a quick swig of pumpkin juice. “Maybe so Freddie.”

However, as the doors to the Great Hall opened and you walked through, all thoughts of pranking left the boys’ heads. You carried yourself like you were the only one meant to be here, and like the others were new students embarking on your domain, and it drew the boys’ full attention. They only remembered to pick up their jaws when you sat down on the stool to be sorted.

Ron, who had noticed their strange reaction, tried to get their attention through a poorly hushed whisper, but to no avail. The twins were too focused on what house you were going to be sorted into.

It felt almost foolish to hope that you would be a Gryffindor, but hope they did. They waited with baited breath as the Sorting Hat took its sweet, sweet time. After what felt like an eternity, the hat had finally reached it’s verdict.

“Slytherin!” The voice rang out through the Great Hall, and the Slytherins cheered as their flag was momentarily displayed on the walls of the Hall. The twins felt their heart sink as they kept their eyes on your form, watching you as you walked over to the Slytherin table and sat down in between the first years and older house members.

“Oi! Fred! George!” Ron exclaimed, exasperated as he gave up on catching his brothers attention. “Bloody hell! It’s like I don’t even exist!”

Next to him, Hermione giggled knowingly, shaking her head at Ron.

“Oh? Have you got something to say now?” Ron asked, turning his face towards Hermione.

She sighed and shook her head again. “You really are incredibly dense sometimes Ron.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had spent the remainder of the feast politely talking to your fellow house members, answering their questions and asking some of your own. It seemed that they were all either in awe due to your transfer, or in disbelief once they found out that you were American. Quite honestly, you couldn’t blame them. Yet your anxiety kept you from speaking about it, and instead had you hesitantly picking at the comfort food that had magically appeared on your plate once you had sat down. 

After the feast was done, you were escorted to your room and introduced to your roommates by a prefect whom had asked you multiple times (despite your constant assurances) if you needed a tour of the castle itself. You settled into your room quite easily, introducing yourself to the girls and exchanging pleasantries before unpacking your trunk and getting your belongings situated. One girl, Pansy you believed, seemed particularly kind to you, and you made a mental note to get to know her better. 

Before you knew it, you were fast asleep in your bed, wrapped in the comfortable blankets that had been provided and assuring yourself that tomorrow would yield only positives. 

~~~~~

The next day had indeed started out well. You woke up on time and were able to find your classes easily, and you were also praised by Professor Sprout for your extensive knowledge in Herbology. However, things took a small turn for the worst went you entered Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

The first thing you noticed was the teacher in the front of the room, watching with beady eyes as students casually found their way to desks and friends. Her monochrome outfit looked awful, having the likeness of a pattern you swore you saw on your grandmother’s couch once, and had given her a look that, quite plainly, reminded you of a toad. 

The second thing you noticed was the fact that the seats were filling up, and quickly. Scurrying towards the closest open seat, you ended up next to a girl with unruly hair and a red and yellow tie. She smiled kindly at you as you sat down, and you returned the action before returning your eyes to the front of the room. 

“Ordinary Wizarding Level Examinations, more commonly known as O.W.L.S.” The teacher spoke, seeming to punctuate every word of her sentence with a pause as the blackboard behind her wrote what she had spoken.

“Study hard, and you will be rewarded. Fail to do so, and the consequences may be, severe.” She smiled, a tight lipped sort of smile that let everyone know she was faking it. With a wave of her wand the stacks of books behind her began to float down the aisles, distributing themselves amongst the students.

“Your previous instruction on this subject has been, disturbingly, uneven.” You looked down as a book placed itself on your desk, pulling a face as you saw the cover and began to flip through it. 

“But you’ll be pleased to know that from now on you’ll be following a carefully constructed, Ministry approved course of defensive magic.” The girl next you did the same, and raised her hand. 

“Yes?” the professor called on her. 

“There’s nothing in here about using defensive spells?” she said, the confusion evident in her voice and mirroring the confusion on everyone else’s faces. 

“Using spells?” The professor laughed, walking closer towards your table. “Well I can’t imagine why you would need to use spells in my classroom!”

“We’re not gonna use magic?” a redhead boy piped up, turning the book over in his hands. 

“You’ll be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way,” the professor replied, her annoyingly ��girly’ voice already seeming to get on your nerves. 

“Well what use is that?” A brunette boy who looked shockingly similar to Harry Potter asked. “If we’re going to be attacked it won’t be ‘risk free’.” 

“Students will raise their hands when they speak in my class!” The professor said, her nerves evidently already frazzled as she raised her voice. The brunette boy sat back in his seat (No seriously. He could make money as a Harry look-alike) , obviously on edge as the professor took a moment to turn around and address the class again. 

“It is the view of the ministry, that a theoretical knowledge would be sufficient to get you through your examinations which after all, is what school is all about.” 

“And how are theories supposed to prepare us for what’s out there?” the brunette boy asked again, sharing a look with his table partner who had spoken up earlier. 

“There is nothing out there dear,” the professor replied, and at this, you couldn’t hold back a scoff. The professor whipped her head in your direction, and a few classmates turned to look at you. 

You looked up and swallowed thickly, your eyes meeting the professors. “I mean, I could be wrong, but wasn’t there a basilisk within the school a few years ago? That kind of seems like something ‘out there’.” 

The professor stuttered, and a few eyes widened around the classroom. “Ex-cuse me?” she said, taking a step towards your desk. 

“I’m just saying that there are certain undeniable dangers. Especially around this school, it seems.” You paused, hands fiddling with your robes under the table in a nervous habit that you hadn’t quite seemed to kick just yet. 

“Lying, Miss Jones, will get you nowhere.” The professor fired back, a tight-lipped smile plastered on her face. 

“She’s not lying,” the brunette fired back. “There are present dangers out in the world. Like, oh, I don’t know. Lord Voldemort.” 

The entire class went silent at his comment, some turning to glare at him with barely disguised hatred and others suddenly finding their desks and books to be the most interesting thing in the room. 

The professor, after taking a moment to recover of course, changed directions in order to walk towards the brunettes desk. “Now that, is a lie.” She replied in a dangerously low tone. 

“Oh, so I suppose that Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord then?” he replied in an accusatory manner. Gasps rose up from the class, disgust now evident in most of your classmates faces. 

“Cedric Diggory’s death was an unfortunate accident-” 

“No it wasn’t! Voldemort killed him! I watched it -” 

“That is enough Mr. Potter!” The professor yelled, losing her composure suddenly. The dead quiet settled over the class again as she smoothed down her skirt. “Potter, Jones, please see me for detention after classes today.” She said simply, before turning around and starting the days lesson as if the entire exchange had never occurred. 

You sat at your desk, absolutely dumbfounded. You had had no intention of speaking up in class, much less saying something apparently so controversial that it warranted a detention. Yet here you were, in your now decidedly least favorite class with your most recently least favorite teacher. How did you manage to get yourself into these situations?

The brunette next to you looked over with a small look of sympathy whilst your fellow Slytherins shared a not so subtle haughty laugh in the corner of the room. You sunk low in your seat, making up your mind indefinitely that speaking in class was completely off the table now. 

Thankfully, the class passed without any further altercations, and you nearly sighed with relief when it ended. You gathered up your items, shoving the new (and frankly quite stupid) DADA book into your bag and turning to make a beeline for the door. 

The brunette who had offered her sympathy earlier in the class spoke before you could leave the desk though. “Thank you for speaking up. For Harry I mean. Not a lot of people would do that, especially now.” 

You looked up, slightly confused. “What do you mean?” 

She returned your look. “Did you not hear?” 

“Hear about what?” The two of you had slowly made your way to Umbridge’s door, lest you incite her wrath twice in the same day. 

The brunette was about to answer when the redhead who had spoken earlier wrapped his arm over her shoulder in a protective matter. “Is this Slytherin bothering you Hermione?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at you in what you assumed was his best glare (honestly it wasn’t very good). 

You furrowed your eyebrows and took a step back. “Excuse me?” 

“I said,” he stepped in front of Hermione and crossed his arms, “is this snake bothering you?”

“Oh honestly Ronald!” Hermione cried out from behind him, grabbing his arm and pushing him out of the classroom door. She threw an apologetic smile over her shoulder at you before turning back to Ron and smacking the back of his head. 

You stifled a laugh at the look on his face and shook your head as you headed the opposing way down the corridor, not entirely paying attention to your surroundings as you double checked your schedule for the third time that day. 

Moments later you were sprawled out on the corridor floor, having collided with two people who had apparently been running at breakneck speed. You groaned and picked yourself up to a sitting position, looking over at the other two boys currently thrown over one another. Great. More redheads. 

Despite your better judgement, you gently kicked one of them with your foot after picking yourself fully up off of the floor. “Hey, are you guys alright?” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fred and George were royally screwed. Fucked, if you will. 

They hadn’t planned to quite literally body slam you in the corridors whilst running away from Filch after setting off dung bombs in his office, it had just. . . happened. And quite unfortunately, at that. 

George rolled over and off of his brother as he felt your foot kick him, looking up at you with what he hoped to Merlin was a dashing smile as he suppressed whatever copious amounts of pain that he was feeling in that moment. “Barely, but I suppose we’ll manage. Right Freddie?” He asked, looking down at his brother who was still planted face first into the stone floor. 

“Speak for yourself oh brother dearest,” he sarcastically replied as he peeled himself from the stone. 

“Weasley’s!” Filch yelled from down the corridor, running full speed (or as well as he could) towards them, students wrinkling their noses in disgust and turning away as he passed them. 

“And that,” Fred said, offering George a hand up, “would be our cue to leave.” 

Both twins offered you crooked grins, George even going as far as saluting you, before they dashed off through the corridors, quite possibly traveling faster than they had when they’d ran into you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You watched them, thoroughly amused despite being tackled, and bent down to pick up the paper schedule that had fallen from your hands. As you reached down, you noticed a larger and much thicker parchment next to yours. You grabbed both and looked closer at the thicker parchment, watching with amazement as what seemed to be a map of the school faded away into nothing. 

You looked back up at the boys just in time to see them turn a corner and disappear from sight. It appeared as though you’d have to return their tricky map to them another time. 

Smiling at the thought of interacting with the chaotic individuals again, you headed off towards Divination. 

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Add yourself to my taglist here

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

PART I

concept: this is a collection of happenings, the little moments with him, rather than a whole thought-out fic. the slowest of slow burns. this is the second part, the reunion. this is what happens when the night is over.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 2,618

warnings: none, except a little profanity

author’s note: part two is here! i hope you like it :)

The second time you met Chris, was while you were at work. You were a cocktail waitress at a relatively posh, incredibly elite, uptown bar. The kind that charges you way too much for a drink so little, and probably sells diamond infused vodka. This was the night spot of everyone who was anyone – gods that sipped golden champagne from fine, polished Baccarat flutes that were probably worth your house.

You had no problem with rich people. You just had a problem with the way some treated you – and that was to say, not very well.

“Hey.” A male voice startled you out of your near robotic drink making. They were a bit understaffed that night, so you had taken the liberty of helping out behind the bar while the tables in your section remained vacant. You were somewhat of an expert cocktail maker – you could even safely say you could do it blindfolded (an exceptionally wild bachelor’s party provided proof enough). So it wasn’t uncommon for your mind to drift elsewhere while you mixed a drink. You tilted your head slightly in the direction of your co-worker, letting him know you were listening, while still pretending to be way more immersed in your task than you really were. It was that anti-social kind of night, where you’d rather be curled up at home with Netflix and a mug of tea rather than be there (despite being fully aware of how many girls would kill to have entry to the most exclusive club in Los Angeles). But the pay was good – excellent, actually – and you did get some really nice patrons at times. And your co-workers? They weren’t half bad, either. “There’s a table that just sat down in your station.”

You swore under your breath, finished mixing the drink with a sped efficiency, and handed it off to the patron. “Your station” was the VIP section, and was rarely very busy so early in the evening. You knew club routine well enough by now: pre-drinks before the party were often done at home, in the limos, or in a relatively tame bar somewhere nearby. This was for the pleasantries, the catching up, the conversations that would inevitably be drowned out by the pounding music if done anywhere else. That usually occurred around this time. This club – and many like it – the kind that was where everyone who was anyone had to be seen at – was the second phase. The party phase. The phase where most of the time, drama, and scandal, took place. This was often from 10pm till 4am, depending on the stamina of the party goers. And then the wind down: after parties, often held at someone’s house. This was the natural order of the night world, and you respected people who respected that. You modelled your entire schedule around that.

That’s why you had assumed that your station would’ve been empty until much later – until after pre-drinks and conversations. Whoever just sat down in VIP – they were disturbing the natural fucking order, and you were not having it. Well, you were silently not having it; you still needed, like, money.

Your job didn’t come without it’s perks, though. A murder of stunning people were sat on the plush leather couches surrounding black marble topped tables behind the velvet chain that separated them from the masses. Some you recognised instantly from the big screen, and others from the tabloids. And one from a personal encounter… Your breath caught and you damn near choked.

There he was, reclined on the couch, so at ease with his arms spread over the back, grinning and laughing at something someone had said. He wasn’t looking at you. Yet. That changed abruptly, as soon as you (after having gathered your confidence) introduced yourself to them.

He faltered slightly in his laugh, but his grin remained – growing even wider, as slowly, he tilted his head to look over at you.

Immediately his eyes brightened. If there was any doubt in your mind as to whether or not it was really him, it dissipated with that single nod of recognition he gave you.

You cleared your throat as a small diversion to clear your head. “Are you ready to order?”

They rattled off their orders, almost all of them barely paying any attention to your silent exchange with Chris. Almost.

A (begrudgingly) stunning female on Chris left, who was pressed eagerly into his side, gave you a dirty once over and sneered out her order to you. Oh. She was one of those. The ones who looked down at literally anyone not a billionaire.

He noticed her disdain, and his grin fell. A small victory, he revoked his arm from around her – bemused by her display of deluded superiority. You had to physically hide your smirk as you got the last order – his – and slipped behind the bar with the orders engraved in your mind.

——————

The group departed after about two hours. Two hours of eyeing the table (mainly to check if their glasses were still full, or if they needed anything else – or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself), two hours of stolen glances – ones that you were always the first to pull away from, usually after the inevitable smirk that touched his lips when you looked for a bit longer than you should.

When they left, you cleaned the table. Who was he? He seemed to have friends in high places, but there was something else… You knew, when you first met him, that you knew his face. Ugh, that itch was back – the one in the brain where you know you know something but it’s evading your every grasp – and it was refusing to go away. Like an earworm of a melody, lyrics forgotten.

It plagued you for the remainder of your shift – which wasn’t necessarily long, just an hour or so more – and even as you got ready to go home.

It was approaching peak hours now, and so you knew the front would be bustling with paps and desperate social climbers begging for entrance from the surly bouncers, who stood as monoliths in churning seas. Because with peak hours, came the rich and famous; socialites, actors, singers, designers, models. And with them, the gods of the nightlife, came the screaming hordes.

God, you were dramatic. You smirked to yourself, at the internal monologue you were maintaining, as you punched in the code to slip out the back. Anything to keep a scrap of sanity in these long nights. So wrapped up in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice him following you until he laid a scopic hand on your shoulder.

