#still not over that teal + gold actually

[tumblerislovetumblerislife]

hey olly. hey olly.

well damn i wasn't planning on another ao3-style comment but nooooo, you had to go make another beautiful gifset (lmao i love both you and your gifset so much!!) literally saved this until i can fully appreciate it, i feel like a little kid wanting to open a present slowly to keep the suspense longer, like i'm trying not to look at the gifs first (impossible) because i want to give you my FRESH response. i adore colour palettes (to no one's surprise)!! so excited for the ep2 gifs!!

gif 1: NIKO MY BELOVEDDDD. i love love love the green-pink contrast, i feel like that is just very niko!! we see her in other colours, sure, but in my mind they're her main two. obviously the pink is the sprites (and the lesbianism of course lmao) but the colour palette just really draws attention to it which is soooo pretty. and the yellow and greens!! the way her school clothes actually look green makes the whole thing SO cohesive and satisfying. also also the different shades of pink, like if i didn't look closely i would've thought it was one shade of pink except the colour palette made me look! *heart eyes motherfucker*

gif 2: ohhhhhhh my god turquoise+gold my beloved!!!!! sooooo in love with this palette it's not even funny. everything is so turquoise and kinda monotone with the funky lighting, and then you just have a few gold lights to give the whole thing life ough. (also a fun callback to the ep1 cat leash, aka the conflict they're headed towards??)

gif 3: HI LESBIAN NIKO HI! i love how the animations reflect in her eyes omg, i wonder how they did that? the purple that's the reflection of the light on her hair :o i never noticed it!!! and the other non-pink colours, the sort of pastel-y light green and yellow is so perfect for this scene WOW, actually all of the animations seem to be all pastel-y! and the green coming from the background (window?) is SO COOL

gif 4: hhhhhhhh SUCH a fun base shot but not one that i think is usually giffed? at least i haven't seen it around. it's really lovely to get those scenes like little treasures! and the greens!!! god i love a good green and these are the BEST. the monotone? *chef's kiss* (also i think i said something about it in the ep1 reaction and i know there's an aesthetic reason for it BUT it really does make the boys feel more ghostly since the only colour on them that's represented is the greenness of the forest reflecting on them. it looks amazing, basically)

gif 5: oooooh neutrals + gold? did not expect it, but i LOVE. also very fitting for the bathroom as this sort of very mundane place. nothing supernatural's going on in here, no sirree. also also very fun camera angle! something something about the light itself being white, but the light it casts being this warm gold? also the reflection of the light in the water, never noticed that!! i know the water is for crystal to splash her face with, but it just gives off scrying vibes and i am such a big fan. they should let the gang explore more supernatural methods in s2! but i digress. (oh and crystal being much more present, the dark colour picking up in her hair as well as the tiles, and the beige and white in her rings, just like the taps! crystal is so alive)

gif 6: another green with some red this time!! lmao it's like an optical illusion, my brain refused to see the reds until i actually stopped and looked for it. so nice and autumn-y <3 again the accent colour being the most prominent example of that colour is SUCH a vibe. also. they are so teeny-tiny omg who let them out to solve cases T-T

gif 7: PIIIIIIIIIIIINK (god i love a good monotone) plus the (weird) perception we have of pink as this innocent colour vs this horror that niko's going through?? the good sauce man! also i love how the pink shifts until the middle colour basically fades against the background, that's really fun

gif 8: sprites sprites sprites! lmao i love them, they're terrible but at least they're funny about it <3 the colours?? obviously the greens, the gold in the coins and litty's dress, the white in their hats and clothing (and litty's highlights, damn girl), but that blue?? iconic. i probably wouldn't have seen it if not for the colour palette omgggg

overall: i didn't expect you to be able to surpass the ep1 colour palettes but i should never have doubted, oh my godddd olly!!!! just. WOW. loved all the nikos! loved the bright colours! loved the monotones! loved the greens! loved the pinks! loved the golds! (honestly it might be faster to mention everything i don't love, which is..... nothing) THANK YOU FOR GIFTING US MERELY MORTALS WITH YOUR DIVINE GIFSETS <3

Dead Boy Detectives (2024) 1.02 — The Case of the Dandelion Shrine (insp)

[dooberific]

❝ 𝘏𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘴 ❞

lighter lorenz x afab!reader

genre: slice of life

summary: your most consistent “customer” always ends up crawling back to you

wc: 2k

“I should charge you extra for this, Lorenz,” you drawled, popping the screen door open with your hip as you walked back out onto the porch, a pair of scissors twirling on your finger. With practiced ease you snapped them into your hand, pointing the sharp tip in his direction.

“I don’t take well to traitors.”

You could see his eyebrows raise behind his sunglasses, a low whistle passing his lips.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time, boss.”

“You better, I’m not one to give chances freely.” You teased before nodding your head towards the steps of your porch.

“Now take a seat, scruffy, we’ll see if we can’t make a Champion out of you yet.”

You grinned as he plopped dutifully down on your porch steps, long legs stretching out comfortably as he leaned back on his elbows. His head lolled back in your direction, vibrant shades of teal green twinkling over the gold rim of his glasses as he grinned in the same boyish, lopsided fashion you had grown to expect of him.

“That’s a big claim to make, saying you can make someone a champion with a pair of scissors.”

Your eyes rolled as you sat criss crossed behind him, plucking the sunglasses off his face before sliding them onto your head, watching the sharp recoil of his features when the burning orange glow of the setting sun assaulted his uncovered eyes. You pinched his bangs between your fingers, spreading the strands between the pads of your thumb and index before allowing them to feather back against his forehead.

“Well it’s certainly easier to win when you can actually see.”

He righted his head with a conceding sigh. “You’ve got me there.”

Your hands carded through his hair, thick waves of dark green-teal sliding between your fingers. It made you a bit angry that he had achieved an envious degree of volume and softness that a woman would kill for knowing that he was probably still using some 14-in-1 product that could strip grease off a floor, wash dishes, and his hair with the same bottle. Perhaps it was your sign that genetics could flourish under any circumstances, and that Lighter was simply god’s favorite delinquent.

“A barber with a waitlist, huh?” You mused, drawing a strand of his hair taunt between two fingers. The scissor blades shined like gold in the dying light, severing any split ends as you trimmed a few millimeters off.

“The city sure is a unique place.”

He hummed. “It’s not all bad, I guess.”

Part of you was inclined to disagree with him. You weren’t particularly fond of the city in any regard except for the variety in products offered. It was too noisy, too busy, too much stress over even the simplest of things.

It was a far cry from where you sat now, the evening sun warming your skin as the desert air of the Outer Ring carried the dry scents of sage and willow to your lungs, the landscape doused in a golden glow that stained the earthy reds of the stone in vibrant hues. The whistles of distant warblers and the rumble of engines zipping down the highways, the rustling of the tumbleweeds rolling over the packed earth, the gentle snipping of the scissors in your hands as stray hairs broke loose under the sharpened blades.

A melody of a deserted land that seemed so foreign and rogue to most evoked nothing but an easy sense of homely comfort. One that bathed the simplicity of your task in a halo of nostalgia, the texture of the porch under your legs, your chipped nail polish undercut with rich hues of raven green, the comfortable silence that filled the air reserved for close relationships.

Your nails tickled, featherlight touches brushing over the shell of his ear. He shuddered, goosebumps rising harshly on his skin under his jacket.

You dusted the stray hairs off his shoulders as you stood with a small groan, the