You whirled, shoving him against a wall, knee approaching dangerously close to his crotch before you mercifully faltered at the familiar face.

“Chris?!” You were breathless with exhilaration, adrenaline thick in your veins at having been caught off guard. You released him, stepping away to run your hand through your hair to brush it away from your face. “What are you doing, hiding in a back alley, trying to catch unsuspecting girls off guard?!”

He chuckled at your scolding tone, at the way you pressed a hand to your beating heart, over the top dramatism at play in your actions. “Trying to catch an unsuspecting girl off guard. Obviously.”

You realised then how strange it was for him to still be here; his party departed at least an hour and a half ago. “Did you wait out here for me?”

“Can you promise not to kick me in the balls if I said yes?”

You laughed as he cautiously eyed your legs at his sentiment. “So, what, you’re following me now?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m not the one who waited an hour for someone, out in a back alley, in the freezing cold.” To punctuate your point, a cold blast of wind ripped through the alleyway, worming its way under your coat to stroke at your skin with cold tendrils. You shivered, crossing your arms to preserve the warmth. “You’re not an axe murderer, are you?”

He patted down his pockets. “Ah, shit. Must’ve left my axe at home.” His tone was dead serious, but at your roll of the eyes, he grinned.

You buried your hands in your pocket to stave off the chill. Weirdly enough, after the initial shock, you were glad to have someone with you to walk with you to your car, parked three blocks away to make room for the patrons’ stretch limousines. You inclined your head in the direction of your vehicle, nodding for him to walk with you.

He smiled softly, following you out of the dim lighting of the alleyway, into the lights of the main road. The clamour outside of the club was a roar, the leering of the paps at the celebrities who entered becoming a jumble of white noise.

You noticed how, as soon as you both approached the light, he ducked his head and upturned the collar of his jacket, avoiding the peoples’ attentative eye. You both pushed by relatively unnoticed, and you only spoke again when the bellowing crowd was a distant memory.

“So, who are you?”

The question took him by surprise. The action of lighting the cigarette he had propped between his lips stuttered, and he gave you an apprehensive look. He struck the match he had poised in his hand, looking down to watch where the flame licked. “You know who I am.”

“You just sat where Justin Bieber sat. I served drinks to the Kardashians on that couch. Only the VIPs of VIPs sit there. So, are you famous or something?”

Shaking the match out, he took a drag – prolonging his answer as long as he possibly could. He deliberated you, wondering what your reaction would be. Would you treat him differently, now? “Or something.”

You eyed him up, skeptical, before breaking into a massive grin. “Cool,” you said non-chalantly. Or at least in your head. What you really said was: “I fucking knew I wasn’t losing my mind! I fucking knew it, Mr I-Just-Have-One-Of-Those-Faces. Oh my God, I’m not crazy, fuck yes!”

The look he gave you negated that entirely, because indeed, he was looking at you as if you were a mad woman, in spite of the amused twist of his lips. “Are you done?”

After a moment of appraising him, you nodded, calm again. “Yeah, I’m done.”

You were less excited that you were in the presence of celebrity royalty, more relieved that you weren’t insane for feeling he was so familiar. That was refreshing for Chris; usually after someone discovered his identity, they would treat him differently – sidling up to him, for a favour or money or status or cloning DNA. Or for workout tips, but he got that regularly. Barring the brief moment of unhinged happiness you displayed, you treated him as you did before. Like when he stole your cab.

“Andy Barber!” You had started walking again, him alongside you, in a pleasant silence. Your outburst caused both of you to pause again. “Ransom Drysdale? Steve Rogers…”

He arched a brow in question, taking a pensive drag from his cigarette. “Are you having a stroke?”

“That’s where I recognise you from.” Mumbling to yourself, you muttered “God, I knew I wasn’t crazy.”

He chuckled, flicking the ash off his cigarette, both of you continuing on in a comfortable silence.

“So, what did I do to deserve the chance at having you escort me to my car?”

He stomped out the cigarette, smoke curling from his lips as he tried to find the best way to word his question. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh, you can proposition my fist to your face,” you chuckled in disbelief. “Just because you’re all high and mighty and famous doesn’t mean that every girl you meet is going to throw themselves at your feet even if you did buy me pizza and you’re all smug and handsome and have impeccable dress sense like, seriously, what is that? Armani? What? Why are you laughing at me?”

He had started laughing sometime during your rant and the sound, contagious and warm, had caused you to falter. You fought a smile that was threatening to rise. You were trying to make a point, goddamnit, and you would be damned if he was going to ruin it with his smug, handsome face.

“A business proposition, {your name},” he managed to say among the peels of laughter. “But please, do go on my impeccable dress sense.”

You were mortified. You probably sounded proper arrogant, thinking that he wanted to get in your pants. You groaned, hiding your face in your hands for a moment to conceal the fast rising heated flush of embarrassment. Conceal, don’t feel. Don’t let him know. Thanks, Elsa.

“What, uh,” you cleared your throat, turning away to continue your stalling trek (and to avoid his gaze). “What business proposition?”

“Do you like dogs?”

You ignored how laugh-drunk his voice sounded – gravelly and lilted with amusement. It just served to feed your embarrassment further. “Love them. Why?”

Now it was his turn to clear his throat. “I recently, uh, split up with my girlfriend and I’m heading to Vancouver for a few months for a film. She was meant to help look after Dodger and the house while I was gone, but, given the recent change in plans, that would appear to no longer be an option.”

He avoided your gaze as you glanced over at him, but you could see the throb of the muscle in his jaw, indicating the grit of his teeth.

“And you have deemed me worthy?” You tried lightening the mood a little, and was satisfied by his small smile and accompanying chuckle.

“I know it’s too much to ask of a stranger–”

“Why don’t you get a friend to do it?”

“I would, if any were deemed worthy,” he teased. Warmth swelled in his eyes when he looked at you next, and paired with that smile and the words he spoke next, you knew you would do anything he asked. “And I am asking a friend.”

A beat passed. “Fine. I’ll live in your stupid mansion and look after your stupid dog. Okay, I didn’t mean that last bit, I’m sure Dodger is lovely, but I’ll have you know: I don’t come cheap.”

“What, living in my mansion isn’t good enough?”

“Fuck no! I still need to feed the dog, clean up after it, clean the house, have money on hand for damages in case I get too wild by myself… There’s a long, fucking list.”

“I’m sure we can make an arrangement,” he smirked.

You shivered slightly at the double entendres laced in his words; good thing it was cold, so you could easily excuse it.

“What makes you think I’ll say yes?” You tip your head in the direction of the club from which you were making your slow escape. “They pay well, a lot better than house sitting.”

“Are you happy there?”

You balked at his question. “The money is good–”

“I wasn’t asking about the money, I was asking if you were happy.” He arched a brow, something close to concern crossing his face.

“I–”

He cocked his head, waiting for an answer. You knew you couldn’t lie to him.

“No, not really. Some people are real assholes, especially when drunk.”

“Then it’s settled. You’ll come work for me.”

“Woah, hey now. I can’t just… Uproot my life and live with you. For starters, I have a lease and stuff. And I have a life, a job, a–”

“I have an adorable mixed boxer and a Jacuzzi.”

“When do I start?”

[egoludes]

Awaiting with Sebastian!

nsfw prompts: awaiting - our muses making out and grinding while fully clothed.pairing: mafia!sebastian stan x reader – set in this same universe as this.note: obviously, took some liberties with ‘fully clothed’ here, but in my defense, this took on a life of its own. no warnings outside of nsfw (obvi) and some light choking. draga means darling! hope you enjoy~

You barely make it in before Sebastian’s on you — mouth to yours, hands greedy. It’s an urgency that would surprise you if you hadn’t so carefully engineered it, first with texts that earned you a cautionary ‘Be good’. Then, in a surge of defiance, with photos of you bare that you knew he couldn’t resist. Like clockwork, he sought you out, poorly veiled need in a message that made your tummy clench: ‘Get here now.’

But, what fun would it be if you relinquished control so simply? No, if you were going to play ball, you were going to play hard, which meant making him wait despite the undeniable risk. The brownstone Sebastian operates out of is only thirty minutes away, and he sends a car to ensure it takes half that. You opt to idle for an hour, thumbing through your closet like your phone isn’t buzzing for your attention in the background. There’s something delicious about the tension it builds — knowing he’s waiting, knowing he hates it. By the time you finally emerge to meet his driver, even he seems affected by it, shoulders stiff as he hurries you into the back seat, and you nearly squeal in delight.

Twenty minutes later, here you are, bearing the brunt of Sebastian’s impatience as bites riddle your throat and his hand bunches your silk slip at your hips.

“Take it off,” he mutters against you, tone full of gravel. The hand he’s using to hold your head falls to the base of your neck —  tightens to punctuate his command.

You’d wanted to drag this out, but his lust is contagious and the hand on your throat, the sting from his rings, unravels you with ease. You pull your arms through the loops of your dress without another word and as the material pools at your feet, you’re left in deep red lace that hugs every part of you. Sebastian inches back enough to take you in and a syrupy quiet settles as his eyes devour you curve by curve. Your body thrums in anticipation, eager for him to press back in, but he shocks you by putting more distance between you instead. Step after step until he’s in his chair with legs spread to make room for you.

A single finger beckons you forward and you walk to him at an even pace. Each step sends your hips asway, and you preen at the way his eyes follow them. It’s intoxicating, being so wanted by a man so powerful, and your head’s spinning by the time you reach him and get hoisted onto his lap. 

“Got all pretty for me, huh, draga?” He runs a hand over the swell of your ass appreciatively and you shiver at the combination of his large, warm palm and the cold rings. “Come on, then — give us a show.”

You have no time to ask questions before his mouth is back over yours, tongue ecking out every taste of you. The answer comes, instead, in his hips lifting from the seat while the hand on your rear grinds you downward. Oh. Realization turns quickly into action and you wrap arms around his shoulders, both to deepen the kiss and give yourself leverage in the first slow roll of your hips. His cock twitches through your panties and the taut material of his slacks and, as if a switch’s flipped, your hips double up, finding a steady rhythm that gets you panting and Sebastian purring approval into your mouth.

His hands start to wander then, squeezing flesh and dragging nails over the places that set you on fire. The touch just serves as encouragement and you move your hips faster still - needy strokes that, when you time them just right, hit his cockhead against your clit in a way that makes you mewl. But, It’s not enough, not even close, and you slow to shift your attention down to his belt. To your surprise, you’re met with resistance — Sebastian’s hand pushing yours aside as he breaks away with a displeased tut. “S-Seb,” you breath, the syllable lilted with your confusion.

Then, you see it —  that glint to his dark eyes as his mouth, swollen red from your kisses, curls into a smirk. “Not yet, baby —-  you wanted to play, didn’t you? So, be good and take what I give you. Keep moving.”

[dreaming-of-assclass]

Hi Zaina UwU may I request “It is so awkward having a crush on a [coworker/classmate].”

With Kimura/Okano being annoying tsunderes for the lols :eyes:

Please make it as crack as possible thank you love you bestie <3

omg I love this 😂 ofc bestie 💕💕

Word count: 1,589 words

“Can you just move over?” Okano growled, trying her absolute hardest to resist the urge to shove her comrade over. Hard.

Kimura glanced at her, clearly annoyed. “Um, can you just shut up?” He made no effort to scoot aside on the bench.

She gave up and threw her arms in the air. “Ugh, I don’t even know why I bother! You’re the worst.”

He stuck his tongue out. “Back atcha.”

Okano defeatedly retreated to the grass, a few meters away. She sat down besides her friends, trying and failing to fight back the heat rushing to her cheeks. “I hate him,” she said sourly.

Maehara looked up at her from his phone. “Mm-hmm.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?!”

“What?” he asked innocently.

Okano eyed him. “You said ‘mm-hmm’,” she replied, imitating his voice.

“Ah. Well, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Kurahashi shoved him gently. “Stop lying to her, Maehara-kun. Yes, you did.”

“What?” Okano’s eyes narrowed.

Maehara pursed his lips, making a hum sound before inhaling. “You and Kimura obviously like each other.”

WHAT??????????

“Wha-” She instantly kicked him in the shin, earning a choked groan from the soccer player. “GROSS! That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said! There’s no way I’d ever like that booger-looking ass gremlin.”

Kurahashi just looked at her, a patient yet conniving sweet smile on her lips. “Then...why are you blushing?”

Okano’s eyes widened in horror at her reflection off of the sunglasses that sat on the grass by them. Oh no...I AM blushing...

No, no, no, no, no, NO!

Without another word, she whirled around and dashed away, her face still heated up.

Unlike his short-tempered partner, Kimura had already accepted his feelings. He disliked them immensely, but knew there wasn’t much anything he could do. 

He’d tried focusing his attention on Kurahashi, to no avail. He’d tried avoiding Okano at every moment possible, but it was hard when they were PE partners and in the same friend group. He also sat behind her...

And now, he’d decided the best course of action was simple. Just be an annoying asshole to Okano. There’s no way he could feel attraction to her if she was yelling at him or kicking the shit out of him.

Or so he thought...

“Urghhh!” He groaned, covering his face with his arms. “Of all the girls in the world, why do I like you?!”

He knew why.

Okano was his partner, his classmate, his friend, and his rival all in one person. Their bond had been building over so much in the past year. No matter how much they bickered, they’d always have each other’s backs.

“Having relationship troubles?” A familiar voice caught his attention and Kimura quickly snapped up in surprise. A very smug Maehara stood by, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed.

“What the fuck-how long have you been there?!”

The soccer player casually examined his nails. “Oh, long enough to hear all your woes.”

Kimura groaned. “Dude why are you so creepy and overdramatic? You seriously stood by that tree, waiting for me to say that.”

“I’m being helpful!” Maehara whined. “Now tell me what’s wrong!”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Kimura replied quickly.

“Bullshit. Now have a seat and spill everything to me, child.”

Kimura relented and awkwardly lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged near Maehara, who did the same.

“Fine...” Kimura sighed. “I don’t-I guess it’s just really...weird liking the person I like.”

Maehara hummed, stroking his chin. “And who would that be?”

He glared at him. “You already know, dude.”

“I do not.” He lied.

Kimura rolled his eyes. “It’s Okano. I like Okano, okay?”

“Ah...I see...” Maehara drawled, irking Kimura more and more by the second. “And what exactly is making this hard for you?”

“It’s just so awkward having a crush on a classmate.”

Maehara raised an eyebrow, thankfully dropping the psychologist front for a moment. “Uh, no it’s not. That’s where 95% of teenagers get their crushes, man.”

Kimura spluttered. “Okay, fair. But she’s my classmate, friend, partner, and rival all in one person. I’ve always seen Okano like a bro, but now I like her?”

“Hmm yeah that’s one predicament you’ve got, my friend,” Maehara agreed, running a hand through his hair. “But I know Okano, and the best way you can approach this is just being upfront. Tell her how you feel, be straightforward!”

Kimura eyed him suspiciously. “Will that really work? She might just kick the shit out of me...”

His friend waved him off. “Trust me.”

And so Kimura did.

“Uh, thanks for walking home with me,” Okano said awkwardly, adjusting the hold on her bag. 

You idiot, you probably sound like a weirdo! She screamed internally. But she just wanted to say something to break the silence that had been resting between them for the past five minutes.

Kimura was walking a few feet behind her, his figure lax as his hands rested behind his head in a way that reminded her strongly of Karma. Huh. Maybe chuunis really do rub off on each other, she thought wryly.

“No problem,” Kimura replied, sounding a bit distracted. “I have to stop by the convenience store on my way, anyways. And I know you usually ride your bike so you’re not used to walking alone.”

“Yeah,” she laughed lightly. “That’s true.”

Silence stretched between them once again, but to Okano’s relief, it was more comfortable this time. Some of the old familiarity in their dynamic had returned, as Kimura stuck his tongue out at her playfully when she looked back at him. 

They continued walking until they reached the bridge, surrounded by the noise of cars rushing past them. Okano looked to her left and admired the way the sunset reflected off the water, making it a lovely orange-pink hue. If she was artistic in anyway, she would’ve loved to re-create the image somehow.

“Okano,” Kimura suddenly said, catching her attention. She had to strain a bit to hear it, given the wind swirling past her from the traffic.

“What?” She replied, raising her voice slightly as she turned around to face him.

Kimura, for some reason, was standing a few meters away from her, the colors of the sky lighting up his face. “Okano, I-” Whatever he said next was drowned out by the cars.

“What?” Okano called back, furrowing her eyebrows.

“I said I-” Interrupted again, this time by a particularly large oil truck passing by.

“What? I can’t hear you!”

He opened his mouth again but she made out no words.

“What the hell are you saying?!” She shouted.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD, I SAID I LIKE YOU!” He screamed back, and she finally heard him.

Oh. So that’s what he was trying to say.

Oh. 

Oh crap.

Okano’s brain froze for a moment as it caught up to her. Then all the blood in her body quickly rushed to her brain, and her face felt like a furnace. “You...what?” she asked in disbelief.

Kimura let out a sharp breath. “I have a crush on you. Okay?”

Oh my god.

She stayed absolutely still, processing it. “Okay...”

Kimura’s eye twitched and he marched right up to her. “Hello? Are you even gonna reply? I just confessed to you, idiot.” He punctuated his words with a flick to her forehead. 

She grabbed his wrist, her reflexes acting immediately. “Back off, stupid! I heard you loud and clear,” she muttered annoyedly.

“So? What’s your answer?” His voice turned slightly whiny, sounding almost anxious. He tried to yank his hand back but Okano kept a firm grip on it.

“My answer...” she started lowly, eyeing him. “Is that I like you too.”

A few seconds passed as Kimura froze, his eyes wide.

“Hello? Are you gonna reply? I just admitted my feelings for you, idiot,” Okano imitated his voice as she repeated his words.

He seemed to snap back to reality as his eyes met hers. “Are you being for real? Like this isn’t a joke?”

Okano scoffed, finally releasing his hand. “No, dumbass. It’s not a joke. I like you,” she said slowly.

“Oh...” He averted his gaze, running a hand through his hair sheepishly. “Cool.”

She rolled her eyes, punching his arm lightly. “Cool? Man, you’re so bad at this romance stuff. Who confesses in the middle of a busy highway section?”

“Okay WOW. To be fair, I thought the sunset and water made it romantic enough.”

Okano laughed. “How was I even supposed to hear you properly?”

“You eventually did!” He retorted and joined her so both of them were laughing together. 

As it died down, Okano leaned against the railing, smiling at the sunset that was burning away into embers as night was soon to approach. “Man...we’re probably gonna be one weird ass couple.”

He joined her, dropping his bag to the ground lightly. “Speak for yourself, weirdo.”

She chuckled. “Korosensei is gonna lose his shit.”

“Maehara too,” Kimura agreed. “Hmm though, he wasn’t a half-bad wingman, I guess.”

Okano turned to him in disbelief. “You took Maehara’s love advice? He of all people really told you to confess on a busy loud bridge?” she snorted.

“Ah no...I took creative liberties on that one,” Kimura admitted, his face slightly pink.

Okano laughed and looked up. “It’s getting dark. We should get back now.”

“Yeah...” Kimura glanced at the time on his phone before picking up his bag again. “Wanna hold hands?” He asked sarcastically with a grin.

“Hold my hand and I’ll throw you over this bridge.”

[aithrauniverse]

Chapter 18-Aithne

As we walked along the magical tightrope (or at least Laila and Astra walked. Me, uh, it’s safe to say I mostly tripped and fell rather ungracefully), I looked back. 

Laila seemed pretty confident, striding forward with her wings out for balance. But Astra seemed troubled. Her head drooped downwards, and she absentmindedly fiddled with the feathers on her wings -something she only did when she was nervous. Clearly, something was troubling her.

And I had to get to the bottom of it.  

Praying that I wouldn’t fall on my butt again, I turned backwards, inching towards Astra. Somehow, I managed to make it without toppling over. (Okay, fine, maybe I did fall once or twice. Or five times.) Slowly, I placed my hand on Astra’s shoulder. She hesitantly looked up, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes and threatening to spill over.  

“What?” she snapped.  

“Are you okay?” I asked, a concerned look on my face. (At least I hoped I looked concerned. And not, like, constipated or something.)

“Yeah,” she lied through her teeth, swiping at her face. Yep. Definitely something bothering her.  

I raised my eyebrows. “There’s no point trying to hide it, Astra. You can trust me.”

She took a shaky breath. “Fine.” Inhaling deeply, she blurted out, “I’ve been thinking about what would happen if-if everyone found out about the Great War. About the truth.” Then it hit me like a tidal wave. Of course. Everyone would be at a loss for words, to say the least. It would completely turn Almoria upside down. Riots would break out. Rebellions would strike. The demons would want revenge for the decades of unjust. Buildings would be vandalized and cars, torched. It wouldn’t be safe to even step out of our homes. The city would be reduced to utter chaos. No wonder Astra was so...so devastated. This was her home. No, this was our home. And we would defend it with all we had.  

I tried to sound soothing. “Don’t worry,” I spoke calmly. Internally, I was a wreck, but I couldn’t let that show. “It’s all going to be okay. Everything will be fine. Almoria will still remain the city it is. It’s going to take much more than a myth or two to destroy our city.” I put on a grin, even though I was trying to convince myself just as much as I was trying to calm Astra. I swallowed hard, and pushed the knot of worry downwards, where I wouldn’t have to worry about it. For now, at least.

Astra looked up once again. This time, though, her indigo eyes (yes, a unique colour, I know.) shone not with tears, but with a new spark of hope. “Really?” She sniffed. “You-you think so?”

Looking at those eyes, I thought of Endra. I thought of her current predicament, and our vow to her. This time, though, I had made a decision. We had sworn to fix this mess, and I wouldn’t stop at anything if it meant we could save our home.

“I know so.”

Wiping the last of her tears away, Astra stood straight, a new, much more confident energy radiating from her. “Then what are we waiting for? We have a final spirit to fight. Come on!”

For the next few hours, we walked on, carefully teetering on the rope. Now, it was even more dangerous, the thin wire hanging over ice-capped mountains. Beautiful view, but probably not where I wanted to die. Laila still led the way, but gradually slowed down, eventually standing still. By now, we were all sweating buckets. “We need a break,” Laila declared, panting.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Astra puffed from behind me, her head tilted down at the valleys as if she saw something I didn’t. I merely raised an extremely floppy thumb, too tired to even speak. Without bothering to explain WHY she would take away the rope and leave us to fall from the sky, the guardian angel snapped her fingers, and the rope poofed, leaving us with about half a second to react before gravity took over. (Stupid gravity.)  

 Bad news- I wasn’t very fast to react, and spent three seconds screaming my head off as I fell through the sky, bursting through clouds and forming large Aithne-shaped holes in them. (“Shush, Aithne!” Laila yelled.) Thankfully, a voice in my head chose that perfect time to scream at me, “YOU HAVE WINGS FOR A REASON, DUMBASS!!!!!” That caught my attention. I furiously flapped my wings, slowing my fall and preventing me from being flattened into a (completely unappetizing) pancake. A few more beats, and I touched onto solid, grassy land for the first time in five hours.  

I instantly collapsed onto the soft vegetation, folding my wings up and tucking them into a sort of bowl below me. (Extremely comfortable and safe. Try it at home, kids! Oh wait – you don’t have wings. Never mind.) Astra and Laila followed, dropping onto the ground. Tiredly, I pulled out three granola bags from my rucksack. Having handed them out, I unwrapped mine, taking a bite out of the heavenly-tasting grain.  

Next to me, Laila downed hers in two bites, while Astra nibbled on hers, still staring off into space. Finishing up the bar, I popped the last bite into my mouth, crumpling up the wrapper. (At least there wasn’t a Mdm. Danton here to scold me for it. Hah, take that, old hag.) I pulled my knees towards me and stared at the snowy peaks and lush vegetation, deciding to enjoy the view while it lasted.

God, only five hours to nightfall. Time really was against us.

After about ten minutes, I dusted my hands, pulling myself into a standing position. The other two followed, Astra clapping her hands. In a flash of light, the rope appeared yet again. We flew back up, took our positions and continued our journey, walking on in silence. I supposed we all had the same thoughts-the same worries bubbling and brewing in the deepest pits of our despair. But no, we were so close to saving Almoria. Just one more fight, I told myself. Only the final battle is left. You can do it.

Around one hours later, the fluffy white clouds began to grow thicker and more clustered. “We’re close,” Astra deduced. “The altocumulus is turning into stratocumulus.” I stared at her blankly, not understanding a word of what she had just said.

“Uh... in English, please?”

Astra rolled her eyes. “The clouds here are growing thicker.”

”Oh.”  

Watching the clouds get darker, Laila shuddered, “Looks like somewhere Satan would love to be.” She quickly realized her mistake. Almost immediately whipping her head towards me, she sheepishly apologized, “S-sorry. Didn’t mean it that way.”  

“It’s fine.” I nodded. At least she didn’t say that on purpose.

We closed in, the rope steeply curving downwards. Astra clapped once more, and the rope disappeared with a flourish, leaving us to fly down on our own.

We touched down on warm land, folding our wings up. This place looked like nothing we had seen before. Hard-black dirt lay in mounds, occasionally pulsating from some sort of seismic force. The dry, empty fields were punctuated with occasional craters that looked like ponds, only these weren’t filled with ordinary water. In fact, they weren’t even filled with water. They were filled to the brim with...lava. Hot, bright orange magma that would scald us terribly, and make us the perfect flambéed treats for any hungry monster lurking around.

And the HEAT.  

Astra rolled up the sleeves of her uniform. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have worn this...” she glared at the uniform.

Laila shuddered. “Wow. This is actually scary.”

Then, just as I thought it couldn’t get worse, it got worse. Because obviously.

A flash of bright, unearthly red light drew our attention to the center of the fields. A man stepped out of the light. I squinted, almost stepping forward to get a closer look, but Astra held me back with one hand.

“Don’t!” she warned. “This could be a trap!”

The man stepped forward. “How smart, my dear.” He smiled, revealing razor-sharp fangs. His dragon’s wings flapped in the air, a red similar to mine. I looked him up and down. Those immaculately polished boots...that scarlet vest...those deep crimson horns...that ebony hair...wait a minute. It couldn’t be. Was it...

“Father?”  

“Oh, well done, sweet girl, you’ve recognized me.” his lips curled into a devilish sneer, his glassy eyes staring right into mine. (Oh, I get it, devilish, ha ha. Very funny, brain.)

I backed away, narrowing my eyes at him. “How could you do this?” I spread my hands, gesturing towards the wastelands. “This isn’t you!”

He snapped his fingers, and a dusky rope wound itself around the three of us, tying us up and yanking us towards each other before we could react. I was immediately squashed against Astra and Laila. Great. The foul creature hadn’t even given us elbow room.  

He stepped forward. “Let me tell you something, my dear,” he purred, stroking my hair. “It’s been so long, and times have changed. So when a powerful entity came to me and offered me powers beyond my wildest dreams, of course I accepted them, with great joy, as anyone would feel when given more liberties. But of course, there was a catch.

“I had to bring the three of you to my master. Alive, mind you. I don’t know what he plans to do, but it’s probably best you don’t argue with him.” The demon I once called my father shook his head. “He gets very cranky when he doesn’t have his way.”

“You’ll be meeting him soon. But for now, you’ll have to wait a bit. He’s...busy.” The man dragged the last word in deep thought. Then, as if he was denying something, he shook his head and wiggled his fingers in a wave, grinning diabolically. “Toodledoo! Have fun!” With one last glint of his fangs, he was gone, leaving us all alone and with no way out, with nothing to do but watch the sun sink deeper down, turning the sky a pinkish-purple.

I turned to face Astra and Laila, and two terrified pairs of eyes stared back at me. But nothing could match the pure shock pulsating through my mind.  

The man who’d raised me – fed me – told me bedtime stories – had just left us helpless, victims to the last spirit.

Fun indeed.

[acelikesturtles]

“Crushed”

Prompt: #2 (Childhood Best Friends AU)

Warnings: Mention/Experience of Childhood Bullying, Angsty

Word Count: 2,201

A/N: This is from this ask game that I posted a while back and just now was able to fully get around to. This is a little more angsty than it is fluffy at first, but the end result is kinda cuddly and fluffy if you ask me lol. I obviously took quite a few creative liberties with the interpretation (because this is an AU prompt) and the set up was rather heavily inspired from the vibe/aesthetics from the now abandoned fanfiction I wrote back in 2013/14. It was nice to be able to get back into that headset again, I miss that fanfiction a lot actually. That may be why it took me so long to get this finished? Reminded me a lot of what once was and it was healthy to be able to reflect on some of those old creative notions and get some of that out.

The moment Mikey stepped onto his balcony and into the crisp, early summer air, a gust of cool wind hit his lightly freckled cheeks and carried the smell of freshly roasted marshmallows, smoke, and melting chocolate through the breeze. As of only a few hours ago it was officially summer vacation. For Mikey, seeing his three best friends gathered around a small propane fire pit pelting marshmallows at each other gave him a sense of zen that his mother would not be able to sympathize with given the mess and the ruckus unfolding on their balcony that the landlord would surely complain about the next morning.

“Ow! Raph that could’ve cracked my lenses!”

Donnie frowned and removed his glasses to wipe the powder and mess from the right lens with the sleeve of his dark grey hoodie. In an act of childish revenge and in solidarity for the quietest of the group, Leo grabbed a handful of marshmallows out of the bag in front of them and threw them at Raph, only for the quarterback to catch a few sugary bullets in his mouth instead of allowing them all to go to waste on the concrete beneath them.

“Nice try, fearless.” Raph laughed through a half-chewed mouthful of marshmallows.

Mikey sat down on the remaining patio chair, the squeaky green one that he usually reserved for Leo just to annoy him, and began snapping graham crackers over his paper plate while Leo handed squares of chocolate out.

"How was your last day, Raph?" Leo asked, dropping the chocolate square onto Raph’s paper plate. Raph was too busy trying to finish the unintentional 'Chubby Bunny Challenge' he had started. With one clearly painful swallow which almost provoked the turtle to tears followed by a couple hard fist pounds on his plastron, he cleared his throat before giving an unceremonious shrug of his shoulders.

"It was alright. Mrs. Barkley wanted us to write a letter to our future selves er somethin' stupid like that. Kinda lame if you ask me."

"Hey, I thought that was fun, dude, don't ruin the vibes!" Mikey pouted. Even though Raph and Mikey happened to share the same teacher, that didn’t mean that their experience in her class was at all similar to one another. This was in part because Mikey was often pulled for extra assistance and missed some of the in-class instruction. This didn’t annoy him most of the time since he was typically pulled during math class and numbers never failed to make him exceptionally sleepy. "Did you even write anything?" He asked, swatting at a mosquito that had landed on his thigh.

"Yeah sure," Raph waved his hand at him nonchalantly, then leaned back in his patio chair so far that he almost tipped himself over. "Nothin special, just words, you know."

Leo clucked his tongue and shook his head. He was smirking. Leonardo carefully skewered a marshmallow and held it over the gas flame before looking back up at Raph. He had leaned forward in his chair again and was digging in the marshmallow bag for the biggest, puffiest marshmallow that he could find. "Yeah, and what are you gonna do when your mom wants to see it?" Leo asked in a challenging tone.

"Who said she's gonna?" Raph countered back as he stabbed his marshmallow rather aggressively onto his skewer.

While Raph and Leo continued yet again to engage in a pointless discussion about the value of doing busy work, respecting elders and all the other boring stuff that Leo learned from his dad’s dojo, Donnie and Mikey were left to fend for themselves with their friends' arguing voices serving as a backdrop like it usually did. Mikey looked up at Don’s particularly well adapted technique for marshmallow roasting and did his best to try to subtly imitate it. By slowly rotating the skewer in his hands, Donnie would undoubtedly get an even roast on his marshmallow and the perfect, ASMR-inducing crunch when he placed his graham cracker on top. Don had been noticeably quiet for the most part, focused on cleaning his glasses after Raph’s earlier ambush. At first Mikey didn’t think much of his quiet demeanor since, at times, this was normal for him; sitting back and listening to everyone else was more mutually beneficial than blabbing on and on about what he did in his gifted extension classes, especially since the only details and stories that Mikey and Raph found interesting included local “hottie-of-a-teacher” Ms. Carlton.

What made this period of quiet different was how glazed over Donnie’s eyes seemed coupled with an unusually tired expression for a day that was supposed to be nothing but fun with friends. There was some sort of tension bearing weight on Don’s shoulders that Mikey wanted to relieve, even if it meant just being a comfort.

“Hey Don, how was your day?” Mikey asked, breaking the turtle from his trance. Donnie blinked a couple of times before pushing his tortoiseshell glasses up a little on the bridge of his nose with his index finger. He made a face, one that expressed some combination of anxiety and unspoken discomfort over being confronted, then tried to shrug it off.

“It was alright. We didn’t do anything like what you or Raph did.” He said. A light smile tugged at the corners of his lips but it still seemed more tired than it did genuine.

"Course not," Raph chimed in. He had broken away from one pointless discussion for long enough to insert himself into another to escape from Major Lieutenant Leo’s endless lectures. "You probably made like, a rocket ship or somethin'. The USS Nerd-Brain, right?” He joked and nudged him with an elbow playfully.

“No, that was last month's project. Today was just final project presentations, everybody had to do one.”

“That’s what you made the solar energy converter thingy for.” Leo acknowledged.

Donnie resisted the urge to correct his terminology and nodded. “Yep, I got the best grade.”

“Then why do you look so uncomfortable talking about it?” Mikey asked. It was the obvious question that had likely been on Raph and Leo’s minds too now that he had drawn attention to it, but Mikey was apparently the only one with the balls to bring it up so nonchalantly as if it wasn’t going to trigger Donnie to metaphorically slink back into his shell and never come back out again.

A silence fell over the group only punctuated by honking horns and distant ambulance sirens. All eyes had turned towards Donnie who was now fully thrust under the spotlight. He swallowed. After about ten seconds with no response from him other than the appearance of the slightest red tint on his cheeks, he cleared his throat and removed his marshmallow from the flame and set it onto his graham cracker.

“It was Grant. You probably don’t know him, he-” He froze in the middle of a thought and sighed through his nose in defeat. “We...got into an argument.”

“Why?” Raph asked, scrunching his nose up in disgust. “Do I gotta hit this kid?”

Don snorted. “No, I handled it myself. Sort of...ish.”

“Sort of? Donnie, what exactly happened?” Leo frowned.

At first he wanted to dodge the question but he knew that the more he put off answering, the more poking and prodding at the subject matter would result. He closed his eyes, scrunching them up really tight while gripping and lightly massaging his nose right beneath the bridge for his glasses. With his other hand, Donnie grabbed his now completed s'more and took a single bite, feeling that sweet, sugary relief wash over him that had notably been absent before.

"I was presenting my project and there was this girl—is this girl, Lucy," He corrected himself. "You probably also don't know her but, she's kinda pretty and—"

“Woah woah, how pretty we talking?” Mikey butted in. His investment in this story had suddenly peaked. “On a scale of “cute” to “total babe”, how would you rank her?”

“Brunette?” Raph guessed. “Not a brunette, okay. Redhead? Blonde?”

“Totally a blonde.” Mikey snorted and gestured towards Donnie’s face, which despite his best efforts was still managing to grow redder by the second from embarrassment. “Am I right or am I right? She’s a blonde, isn’t she?”

Donnie brought himself back into the focus of his own conversation rather than answering what felt like a silly question given his circumstances. "Listen, I'm not her type."

"Says who?" Asked Raph.

"Says Grant, who told me I'm on his turf." Donnie grumbled under his breath.

"What, he knows what she's thinking?" Raph snorted.

“No, but-”

“Then go for it!” Mikey cheered.

“You don’t-”

“Grant isn’t the boss of you Donnie, you should talk to her.” Leo joined in.

There was a faint ringing in Donnie’s head that grew louder and louder the more he listened to their voices merge into one, all chanting for him to do what he felt like he just couldn’t, drowning out his words amidst a sea of voices that were louder and prouder than his was. It was only a matter of time before the feeling of being ignored became too much, and he had had enough. “Don’t you understand?” Donnie snapped. “Grant doesn’t want me on his “turf” because I’m a mutant!” He took a deep breath in, then slowly released it through his nose, to try and calm down. “She probably thinks I’m a freak.”

Everyone paused and yet again another quiet came over them. Mikey’s eyes drifted down towards the concrete beneath their feet, mind busy with thoughts that he had always kept in the back of his mind that were now plaguing him again. He never liked to think about the fact that their status as mutants hindered their ability to find friends or someday fall in love, but Donnie was saying it too. If the smartest one in their little posse was falling prey to the same cycle of thoughts that he often had before falling asleep at night, what did that mean about the validity of those thoughts?

“Do you know that for sure?” Leo asked, breaking the silence with a calm and collected tone that was so characteristic for his zen demeanor.

Don shook his head. “But Grant does. So do his friends, I mean look at me--look at us.”

“So, we’re mutants,” Leo sighed and pulled his marshmallow from the gas flame. It was perfectly toasted to an even golden brown on all sides and oozed out the sides of his s’more when he put another graham cracker on top. “I don’t believe we’re freaks though.”

Raph gave Leo a look, then laughed. “How do you figure?”

“Well, my dad always says that we can create our own truth,” Leo explained, earning an eye roll from Raphael who again seemed caught in a never ending cycle of lectures that Leo picked up from his dad. “So even if Grant thinks that we’re freaks...we have the final say on whether or not we feel that’s true.”

“Yeah, and what if this Lucy chick thinks that he’s a freak too? No offense, Donnie.” Raph said, patting Don on the shoulder in consolation. “You can’t just make that not true, genius.”

“No, that’s not the point,” Leo countered, then turned to Donnie. “What Grant says doesn’t matter because he doesn’t control how we think about ourselves or what you think is true. You do.”

Donnie blinked once. Twice. He looked down at the concrete again and shuffled his feet around beneath him, feeling a little silly that he had wasted his last day of 8th grade feeling gloomy and sad while looking at Lucy with wistful eyes that felt they had no chance on earth of ever meeting hers in a way that wasn’t just as friends. Was what Grant said actually the truth, or was he just allowing it to be the truth like Leo was suggesting? Would it be easier to stay away from Lucy and let Grant take his swing at her then risk a lifetime of heartache if he was rejected by her for being what he was?

Without warning, two arms wrapped around his slumped over shoulders and he looked up from the ground to see that Mikey had gotten up from his squeaky chair and was fully latched onto Donnie’s side.

“Its okay bro, I think you’re pretty awesome.” Mikey mumbled into Donnie’s shoulder.

“Me too, for the record.” Raph joined in, giving Donnie a playfully affectionate punch on the opposite arm.

A sigh escaped through Donnie’s nostrils chased down by a genuine smile. It was a gradual process, but he was beginning to feel a little better. Maybe Lucy did think that he was a freak like Grant had told him, or maybe Grant was just making it all up. His chances weren’t completely gone yet, and he had the whole summer ahead of him to have fun and forget about people like Grant and focus on more important things like science camp, gifted extension applications for the next semester, and then...maybe working up the balls to say something to Lucy.

Yeah, maybe that was what he would do.

[d3-iseefire]

The Far Side of the Mirror Chapter One

Pairing: Fili x Female Bilbo Baggins (Bilba) Rating: T AO3 Archive Warnings: None Pairing: Fili/Female Bilbo Setting: Modern AU, Supernatural Universe Summary: Bilba is a hunter sent to take care of something killing off patients in an asylum. While there she meets Fili Durin, a patient accused of murdering his father. He insists he’s innocent which, even if it’s true, doesn’t really matter. There’s nothing Bilba can do to help him. She’s there for one reason and one reason only and it’s not him. Even if he is prettier than anyone has a right to be.

Note: I took ALL the liberties with asylums and whatnot. Just assume this is the sort of asylum you would find in the Supernatural universe (which is established to be a different one from ours) and not what you’d find here. :)

Bilba hated taking cases in asylums.

First, there was the fact of being effectively locked in and forced to rely on her contact for aid in moving about and, most importantly, getting out. Putting that much trust and faith in a veritable stranger was a fantastic way to get killed, and that was before she got to the thing that wanted to kill her.

Then there was having to split her attention between the reason she was there (also known as the thing trying to kill her) and the other patients (also known as the people she was trying to help). Not all of the patients were a threat obviously but, unhelpfully, the ones that were didn’t come with nametags.

Either way it meant she had to watch her back from multiple angles and ensured she wouldn’t be getting a good night’s sleep until she had completed the case.

Neither of those things, however, were the main reason she hated cases in asylums. That honor went to the guy sitting across from her. 

"It wasn't me.” The words came from a man about her own age, with greasy dark blond hair and an unkempt beard. His eyes were shadowed and, when he spoke, his voice trembled with emotion. "I don't care how long I'm forced to stay here.” His hands dug into his knees and he leaned forward in his seat to punctuate his point. “I didn't kill my father!"

Dr. Towns, a middle-aged woman with short black hair and a tone that bordered on patronizing, smiled. “We’ve discussed this,” she said in the gentle but firm tone Bilba had heard mothers use to refuse their child a treat,” "the cameras--"

"I don't care what the cameras showed!" he cut in sharply, fingers bunching the cotton of the ratty sweatpants he wore. "And I don't care what the DNA said. I didn't do it!"

Bilba studied him with mild interest. He certainly seemed sincere, but Bilba had more than learned the lesson that sincerity did not necessarily equate to veracity. She’d met people who could be caught in the act and would argue their innocence with just as much passion.

Some of them even believed it, and usually wound up in a facility exactly like the one she currently sat in.

So he could be lying.

He could be insane.

Or

There was a one in three chance he was telling the truth.

Bilba had seen people who belonged in that third class, over and over and over again. They sat rotting in prisons, hospitals and asylums. They were angry, traumatized, lonely, despairing.

Innocent.  

The thing was, everyone always thought they knew what a monster was. It was the thing under the bed, the darkness in the closet, or the strange creak in an empty room. Monsters, they would tell you with all the confidence of the ignorant, lived in the shadows and were only a threat to the unsuspecting, the unprepared, or those stupid enough to stumble into their embrace.

Bilba supposed it helped them sleep at night to think all monsters were the same, that they all followed the same rules and could easily be avoided. Just…don’t look under the bed at night. Leave the closet shut. Stay out of abandoned places and, above all else, never, ever go check out the strange noise you just heard downstairs.

The truth wasn’t quite so cut and dry.

In reality, the so-called “rules” were arbitrary, and not all monsters chose to follow them.

Some chose not to live in the shadows.

Some had a desire to kill more than those who simply stumbled into their way.  

Some actively sought out their prey and some…killed simply because they enjoyed it.

Some liked the suffering. Not just of their victims, but the people surrounding them as well. They got a kick out of causing pain to as many as they could, and of knowing that, somewhere, someone was paying for what they had done.

There was a long list of reasons why. Some believed they were getting revenge against a world they felt had wronged them. Others had a goal in mind and didn’t care who got hurt in their quest to achieve it.

And then there were the ones who were simply assholes.

No matter the cause, it always led to the same result. Pain, loss, and the broken husk of an innocent victim staring down at the remnants of a destroyed life.

She hated it. Hated it because there was nothing, she could do about it. If she’d been there before, known what was going on then, then she might have had a chance. Then she could have maybe, possibly stopped the darkness from taking another innocent.

But arriving after? After was too late. What could she do after? Tell the police or the doctors and nurses that “hey, you’ve got it wrong? That was a werewolf/vampire/revenant/monster of your choice. This person doesn’t belong here. They did see what they said they saw; they didn’t do what you’re saying they did. It wasn’t them. It was a monster.”

Yeah, that would go over well.

She couldn’t help them, had to leave them, decaying in a cell, staring vacantly at a padded wall knowing all the while they’d set foot in a world they could never understand, and she could never explain.

She hated it.

“Celeste? Celeste!”

Bilba barely flinched. She’d been staring, she realized, at the blond for more than a few minutes. He’d noticed and was staring back, a challenge in his eyes.

She flashed a grin at him, and then allowed her head to tilt to the side, eyes shifting to Dr. Towns. “Yes?”

Dr. Towns’ lips twisted in exasperation. “Why don’t you introduce yourself to the group?”

Bilba rolled her eyes and slouched in her chair causing the cheap plastic to creak under her. “My name is Celeste Bennet,” she lied easily, “and I’m here because I supposedly have ‘anger management’ issues.” She used air quotes just in case her tone didn’t properly convey her supposed disdain over the supposed accusation.

“Now Celeste,” Dr. Towns said, studying her notes. “If you did nothing wrong then you wouldn’t be here, would you?”

Bilba shrugged. “I don’t know.” She pointed toward the blond. “He’s here and apparently did nothing wrong.”

Snickers came from one or two of the other participants only to quickly shut off as Dr. Towns sent pointed looks at them. Personally, Bilba thought the woman should be thanking them. They’d been sitting in a circle in a small, cold room on uncomfortable chairs for nearly an hour. According to the clock anyway, which Bilba was half convinced was simply wrong. It said an hour, but it felt like a few days. There were twelve others, counting the doctor, and, aside from the blond, they all seemed half asleep.

Dr. Towns called on someone else to speak and Bilba gladly slouched further in her chair. Her reasons for hating cases in asylums was rapidly mounting. She’d been forced to trade out her jeans, comfortable shirts, boots and leather jacket for a crappy t-shirt and sweats. There wasn’t room for more than a few weapons and it had been torture deciding which to bring and which to leave behind.

She studied the ceiling overhead, idly counting the large tiles. Maybe she should dye her hair, she thought idly. Tauriel had talked her into a layered pixie cut with a weird side bang thing but had threatened death if Bilba did anything to the chestnut color.

Chestnut. That was Tauriel’s word for it to try and spruce it up. Bilba was far more practical and called it what it was, mousy brown. Maybe she’d go lavender with silver highlights. That’d be pretty. Her hair wouldn’t stand out as much as Tauriel’s scarlet locks but at least they’d…

Someone cleared their throat and Bilba opened eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed.

Mr. May-Or-May-Not-Be-A-Lying-Murderer was standing over her.

Bilba casually pushed up from her slouched position and then stood when she realized the rest of the room was empty. On her feet, the top of her head came to just under his chin, but she simply lifted her chin and gazed up at him with a defiant expression.

“You were going to get a crick in your neck sleeping like that,” he said. He had a deep voice. She hadn’t noticed it earlier. Now that she was closer to him it occurred to her that there was a second thing she hadn’t noticed, though she couldn’t very well be blamed given the layers of grime and general dishevelment.

He was hot.

Hot and fit to be exact. The lines of his body under his shirt and sweats were lean and fit and his arms – she’d always had a thing for arms and his had probably just because the standard by which she would judge all others.

He cleared his throat, pointedly. Bilba forced her eyes away from admiring the Lord’s work and up to his eyes…which were blue and piercing and down, girl. He might be a lying murderer. Remember. Lying. Murderer.

A really, really, pretty lying murderer.

Life was simply unfair like that sometimes.

She frowned at the empty room. “I wasn’t aware the session had ended.”

“Clearly,” he said dryly. “You’re lucky I woke you up. You could have been in here for hours.”

Which would explain quite a lot about this place, Bilba thought, including the fact that no one had apparently thought anything of leaving her alone in a room with a fellow, male, patient. “My hero.”

She started to leave but stopped when he spoke behind her. “You never did say why you were here.”

Bilba spun on her heel. “I did so. Anger management, remember?” She put her hands up to create air quotes again. Did he have the memory of a goldfish? Or maybe it was just a case of beauty and no brains, the universe’s way of balancing out someone who was clearly too pretty for his own good.

His eyes narrowed. “Anger management for what?”

Bilba smirked. “I set my boyfriend’s car on fire a time or two.”

At least that’s what her file said. She’d had fun coming up with that cover story.

One perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose, and she suppressed a sigh. She wasn’t twelve for heaven’s sake. Behave hormones, she ordered firmly. “A time or two?”

Bilba shrugged. She started to spin back toward the door, but stopped halfway, eyes focused on the far wall instead of back at him. She should really leave well enough alone. She knew that. Tauriel was always telling her that. Even so. “Where were you?”

“Excuse me?” he asked.

Bilba kept her eyes on that section of wall, away from him. “You said it wasn’t you, so, where were you?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She heard him move, but he didn’t come any closer.

“Who says I believe you now?” Bilba asked. She turned her head finally, toward him. “Where were you?”

He crossed his arms. “In the sewer,” he said flatly. “I went out to my car to go to class, someone hit me over the head, and I woke up tied up in the sewer. It took me awhile to get free and find a way out. By the time I got home –” His eyes darkened, and he shook his head. “The police were there.”

Bilba nodded. “Did you show them where you’d been in the sewers?”

“I couldn’t find it again,” he replied with a scowl. “I’d been more concerned with getting out, not remembering how to get back in.”

Bilba started to move slowly toward the door, stopping only when her hand was resting on the knob. Leave it alone, she mentally ordered herself. Nothing he said, or didn’t say, made a lick of difference. It was already too late for him. The most he had to look forward to was being declared mentally competent to stand trial. Having him answer her questions did nothing other than give her more guilt and regret to carry around and she already had that in spades. “Did you see anything strange when you woke up?”

“It was a sewer.”

“I know that,” Bilba said in exasperation. Her hand tightened on the doorknob. “Did you see anything you wouldn’t expect to see in a sewer? Anything that was just…weird?”

He was silent, for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he shifted his weight onto his back foot and let out a short breath. “There were these…puddles or…piles of…I don’t know what it was. Like something spent ten minutes vomiting in one place and it’d all just…congealed. It smelled worse than the actual sewer did.”

Bilba chewed on her lower lip and idly tapped her fingers on the doorknob. Then, coming to a decision, she turned on one foot and walked back to him. As she got within arm’s length, she reached under her collar and tugged a necklace out. It had a long chain and the pendant at the end was in the shape of a large, ornate cross.

She unclipped it and held it out toward him. “Do you like it?”

He frowned in confusion but obediently held his hand out when she offered it to him. As he took it, Bilba slid her hand behind her, under her shirt and around the hilt of the dagger she kept pressed against the small of her back.

Blondie held the dagger easily in one hand, the chain wrapped loosely around his palm and fingers. “It’s nice, I guess? Does it mean something to you?”

Bilba studied him for a few minutes and then slowly released the hilt of the knife. She lightly plucked the necklace from his hand and clipped it back in place, dropping the silver pendant under her collar. “You should take a shower.”

He blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Shower,” Bilba repeated. “You know that small room with running water and soap—”

“I know what a shower is,” he broke in. “I haven’t been interested.”

“How can you expect anyone to take you seriously?” Bilba asked. “If you don’t even take yourself seriously?”

She gave a forced smile and, before he could respond, turned toward the exit yet again.

Don’t think about it, she told herself firmly. On the one hand it meant she wasn’t infatuated with a murderer, or a shapeshifter which would just be gross, and it also meant he wasn’t the one she was looking for on this case so yay on that.

On the other hand –

She shook her head.

Don’t think about it.

It was already done, had been done long before she’d arrived. There was no turning back time and beating herself up for not being able to save everyone did no one any good.

“What was that all about?” he asked from behind her.

“Shower, Blondie,” Bilba repeated, pulling the door open. “And a washing machine wouldn’t hurt. No one can hear you protest your innocence if they’re having to stand twenty yards downwind.”

“Fili.”

She stopped; eyes fixed on the hall outside the room. Her fingers tightened on the doorknob and she let out a sharp tsk. “Shower, Blondie,” she repeated again, finally.

Then she walked out without looking back. There was no reason to know his name. She’d be leaving and he’d be staying, and that was that.

She had a job to do, and the faster she got it done the sooner she could get out of this place.

***

Bilba lounged against the back of the elevator. It stopped with a shudder and the door slid open to reveal an older man with craggy features and salt and pepper hair. He wore the white coat of one of the staff members and had a name badge on identifying him as Dr. Timothy Chambers.

He stepped on and the door closed, leaving the two of them alone. For a few seconds there was silence as the elevator started to slowly move upward again, creaking gears and grinding machinery suggesting the car was in desperate need of maintenance.

“You know one of your patients is innocent, right?” Bilba finally asked. “The blond one who keeps insisting he didn’t kill his father.”

“Fili Durin,” Dr. Chambers said. “I’m aware.”

“And?” Bilba asked with a raised eyebrow.

“And,” Dr. Chambers said with a frown, “I ensure his medication is replaced with placebos and he’s kept safe from the other patients.” He scowled at her. “You know there’s nothing else I can do.”

“I know,” Bilba grumbled. “It just sucks to see it.”

“Agreed,” Dr. Chambers said.

The elevator slid to a slightly jerky stop and Bilba pushed off the wall. The door opened to reveal construction tools littering a hallway covered over in plastic sheeting. The smell of sawdust and fresh paint hit her nose and caused her eyes to water.

Cold washed over her and Bilba’s limbs locked in place. Her breathing grew harsh and she reflexively began to open and close her hands into fists at her sides. “You didn’t tell me the place was being renovated.”

“Does it matter?” Dr. Chambers asked.

Yes, Bilba wanted to scream.

“No,” she lied. “Of course not.”

She pasted a sick smile on her face and forced her feet to take her forward and out of the elevator.

Go back, her mind ordered. Go back, go back, go back, go back.

A laugh, low and sinister echoed through her mind and she fought the urge to simply curl up in a corner and cover her eyes.

“Stop it,” she whispered. “You aren’t twelve anymore, and this isn’t that place.”

“I’m sorry?” Dr. Chambers asked as he stepped off the elevator behind her.

“Nothing,” Bilba managed. “Where is it?”

He motioned and she wordlessly followed him down the hall. Plastic crackled under her feet and each step seemed to echo through the hall, alerting anything and everything to her arrival. Bilba drew her knife and held it in one hand, fingers curled so tight around the hilt it hurt.

“How did they get up here?” she asked, fighting back a flinch at how loud her voice sounded to her own ears. The silence in the corridor was heavy, almost as if something were listening. Bilba had no doubt something was.  

That was the problem with her line of work. She wasn’t being paranoid, and there were things in the shadows. There were always things in the shadows.

Waiting.

“There’s a service elevator that runs up from the kitchen,” the doctor said as they stopped in front of a small room. “We think they must have snuck in through there.”

“Idiots,” Bilba muttered. “They never learn.”

“In this case,” Dr. Chambers said solemnly as he shoved the door open. “They didn’t live long enough to get the chance.”

Bilba grimaced. The room past the door was splattered with blood. It ran up the walls, splashed across the ceiling and coated the ground so thick in spots it was nearly black. Bits of broken metal and pieces of shattered furniture were scattered among torn bits of clothing and a cracked flashlight, testifying to the level of sheer violence that had taken place in the room.

“Were they all killed?” She stepped over the threshold and crouched to study a wide streak of dried blood, evidence of someone being dragged across the floor. There was no sign of what had done the dragging and Bilba felt her disquiet increase.

“Yes.” Dr. Chambers stayed in the doorway, unwilling to come any further. “The police decided they must have gotten into a fight and killed one another.”

Bilba raised her eyes to study the room once again. It always impressed her how people had the ability to simply ignore or outright deny whatever didn’t fit into their narrow view of the world. Three best friends, unarmed, with no history of violence or anger issues brutally slaughtered in a room with no evidence of anything else being inside?

Must have been a fight.

What else could it have been?

She started to stand, only to freeze as her eyes caught on something on the other side of the room. Crap. Her mouth ran dry and her hands suddenly felt clammy. Slowly, she pushed to her feet and, in an almost trance, moved to a small table splintered in a darkened corner.

Please don’t be what I think that is, she thought. Be something else, anything else.

Her fingers, almost on their own, reached out and lightly brushed the black substance coating one of the broken legs of the table. The substance moved under her fingers, sticking to them and coating them like tar.

In Bilba’s mind, an old door she hadn’t opened in a decade shuddered. An ancient, guttural laugh that haunted her in her dreams crawled out of her memory.

“Well?” Dr. Chambers asked from behind her. “Do you think it’s something supernatural? Was I right to call you?”

“You were right,” Bilba whispered, eyes fixed on the ectoplasm still stuck to her fingers.

The laugh sounded in her mind again and Bilba let her eyes slide close with a sigh.

She really hated cases in asylums.

Follow on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22765585/chapters/54399856

[ichigo-daifuku]

Honmei Choco

❅ On Valentine's Day, Takechiyo witnesses her giving chocolates to a friend.

Takechiyo, being himself, misunderstands. ❅

Modern AU | A (very early) Valentine's Day story because of all the shoujo manga I've been re-reading these days ♡

Word Count: 2.9k~ | AO3 Link

February 14, Valentine’s Day.

The date had been encircled on her calendar ever since the year began. Finally, it has come. Today would be the day she would confess her feelings to the one who had her heart, at long last.

She had never once hinted of her affections for him prior to this, but she fell for him a few years ago, at the end of the first semester of their freshman year. It was a fleeting admiration, she had been wrong to think; they were now in their senior year in the university, and that spark ignited something deeper—something that left a lasting impression on her. In a few months, they would graduate and go off their separate ways. Ahead their paths laid uncertainty, and the grandest question above all was when they would meet again, if they ever would. She didn’t want to have any regrets, especially when it came to him. Her actions could change whatever they had, for better or worse. She was unsure of how he felt about her, but it was time to take a chance, and she entered the building where her first class would be held with this resolve.

A glance at her watch told her she had fifteen minutes left to spare before classes would begin. Once inside the building, she spotted a figure who made her stop in her tracks. It was him, the very person she was thinking of, the one she meant to give her gifts to. She dashed along the corridor to catch up with him but slowed her steps once she was near, feigning nonchalance.

“G-Good morning,” she greeted with a bow, internally chiding herself for stuttering. She couldn’t help it; she had always been this way when it came to him. Her heart rate accelerated at the sight of him alone. How was she going to go through this?

“Hm…” Takechiyo turned around, his hands inside his brown coat. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Yeah...” The dilemma of whether or not to give him the gifts plagued her mind. Was it the right moment to do so? It was still early in the morning, and most of the students didn’t even have their classes yet. Besides, he has always had the habit of teasing her; if she did confess to him, she was worried about the possibility of him considering her actions as a mere joke. What if the chocolates already melted? No, that was impossible—

A flick to her forehead interrupted her reverie. It wasn’t in any way painful, but it did catch her off-guard, and she rubbed it with her free hand on reflex. “Hey! What was that for?”

“You’re spacing out, dimwit.” Takechiyo shifted his gaze towards the paper bag in her other hand, which made her fingers close on its handle tighter. “And those are?”

“Gifts. For Valentine’s Day.” She laughed nervously and hid the package behind her back. This was going to be harder than she expected. She could’ve done it right then and there, but fear and uncertainty struck her nerves.

Takechiyo frowned and kept quiet.

They spoke no other words as they walked side by side on the way to the elevator. There were a few students here and there, but none of the usual crowd as it would if it were during the late morning and afternoon classes. It was odd how awkward it was between them today, and she wondered if it was only her who felt that way because she planned to confess her feelings for him. Within a minute, they reached the end of the corridor where the elevator was located. As she reached to press the cool metal button pointing upwards, an unfamiliar voice spoke behind them and made her turn her head in surprise.

“Takechiyo? May I talk to you for a moment?” a girl who was obviously their junior asked. She had a red box tied with a white satin ribbon in her hands. 

Takechiyo glanced at the junior student then shifted his gaze towards her, gauging her reaction.

“I’ll go on ahead. See you in class.” She waved to him with a smile that hid her sadness. There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t blame the girl for liking him, and Takechiyo was free to choose any girl he liked. She respected that, and though the reality that it would hurt her was another thing, as long as he was happy, then she would be happy for him as well. The elevator doors opened, and with a heavy heart, she entered and pressed the right floor number.

Takechiyo turned to the junior student and clicked his tongue. “Make it quick.”

As the doors began to close, she gave in to her curiosity and looked beyond the gap, the sight enough for her heart to race once again. The girl’s cheeks were pink, her smile hopeful as she stepped closer to him, but Takechiyo’s eyes were trained on the elevator’s way, his gaze connecting with hers for a second. 

That was the last thing she saw before the doors completely shut.

Takechiyo entered the classroom when the bell rang. On most days, he would complain he was bored by the lessons and tell her to entertain him instead, but today, he was quiet. Throughout the lesson, he didn’t say a single word. Neither did she. She has never felt so distant to him; not even when he was having one of his moods, not even during the time he got upset she went to class with a light fever and said he didn’t want any contagious diseases from her. The bell rang once again to signal the end of the period. It didn’t sit right with her that they were like this for the whole hour, and she thought of what to say as she placed her notebook and pencil case inside her bag.

“So were those friendship chocolates or...?” she asked, referring to the gift the junior student from earlier gave him.

“What is it to you.” Takechiyo slung his bag over his shoulder and spun around, leaving her behind.

For the rest of the day, Takechiyo got approached by admirers left and right—in the cafeteria, outside the building, along the corridor—every time she would happen to see him, there was another girl who was confessing her admiration for him. She would bet anything that there were gifts hidden by admirers in his locker, too. However, Takechiyo responded with equal disinterest as he did with the girl that morning. As he seemed to be unenthusiastic about accepting the gifts himself, his group of friends took the liberty of receiving them for him, reassuring each girl it was Takechiyo who would be taking the gifts home at the end of the day.

It all made her feel torn. If she dared to indeed give hers to him, would he accept? Or would he ignore it and let his friends accept it for him? Would the two of them still be friends after? Her last class had already ended late in the afternoon, but indecision continued to plague her mind. To distract herself, to get used to the feeling of giving a gift, and to ease her nervousness, she distributed her friendship chocolates first. She roamed around the building and gave them one by one. With her paper bag light with the last few gifts, she found a good friend walking to the staircase. He was an older student pursuing his double degree, and they met in one of the clubs they were both members of. She rushed to him and called out, “Hey, Tokichirou!” 

He turned around, an easygoing smile lighting up his face once she reached him. “What’s up? Mission accomplished?”

She rummaged inside her paper bag and handed him a bag of chocolates. “No, but this is for you.”

“Thank you so much!” He immediately untied the ribbon and popped a chocolate in his mouth. “As expected, it tastes great! Thank you again. I’ll treasure each one of them.”

“I’m honored. I’m sure you’ve received quite a lot already… and not just friendly ones,” she teased and leaned in to whisper, “Thank you for telling me that he likes strawberries.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t tell him I was the one who told you that, okay?” he whispered back conspiratorially and winked.

She couldn’t help but laugh at his playful antics. “Of course. By the way, can you please give this one for me, too? I don’t think he has any classes today.” She handed him another pouch of chocolates for her childhood friend who was his roommate.

“Oh, for Puppy! Sure thing. I can’t wait to see his reaction, haha!”

“You lovebirds are blocking the way. Take your flirtations elsewhere. Move.”

It was Takechiyo. She failed to notice, but he happened to be passing by and was in an even worse mood than earlier. He glanced at her and turned to glare at Tokichirou, who only smiled. The reaction irritated Takechiyo even more, and he strode between the both of them angrily, making them stand farther apart. He rushed down the stairs without looking back, every stomp punctuated by the sound of his shoe hitting the tiles. The thrill of the unexpected encounter wore off as confusion and disappointment crept in. She looked down on her shoes and thought about what just happened. Why was he acting that way?

“You better give him those soon,” Tokichirou broke the silence and gestured to the paper bag in her hands.

“I know but…” She glanced at him and sighed. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think I will. Not anymore.”

“Huh? Why not? You worked so hard for them...”

“I mean, did you see him just now? He’d probably think I’m a nuisance. Besides, he has a lot of admirers and received so many chocolates, love letters, gifts, and flowers already. He’d receive even more, I’m sure. What’s another girl who likes him?”

“Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine—”

“What am I saying? You’re definitely not okay. Why don’t we talk about this over some coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate? My treat!” He raised the bag of chocolates she gave him, “As thanks for these.”

“But—”

“No buts! Wait for me in the club room, okay?”

Snowflakes fell outside the window of the club room. It was high up on the fifth floor, and from above, she was able to watch people leaving the campus. There were a few students still in the building, but there was no one except her in their club room. She assumed most of them were spending time with their special someone or their group of friends, and there she was, wallowing in self-pity. A tired sigh went past her lips, her breath fogging the glass and clearing it after a few seconds. Tokichirou was taking a while; thirty minutes had already passed, but he hasn’t arrived yet. She whipped her phone out of her pocket and began to type a message for him when the door opened with a creak.

Finally, she thought as she typed a reply for another message she had received earlier but didn’t see. “What took you so long?”

The door clicked shut, and a familiar voice said from behind her, “Just so you know, I’m not your errand boy.”

“Huh? It’s you?” She turned around in surprise, locking her phone and placing it back in her pocket in a daze. It wasn’t Tokichirou but Takechiyo! “But why?”

“What? Expecting your boyfriend? He came to me and said you were feeling cold and asking for this,” he patted the cap of the beverage with his index finger twice and moved to set it down the table, beside her belongings, “then he handed it to me and ran away. Seriously, what is wrong with him?”

“Boyfriend?” Out of all the obvious lies Tokichirou made up, that was the part that registered in her mind. He really thought she was already dating somebody? “If you’re talking about Tokichirou, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“No?”

“No,” she paused and contemplated whether to continue. “I… I like someone else.”

“Really? Who’s the unlucky guy?”

It was now or never.

“You.”

“What?”

“Yes, I… These are for you.” She walked towards the table and slid the paper bag there towards his direction. It was full earlier, but she had distributed everything except for the one meant for him.

He peeked at the contents inside and glanced at her before taking the two boxes out. An envelope peeked under the bow of the first gift. She spent an hour choosing the perfect stationery to suit the occasion, one not too decorated but not too bland either. He plucked it gingerly and opened it. Her heartbeat hammered in her chest as he unfolded the letter and began to read the topmost text, “Dear Takechiyo. ”

“Don’t read it aloud,” she interrupted before he could continue. She wanted to hide in embarrassment and never show her face to the world again. “Please.”

“Well, well, well…” he said, the tone of his voice laced with amusement, yet surprising as it was, he took heed of her request.

She dared to look at him once again, and instead of the amused expression she expected, he regarded her letter with seriousness, his eyes reading line after line continuously. She had written her sincerest feelings in hopes they would reach him. If they did, then it was enough. 

In what felt like the longest three minutes of her life, he reached the closing salutations, folded the paper, and placed it back inside the envelope. Wordlessly, Takechiyo reached for the pastel pink box of chocolates. He had seen the chocolates she had given Tokichirou earlier. If he had gotten the wrong idea, the intricate design of each piece meant for him should let him know that his were not meant for someone she regarded as a mere friend. He untied the ribbon and brought the box closer to his face, giving it a sniff. At the curious gaze she gave him, he remarked with a smirk, “What? I’m making sure they aren’t poisoned.”

She rolled her eyes. “What are you? A Sengoku warlord?”

“Maybe you put a love potion in this or something. Who knows?”

“I didn’t, okay?” she replied, exasperated. That was the last thing she expected him to say. Despite her complaints, she’d take these kinds of banter any day of the week than the awkwardness they had earlier. This was them.

“Prove it, then.” He stepped closer and took one of the heart-shaped chocolates between his fingers, holding it against her lips. “Open up.”

“Why...”

“Come on. You like me, right?”

She looked away, her cheeks reddening at once in self-consciousness, and confirmed his statement with her silence. This, too, she never expected. He kept her up to her toes every single time, and she secretly loved every second of it. With the thought that she had nothing to lose at this point, she obliged. She parted her lips, and he took the opportunity to slide the chocolate past them. The burst of the bittersweetness of dark chocolate melted on her tongue in a few seconds. After she had swallowed the last of the chocolate, she found him looking at her intently.

“Well?” he asked.

“I’m still alive.”

“And? How does it taste?”

“Like chocolate.”

“The good kind?”

“Self-praise is no praise.” If she wanted to hear that the chocolates she made were good, she didn’t want it to come from herself but rather, from him. She took the beverage he brought from the table and took a sip. So, Tokichirou had chosen caramel macchiato for her. The sweetness has become muted due to the chocolate heart Takechiyo insisted she had, but it was perfect; the warmth of the drink brought her comfort. The opportunity to be able to give her confession to Takechiyo was all Tokichirou’s doing, and for that, she would thank him later.

Takechiyo placed the box of chocolates back on the table and held up the smaller box by its yellow ribbon, her other gift. “What about this one?”

“It’s strawberry cheesecake,” she answered, taking another sip of coffee before continuing, “I didn’t know if you actually like chocolate, and I was sure you’d receive a lot of them. I heard strawberries are your favorite so…”

“Who told you that?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Tch. It’s that Monkey, isn’t it?” He placed the box of strawberry cheesecake down, took another chocolate heart, and muttered, “If these don’t taste good, I’m going to break up with you.”

She was about to give him a retort when the implication of the words he said sunk in, she almost choked on her coffee. “B-Break up? You mean…?”

Takechiyo’s eyes widened, equally surprised at the turn of events. He spun around and headed for the door, but she couldn’t miss her chance and went after him at once. 

“Hey, Takechiyo! Wait!” She took his sleeve between her fingers, shy but determined, making him stand still. “You… You really mean it?”

He turned to her with a challenging stare. “Why? Do you want me to take it back?”

“No way… Of course not.”

He kept quiet before finally saying, “You should’ve told me first thing in the morning. It would have saved me all the trouble...” He frowned and popped the chocolate in his mouth.

“Yeah, I know… but I was really nervous,” she said and smiled. “So, how does it taste?”

He looked away, taking the hand she still had on his sleeve in his own. “It’s not terrible. Not the worst one I’ve had, surely.”

I really like how this one turned out. Thank you for reading!

4 days until Ieyasu's birthday! ♡◝(⑅•ᴗ•⑅)◜♡

Golden Days | Ieyasu's Birthday Countdown — Masterlist

Ichigo Daifuku's Full Masterlist

[chrysalispen]

xi. the pity war distilled

"Seedseer?" a diffident voice called from the nearby doorway.

Kan-E-Senna barely spared the runner an upwards glance from the document she was scribing. Her fingers were chilled and aching from the damp cold, cramped and stained with ink from a day's worth of work, and the proceedings had only just begun. Though she was well accustomed to administrative matters when necessity called for her intervention, it had been a long time since the Padjal had found herself compelled to confine herself to a room in this manner.  

She scratched out her signature and set the quill back in its pot, reaching for the well-used scrap of blotting paper nearby. The room was darker than it should have been in mid-afternoon. A distant rumble of thunder shook the stones; combined with the grey bank of clouds she'd seen earlier this morning, it promised another bout of foul weather.

At this point, she thought with an internal grimace, it was a safe bet that most of the summer crops this year would be a bust. This was going to-

"...Ma'am? There's a man outside wanting to speak with you."

"One moment, I pray you." Carefully she dabbed her signature with the paper, then relaxed in her seat with a grimace and used the back of her hand to move stray strands of blonde fringe from her eyes without smudging herself with the ink. "Does this man have a message, or does he ask a boon?"

"It's a request. Says he's passing it on from a prisoner."

"If he is here about witness statements, we have given ample time-"

"He says it's not. I told him the trials would start at first light, and he said that's fine, he'd sleep on one of those old mess hall benches until first light to have the chance to speak to you if needs must."

She stifled a regretful sigh.

"Very well," she said with a serenity she was struggling to feel. "Send him in."

"At once, ma'am."

Kan-E-Senna cast a somewhat longing look at Claustrum leaning placidly against the wall, its stark white outline beckoning her to plead fatigue or some other excuse that would allow her to take her leave and rest for the night. But the notion that this man - a soldier, presumably - was willing to subject himself to some considerable inconvenience on behalf of an enemy prisoner was too intriguing to pass up.

A series of loud rapping noises echoed from the other side of the door.

"Second Lieutenant Cheerful Sparrow of the Foreign Levy," the runner called.

She'd known by the name that the soldier who entered would be a Roegadyn. He was an older man, his brown hair interspersed with shocks of glittering silver and sun-wrinkles winging outwards from the corners of his eyes. He'd taken off his hat as he entered the room, dressed in civilian garb, and was carrying a pack over one shoulder. A heavy-looking black bag of strange make dangled on straps in his left hand.

"A fine evening to you, Lady Seedseer," he said politely. "I know 'tis terrible late, but I was hoping to speak with you personally. It concerns the conscripts, you see."

"I was merely finishing the day's work." She gestured for him to pull up a spare chair leaning against the wall, and watched him as he set his packs down to pull it over to the desk. "Tomorrow begins the hearings for the Garlean prisoners. As long as I've made sufficient preparations before I seek my bed, 'tis of no import. How can I be of service?"

"If this is a bad time-"

"Forgive me, Master...?"

"Just Sparrow. I'm an old mercenary, I don't stand on ceremony."

"Master Sparrow, then." She folded her hands in her lap. "If you'll permit me a moment of honesty, at present there is no such thing as a 'good' time. We are trying to see the matter of the enemy's prisoners resolved as quickly and quietly as possible so that we can attend to vital business in our respective cities. Would that I could promise these poor people a truly fair trial, but..."

"I know you aren't doin' any of this to be cruel, Lady Seedseer." His hands kneaded nervously at his woolen traveling cap. "A trial's unpleasant business, 'specially a rushed one, but there's no jury in all Eorzea impartial enough to give a Garlean aught but short shrift. Although... if you don't mind me askin', do you know what's to be done with them?"

"That is not a matter I am at liberty to discuss," she said mildly. The note of rebuke in her voice was unmistakable, however, and in the dim light she thought she could see his cheeks flush.

"Right. Sorry. It's just-" The Limsan Roegadyn coughed to clear his throat, obviously ill at ease by the way he shifted in his seat. "It's just that I were asked by Mistress Aurelia to make sure their conscripts were treated fairly, is all."

"Who?"

"Mistress Aurelia," he repeated. "One of the Garleans. She'll not be hard for you to spot on the morrow, seein' as she's the only lass in the lot -- down in the keep gaol by her lonesome at the minute, I shouldn't wonder."

"...She's expressed concern for the conscripts' fates? I was under the impression Garleans looked down on those not of their race."

"Aye, well, she's a strange one,”  Sparrow shrugged. “I'm sure she's worried for her own neck, but she didn't ask after what's to happen to her, just them."

"They've been sent to each city-state to serve out their sentences in rebuilding efforts, with immediate effect." At the sight of his frown, she continued: "I've obtained promises that the conscripts will be allowed to remain in Eorzea once their time is done, if they wish it. 'Tis unlikely they will be able to return to their homes, at least until relations with the Empire can be normalized. If that should ever come to pass."

"She'll be that glad to know they've been spared," he acknowledged, but the grin he gave her was decidedly rueful. "...Don't rightly know how she's survived military life for this long, between you an' me. I've spent nights on feather mattresses not half as soft as that girl."

"Service in the imperial army is compulsory even for Garleans, so I'm told."

"Mayhap that's so. Anyroad," Sparrow grunted, his knees creaking as he stood, "I'd best be seekin' my own bed afore this storm breaks if I’m to head out at first light. Give her my regards if you're able. If things turn out for her, I hope she an' I might could meet again - under better circumstances, o’course."

"If I chance to speak with your friend alone, I shall do so," she promised quietly. "You have given me much to consider this evening, Master Sparrow. Thank you."

"Consideration's all a body can ask. Aught you'll care t'read is in the statement." He gestured with his chin to the smaller of the two bags, still sitting on the floor. "Should you decide not to have the poor lass swing from a gallows, mayhap you could find a way of gettin' that medicine bag back to her."

"Medicine bag." She paused. "Your friend is a healer, then?"

"Aye, that she is."

In response, she offered a slow and thoughtful nod.

"I shall review the statements carefully," she said, and meant it. "A good night to you, Master Sparrow."

"Good evening to you, Seedseer."

Kan-E-Senna's leaf-green gaze lingered on the door long after it had shut behind him.

~*~

A full turn of the sun had passed, and the conscripts had not returned.

Aurelia had known something was amiss when the rattle of footsteps preceded the smack of the door against the wall much earlier than expected; it was early morning, the cellblock still full dark. Even though she was awake for the loud banging against the iron bars, she still cringed at the ringing scrape of its echo in her ears.

The occupants of the cells began to stir in earnest, squinting bleary-eyed into the sudden intrusion of light, their wakefulness punctuated with muffled coughing and sniffling. Wincing as a particularly strong cough sent a lancing pain through her chest, she leaned forward to reach for the crutches that leaned against the wall.

"All right, imperials," the man had said gruffly, handing his torch to one of the other guards at his back, "get up. We're clearing you lot out-- not you, Garlean."

Confused, she had retreated, watching the others file out of the cell one at a time, unwilling to meet her eyes. She had caught one last glimpse of Sayaka's pale, fearful face as the Doman glanced back over one shoulder, before the exit to the keep slammed shut and she was left in near-total darkness with a single torch by the door the only light in the room.

That had been at first light, and the angle of the light through the mortar cracks had lengthened before dimming to naught, and she was still alone.

Fighting back her anxiety for the nonce she leaned back against the damp wall, carefully flexed her healing leg, and reached beneath the filthy dressing to adjust it - the wound itself had healed clean despite all odds - and winced. Without any chance to exercise it on a regular basis, the muscle had begun to atrophy despite her best efforts. She'd need to put some work into rectifying that problem in the coming weeks.

Assuming you have weeks remaining, murmured a tiny voice in the back of her mind.

"By the bleeding Twelve," she muttered aloud. A derisive snort echoed from the other side of the block.

"Desperate enough to invoke false gods already, I see. They'll not save you, you know."

Aurelia frowned in the direction of that voice. Squinting at the barest hint of a man's silhouette against the far opposite wall availed her little save the suggestion of silver-white hair and the scruff of an unshaven face. "We shan't know the outcome until we've had a chance to speak our piece."

"To speak?" he scoffed. "Were I you, girl, I'd not waste my breath attempting to reason with savages. It's clear our fates have been decided."

"Perhaps if you have resigned yourself to die."

"Turning coat to the Eorzeans like a coward, then, are you? Hoping to save your own neck? If you believe they've considered aught for any of us besides a hangman's noose then you're a greater fool than I took you for."

"You chose to surrender rather than fight to the death, along with everyone else here," she shot back. "The Empire would have us fall upon our swords rather than submit to captivity. What call have you to lecture anyone upon cowardice?"

There was no response save the sound of soft muttering, another series of coughs, and then nothing. 

She found herself thankful for his silence, as she didn't want to argue with the man any longer: disagreement or not, he was still one of her countrymen. The thought occurred to her that he had spoken so harshly not out of anger but out of fear, and she could hardly fault him for it were that the case.

Aurelia herself was terrified, though she had largely kept her own counsel on the matter of her personal feelings. She had a better inkling of what was to happen than the rest of them thanks to Sparrow's information, but that didn't mean she knew whether this trial would be an empty gesture for the sake of show or whether the Eorzeans actually meant to give them a fair judgment.

And what had been done with the conscripts--whether they would return, what would become of them - was currently a mystery. Her best guesses hinged upon whether their captors were inclined to anything resembling mercy, and she wasn't certain of that, either.

She knew so very little, really.

With a short and bitter sigh the Garlean drew her legs carefully upwards until both feet rested on the edges of the cot and rested her cheek against her knees, listening to the slow drip of leaking water. And waited.

~*~

The clacking turn of the door's tumbler broke the ominous silence that had descended upon the gaol. Another storm had rolled in overnight, and with the lack of light there was no way to tell it was morning. Aurelia coughed, roused from her restless doze by the loud clattering of multiple footsteps.

Three Eorzeans stood on the other side of the bars looking in at her, Lu among them. The Miqo'te looked at her and nodded once before deliberately focusing her green eyes straight ahead.

Fear twisted at her stomach once again. None of the guards had been forthcoming with information as to the whereabouts of the others, and none of the remaining Garleans had asked -- nor had any of them spoken to each other once they had been left alone with watery, unappetizing gruel from rations now running low. Aurelia knew they feared the worst just as she did.

"When your name is called, stand and come forward." The Elezen, whom she surmised must be their commander, was holding a piece of parchment in one gloved hand. "...Caelus pyr Betto and," he checked the names once more, "Marcus pyr Nerva."

Across the block, she watched two tall, pale men shuffle out of their cell.

"You two stand here," he said. "Hands out."

The pair looked at each other, sullen and resigned, and held their hands out with their wrists facing up. The chains attached to their heavy iron manacles rattled with the movement as the guards clamped them securely in place. Two more names were called, and two more men came forward. Aurelia watched them all file out of the cells one by one, disheveled, bitter, and disconsolate, all staring at the ground or the ceiling or really anywhere save at their captors.

When her name was called, all of the remaining prisoners lifted their eyes to stare at her. The guard's lips were drawn as though he'd bitten into an especially sour fruit. "Seeing as some small accomodation must needs be made for your current condition, Sergeant Zhisi has agreed to accompany you to the hearing chamber. I assume you're aware of the consequences should you attempt escape."

She nodded. Even if she'd had any intent to try, friend of a friend or not, she knew the Miqo'te wouldn't hesitate to sink a dagger into her throat.

"Along with you, then," he said, and for the second time within the last day, the door to her gaol cell creaked open. 

Aurelia limped through to freedom and felt the woman's hand wrap about her elbow, guiding her behind the chain line as it rattled past her up the stairs into the keep proper. Her limbs felt unsteady after so little time spent on them, and the bright sunlight streaming through the keep's windows screwed sharp calipers into her eyes, making her wince.

Single-file behind the chain gang, she entered a room barely larger than the cell block. It was clear this was some sort of holding area by the additional personnel posted at the door on the far end, and they would be expected to wait here until they were summoned. Before she could ask whether she was to sit or stand, Lu guided her to a small stool in one corner of the room and gestured to her to sit down.

She did so, fidgeting fitfully as she watched the Garlean men. As before they held themselves apart from their captors: stiff and hostile, expressions cold and proud. Haughtiness fair leaked from them despite everything, and she thought she understood, at least in part, the antipathy she'd faced thus far - not that the Eorzeans put any particular effort into hiding their animosity, either.

With steadily increasing anxiety she observed that none of them tarried overlong: no more than a half-bell at the outside, and for most of them it was closer to a quarter bell. Minutes stretched into hours - bells - as one by one, the others were called by name to enter.

"Aurelia jen Laskaris," the Elezen read after what seemed an eternity, and the abrupt cadence of her own name startled her enough to all but jump from her perch. 

She fumbled with the crutches and slid off the stool, limping towards the door. Her heart was hammering in her chest; she could hear her own pulse in her ears. 

Lu was standing by with a hand firmly gripping her arm to prevent either an escape or a fall. The look in her eyes made it clear she had sensed the prisoner's terror. 

"Here now, Garlean, you look like you're marchin' to your doom. 'Tis the culls what's to be hearin' your case, naught else. They'll not be loppin' off your bleedin' head on the spot."

Aurelia blinked at her, surprised that the woman had actually made something approaching an attempt to reassure her. Bracing herself for whatever lay on the other side of the door, she took a few deep breaths and nodded.

There was an unceremonious shove against her shoulder as the door opened, and she found herself flanked by two men in scarlet jackets who caught her mid-lurch. She thought she heard a muttered 'good luck' in her ear, but it was so quick and quiet that it could have simply been wishful thinking after all.

In that same instant she heard the latch fall at her back. She was alone.

=

The room was dimly lit, a fire crackling away in the hearth. In the center, taking up a good deal of space, sat what appeared to have once been a war table that she surmised had been appropriated from the keep itself. Six people sat on the opposite side, watching her as she entered the room. She swallowed down her fear, wavering in place near the threshold, uncertain what she was supposed to do.

"Prisoner," commanded a deep alto with the broad vowels that Aurelia was beginning to recognize as the cadenced speech of Limsa Lominsa, "approach the bench."

The hands on her arms were released, but she could sense the men standing behind her with their watchful eyes. She adjusted the crutches enough to let herself limp carefully towards the chair - no, bench, she realized, an actual bench.

As she approached she was able to get a better look at the adjudicants hearing her case. The woman who had spoken was a pale and very tall Roegadyn woman with silver hair and a piercing grey gaze. Next to her sat a rugged-looking Highlander with his hair bound in locs and pulled away from his face, a slim and pretty blonde Midlander who surely was no older than Aurelia herself, two more Elezen, and-

Seated at the grey-eyed woman's left, his dark eyes impassive, was a Roegadyn man she immediately recognized. His arm was still bound in a sling, the dressings freshly changed, and the expression he wore was devoid of any emotion, a clean slate. The man she'd verbally scoured in the infirmary pavilion.

Her vision swam at the edges.

"You may sit," the grey-eyed woman intoned again, her voice ever so slightly sharp. Aurelia was quick to obey, squeezing her eyes shut as she did so until the sensation of lightheadedness had passed and she trusted herself to focus. The man's attention was now on a piece of parchment lying upon the table. He wasn't even looking at her, though she sincerely doubted he had forgotten their exchange.

It's all right, she told herself. It'll be all right.

"State your name and rank for the court."

"Aurelia jen Laskaris. Medicus, Third Cohort, VIIth Imperial Legion." The quick and automatic response, learned through long weeks of protocol drills in basic training, felt dull and leaden on her tongue. It wouldn't be strictly necessary to quote chapter and verse, she knew, but she might as well go through the motions.

"Do you acknowledge the sovereignty of the Eorzean Alliance over this realm and all territories within?"

Aurelia found herself unconsciously correcting her posture beneath the woman's scrutiny, feeling rather like she was seventeen summers again, back home on a term break and sitting through an uncomfortable dinner party while her aunt talked to her guests as though she weren't in the room. 

"Yes."

"Do you acknowledge the authority of the presiding court?"

"Yes." Her voice had faded to all but a whisper.

"As an actor of an enemy state, you did make entry into Eorzean territory with the intent to invade and subjugate multiple sovereign nations. Is this correct?"

"I was deployed as part of a-"

"Prisoner will respond with a yes or no," was the curt response. "Is this correct?"

She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and considered the question. While she'd acted under orders, the accusation wasn't untrue.

"Yes."

"As an enlisted servicemember of the VIIth Imperial Legion under Legatus Nael van Darnus, were you part of the cohort responsible for the dissemination of imperial propaganda in relation to the summoning of primals?"

"No. Eikon summoning wasn't my-"

"Were you at any time subject to the details of Project Meteor?"

Aurelia raised her eyes from the floor at last to fix the entirety of the panel with an appalled stare.

"I pray the court will excuse my confusion," she said, "but I must ask for clarification. Are you asking whether or not I would possess intimate knowledge of a top secret military operation?"

"Prisoner will respond with a yes or no."

She felt a surge of affronted fury.

"Of course I didn't know what the legatus was planning! Why in the world would you make the assumption-"

"Yes or no-"

"-that an army chirurgeon would be privy to such knowledge?"

"Prisoner-"

"How am I to expect a fair trial if I stand accused of matters beyond all reasonable ken?" She was all but shouting, having risen into something resembling a standing position. Her leg throbbed in angry protest from knee to ankle and she knew it would be unbearably sore later, but she barely paid the pain any heed. "I shall not be made to place a noose about my own neck!"

The guardsman yanked her backwards by one arm and forced her back down onto the seat, hard enough for the wood beneath her to make a cracking sound. His grip dug into her shoulder hard enough that she could feel the bite of his fingernails through his gloves.

"That's enough out of you," he snarled.

From her seat the silver-haired Roegadyn woman snapped: 

"The prisoner will henceforth remain seated and address this court as she is bid, or be held in contempt and subjected to additional punishment. Respond with a yes or no. You will not be asked again."

She glared at the assembled panel from beneath greasy fringe, heart pounding. Her fingers bunched in the filth-caked fabric on her thighs, gathering tight handfuls as she stared down at her feet.

"...No," she growled between clenched teeth. 

There was a pause and a series of low murmurs as the panel exchanged words she couldn't hear. She sat stiffly, every muscle thrumming with tension, her previous fear replaced by her anger. The rough-hewn Ala Mhigan man cleared his throat, glancing at his fellows before turning his attention to her.

"Admiral, I think we have established the prisoner is not one of the Project Meteor masterminds," he said, a somewhat dry note in his voice that surprised her. "Let us move on. We've all reviewed the statements from the three officers of the Grand Companies vouching for-"

The scraping sound of a chair's wooden legs against the floor interrupted the proceedings.

Aurelia tensed, her heart leaping into her throat upon seeing that the man she'd treated in the camp had pushed back his chair and stood, drawing himself to his full height. In the day's light he was handsome enough, dark eyes and a broad nose, his long dark hair pinned back in a tail and various medals and badges of office affixed to his jacket. Even the burly Highlander looked startled.

"...Loezwyrn?" The silver-haired woman was staring at him as though he'd started to speak in tongues. "You can't... we're in the middle of the hearing."

"Aye, I know it's highly irregular, Admiral, and I apologize. I should like to give a statement to the court."

"This isn't-"

"’Tis but a moment of our time."

Somewhat reluctantly, her expression bemused, the Admiral gave in.

"...I take your point. The whole godsdamned situation is 'irregular'," she said with a sigh. "Very well. We might as well attempt to do this the procedural way regardless, I suppose. State your name for the record."

"Commodore Loezwyrn Sletteidin. Maelstrom, Foreign Levy."

Aurelia felt her heart drop straight into the pit of her stomach. 

She didn't know much of Eorzean military structure beyond the basics, but she knew enough to realize this man was probably equal in rank to an imperial legion's tribunus militum at least, and she'd dressed him down like a child. Surely not, she thought. Surely fate was not this cruel.

The pause before he continued felt as though it stretched into years.

"During the battle," he began, "I was struck by shrapnel. My wounds were minor and 'twas my thinking at the time that my leadership was too necessary in the heat of the fight to bother with seekin' a conjurer. Hadn't expected it to turn bad, of course."

"Perhaps the greatest hazard of all," murmured the Midlander girl in white. Her voice was soft and soothing, like sunlight rippling over water. "But I digress. Continue, please."

"My thanks, Seedseer. Weren't until we'd set up the temporary camp that my assistants realized I'd taken ill, and I found myself dragged to the infirmary pavilion. The wait was long, and my fever worsened, and Storm Lieutenant Pavin had the foresight to try and jump the queue in order to call for aid. The prisoner happened to be working the triage lines at the time. I wanted naught to do with a Garlean. I said I would have none of her aid, in no uncertain terms."

"And then?" the Ala Mhigan prompted. "What did she do?"

To Aurelia's shock, a grin cracked the stony neutrality of the man's features.

"Lost her bleedin' temper, that's what. Told me to 'place my arse on the sodding table and keep my mouth shut.' Then said I'd probably lose the arm due to my own neglect. I was fit to chew ingots and spit nails, I'll not lie."

"Did she?" the girl asked gently. "I see you have not in fact lost your arm, Commodore."

"Aye, she was able to save it. Wouldn't promise aught at the time, but she came through. I thought I'd lose my hand for sure if only for the insult I dealt her. But she did all that she promised and the wound healed clean."

Commodore Sleitteidin's smile faded somewhat. His gaze had shifted to Aurelia's face, and she found that for the first time she was able to look him in the eyes.

"I watched this woman treat our wounded with the same care I'd expect of one of our own. That said," he added, speaking now to the Admiral, "I’m afraid I must needs recuse myself, ma’am. Personal involvement with the case and whatnot."

The other five exchanged glances.

"Right, well," the Highlander said, "I suppose we'll burn that bridge when we cross it. In the meantime, should the prisoner have aught to say in her own defense, now is the time to do so."

Aurelia tried to ignore their expectant stares, knowing precisely how pathetic she must appear. She had managed only the most broken of sleep in the past few weeks and she now felt every ilm of that deprivation. Her golden hair was lank and flat and filthy, the rough homespun she wore having fared little better during her incarceration, and by its ill fit she knew she had dropped a noticeable amount of weight.

She straightened her back, summoned all of the remaining poise she had at her disposal, and looked each one of them in the eye. Carefully she folded her hands in her lap, as if she were addressing a guest at one of her aunt's afternoon salons.

"I shall not make excuses for myself," she said simply. "Nor shall I defend the actions of my countrymen. What we did to your people was unforgivable, and you are well within your rights to seek recompense.  I served the Empire in my capacity as a healer. When I was rescued and taken prisoner by your people, I felt it only right that I offer what succor I could in exchange."

"Then you admit that you are motivated by guilt?"

"Think you we Garleans are such monsters that we lack the capacity for pity? Or remorse?" Aurelia spread her hands in a helpless gesture. "What could I possibly offer as sufficient proof of my intentions? I cannot bring back those who were lost. I doubt very much I could ever begin to atone for what the VIIth has done. But if it is within my power to provide aid, I will do so."

The woman in charge of the proceedings still looked grim, but the young girl in white was... smiling and nodding, very gently, in what appeared to be approval.

"Is this your final statement, prisoner?" the Ala Mhigan asked.

Her hands clasped tightly, shaking in her lap, Aurelia said, "It is."

"Then," he responded, his voice slow and deep and measured, "I move to adjourn unless the court has further questions.” 

None of them spoke. Into the lengthening silence, he continued: 

“The men here will escort you outside whilst we complete deliberations."

She was almost unable to support herself when she regained her footing. Her legs felt like gelatin and her heart was pounding. She hadn't intended to lose her temper but it had happened all the same, and looking at the collection of faces behind the table she wasn't sure whether they would rule in her favor or not. The girl appeared openly sympathetic, but she was the only one.

She felt as though she’d just placed her head on a chopping block.

Forcing herself not to look back, she turned her back and, flanked by the stone-faced guards, slowly limped out of the room.

[lolefram]

August 22nd

I’ve written one other post since the last one but I took it off because I didn’t actually want you to read it. The last month has had some rough moments that I didn’t really want to share.  I did want to make you another post though, I have some time and it seemed like a nice thing to do.  My emotions have steadied a good bit since we last spoke and I’m much more at peace. My days don’t have the same up and down to them as they did before. I wouldn’t say I have 100% clear perspective on everything, but I don’t immediately want to strike something when I think about the fact that I don’t get to speak to you anymore at least.  When I think about our relationship in it’s entirety and the way it ended mostly what I feel is.... I mean how unfortunate for both of us, right?. How often do you get to have relationships like that? and for it to end like that? How strange. And we both just let it happen. Then again, truth be told you wanted it to be over, not me, so the real question is why did I let it happen that way. It’s also uncharacteristic of me to not want to have one last on-camera skype conversation to punctuate our relationship, just to have a little dignity. I’m sorry about that, I wish I could have been more composed.  I still think about you now and then, and wouldn’t mind knowing what you’re up to sometimes. Mostly I just hope you’re doing well. I really hope your life is less chaotic now that I’m not in it, sincerely. I hope the future feels brighter and like it’s something to look forward to, instead of what it must have been like thinking about figuring out how to share a life with me. And yes, I even hope you get to embark on another romance before too long to pull your mind from the pain of our relationship, and I hope the next one really bears some fruit. You don’t deserve to be alone for long, but also for my sake set the bar high though because you deserve a quality person to be with.  As for me, I’m sure you’d like to know, as I told you I’m going to be going back to UPS for the time being but I’m still taking every interview and opportunity I can to get back into cyber security sales. I’ve got a few prospective paths to doing so, one of which may be to just go back to school again. I know a big part of the issue last time was that my home situation was kind of a mess, but perhaps if it was just me again I could make it happen and finish with my degree. Of course I’d have to keep my job at UPS while I did so, but I can pull it off, I did it for a year before I can finish 2 more. That way I can get an analyst position, which pay pretty decently well but also from there I’d be in a great position to go to be a sales engineer, which is still ultimately where I want to end up. I’m looking at several different ways I can get there without having to go to school, but that’s in the back of my mind for now.  Funny anecdote, I went to RJs over the weekend for his birthday party and I’m not sure if you remember but his brother in law and I had a loooooooooong drunken conversation about politics and liberty and the state and things like that a few months ago and for whatever reason that guy absolutely loves me, he thinks I’m great. Anyways so he and I spent a good amount of time speaking again over RJs birthday. Did I mention he’s the head of the legal department for Honda corporate? I remember RJ mentioning about it before, but I didn’t think too much about it. Anyways he insisted I send him a resume and that he’d “work the system” to try to get me in someplace. It’s really flattering and all that but obviously I don’t think it’s going to go anywhere, I’m about to email it to him today. Maybe if this conversation had happened a year ago I could have sent him your resume and gotten you a position in their legal department, who knows.  Anyways, it was good writing you a letter again. I hope it finds you well.

[rumaan]

Sweetest Love

Pairing: Sana/Yousef Summary: Sana and Yousef get some alone time Rating: T Warnings: Make out session Notes:   Written for @skam-month week of fanfiction, day 1: fluff. I wanted to write Sana and Yousef's first kiss...or well first make out session! FYI: Some couples decide to get Islamically married before moving in/living together. I know several people who have done this, which gives more liberties for spending time alone together. In Arabic this is called kebt kitab.

Also on AO3

“Where are the rest of the boys?” Sana asked, coming into the book room where Elias and Yousef were looking at something on Elias’ MacBook.

“They wanted to give you guys some privacy,” Elias said with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh,” she said. “That’s nice of them.”

It was strange to think of any of Elias’ friends having tact or even thinking about how she and Yousef had just held their katb kitab two days ago and therefore Yousef might want to spend the day in his in-laws house without them around.

Sitting down, Sana asked, “So what are you guys doing?” Elias shot her a disbelieving look, causing her to twist her hand in enquiry. “What?”

“I just told you that none of the boys are coming over today. So the only men in the house today are related to you.”

She grinned, still finding it hard to believe that Yousef was actually her husband even if they weren’t going to have their wedding reception or live together until next summer.

“Yeah and?” she said, confused as to why her brother was looking at her as if she was stupid.

“Oh my God,” Elias said dramatically. “I’m so sorry, bro. So sorry you had to marry the dumbest woman in the world!”

Yousef just smiled at him and said, “Stop making this a big deal.”

“Making what a big deal,” Sana asked, losing patience.

“Your husband has come to spend some quality time with you, mum has dragged dad out shopping, I’m ‘supervising’ you both and you’re sitting there with your hijab on,” Elias said, tugging on the end of her scarf and looking exasperated.

“Oh,” Sana said. “ Oh! ”

“Yes, oh! Took you long enough.”

“Give her a break,” Yousef said. “It’s been two days and it’s not as if we’ve had any time alone.”

Which was true. Their katb kitab had become pretty much an unofficial wedding party, with his friends and her friends staying long into the night to celebrate. Then yesterday she’d been studying and he’d been teaching at Turkish school. They both had a free day on Mondays, so they tended to spend time together then.

“Well, I’ll be in my room,” Elias said unsubtly. “I’m working so my door will be closed to make sure it’s nice and quiet and I can concentrate.”

Sana could feel the colour flooding into her cheeks at her brother’s obviousness and she couldn’t look at Yousef even once Elias had left the room.

“You know you don’t have to take off your hijab if you don’t want,” he said. “This period is an adjustment time for us anyway.”

“I do want to but why does my brother have to be so embarrassing?”

Yousef laughed. “It’s the question I’ve been asking ever since we met at Middle School.”

A little shyly, Sana took the pins out of her hijab and unwound it, letting the material slide off her head. She could feel Yousef’s eyes on her and once she’d freed her hair from the hair-bands holding it into a bun, she look at up at him.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful,” he breathed out, a hand coming out to smooth a strand of her hair back from her forehead and stroking it down to where it lay half way down her back.

“You’re not disappointed?” she asked in a small voice, hating that she was even asking this question.

It was a stupid question, she knew it was a stupid question, she also knew it was stupid to be nervous around him seeing her hair for the first time. However, she couldn’t help some of her anxieties coming out. She knew how much Yousef loved her, but old hurts took time to heal and she still felt second best sometimes; not pretty or smart or good enough.

Cupping her jaw, his fingers sliding into her hair, Yousef tilted her face up towards his.

“I’m never disappointed with you, Sana Bakkoush. I still can’t believe you chose to marry me. You could have had anyone you wanted.”

“Well, not anyone . Stephen Curry is sadly married, so I thought I should stop pining over the unobtainable and move on.”

Wow,” he said, dropping his hand, nodding his head and smiling. “Okay, wow.”

Laughing, she leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I love you.”

“I know,” he said, pressing his forehead against hers.

Sana’s eyes dropped to his lips and she felt the familiar feel of blood rushing through her veins in anticipation and her heart beating faster. However, this time she didn’t have to pull away and deny herself. She could move closer and press her lips against his if she wanted. The thought had her mouth drying out and she watched as he licked his lips and his pupils dilated a little.

“Can I?” he asked and the question brought back memories of another night over two years ago, when he had asked her the same question with his eyes and she’d shook her head.

However, now, she didn’t have to do that. He was her husband and physical intimacy was allowed. So she nodded and stopped breathing as he closed the small gap between them and brushed his lips softly against hers; once, twice then three times. Each time he lingered longer and her eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of his warm and soft lips moving against hers and sending shivers down her spine.

Then he pulled back and she moved forward, chasing his lips with hers, her eyes opening in protest.

“I was going to ask if that was okay,” he said with a slight smirk. “But I guess I have my answer.”

Sana narrowed her eyes at his smugness, but then her dimples peeped out. “Hmmm...I’m not sure this kissing thing has quite lived up to its reputation,” she teased.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, I think I need to try it again and see if I get why so many people like it.”

Yousef laughed. “I think that can be arranged.”

He bent his head and pressed his mouth against hers once more and she met him more confidently this time, moving her lips fervently against his and her arms winding themselves around his neck to bring him closer. His hand cupped her jaw once more, tilting her head slightly so he could deepen the kiss, his tongue coming out to trace the seam of her lips, which opened eagerly allowing him access.

As his tongue slid into her mouth, hot and heavy, the blood pounded in her ears. It was a heady sensation having Yousef this close. Sana could feel him all around her and goosebumps erupted on her skin as he snaked an arm around her waist and tugged her onto his lap so she straddled his legs and his hands rested warmly on her hips, anchoring her to him. The new angle allowed gave her greater ability to dictate and she pushed her hands into his hair, loving how silky the strands felt against her fingers as she tugged on them slightly to tilt his head back and control their kisses, pressing her tongue into his mouth and revelling at the small moan he let out.

“So, is this living up to your expectations?” he murmured against her lips.

“I think I would give you a solid 5,” she teased, punctuating each word with a kiss.

“Only a 5?” he said with a grin. “You’ll make me bring out the big guns.”

Sana snorted. “The big guns?”

“Yep,” he said and he pulled his lips aways from hers, peppering little soft kisses along her jawline until he reached just below her ear.

She shivered and gasped, arching against him as he sucked kisses on her silky skin causing delicious tingles to shudder down her body as his lips slid down her neck towards her collarbone. One of his hands roamed up from her hips, pushing under her top and resting hotly against her bare back, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on skin that felt tight and too hot as if she was waiting for a release that she didn’t quite understand yet.

“Yousef,” she breathed.

“Yeah?”

“I take it back. You definitely get a 6.”

Sana felt rather than saw his smile. “Only the best for my wife.”

“Wife!” she said, savouring the sound of it as his lips made their way back up her neck.

Bringing his hands up to frame her face, he kissed her nose and said, “Yep. My brilliant and beautiful wife who is so sexy that it’s been a struggle to keep my hands to myself for the past couple of years.”

He kissed her again then, revering her with his lips and she lost herself in the passion that burned so brightly between them.

---------

A light snapping on overheard had Yousef quickly sitting back up as they both squinted in the harsh light. When had it become so dark? And when had they ended up horizontal on the sofa?

“Wow,” Elias said. “I don’t ever want to walk in on that again.”

Sana sat up, feeling so disoriented that she didn’t even have a pithy comeback for her older brother.

“Mama texted. They’ll be home in about ten minutes, so yeah, you might want to go about fixing yourselves up a little,” Elias said with an amused smirk. “Maybe go and do something about your neck, Sana.”

Turning towards Yousef, she saw his wide eyed look of horror as he saw her neck. “Yeah, it might be a good idea to put on a turtleneck,” he said, squeezing her hand, standing and pulling her up from the sofa. With a quick kiss to his cheek, she passed by him and out of the room.

“She’s your wife but I’m not sure my parents want to see her looking quite so dishevelled, akhi, ” Elias said, loud enough for her to hear in the hallway.

Letting out a small embarrassed giggle, Sana fled to her room to assess the damage.

Looking in the mirror, she couldn’t stop staring. She looked as ravished as she felt. Her lips were swollen and a little numb. Her hair was mussed up, her pupils blown a little wide, and as expected, there were a couple of red marks marring her neck that she needed to cover up. However, she couldn’t help but grin at herself. She’d worried that maybe she wouldn’t like kissing - not after seeing too many unappealing make out sessions held in front of her. Yet, here she was having spent at least an hour making out with Yousef on her couch and it had been the best hour of her life. She could still feel the thrill of his kisses sending shockwaves through her body and the taste of him in her mouth. It was everything she had wished for and she couldn’t wait to make out with him again. She laughed a little softly as she realised it was something she got to do for the rest of her life.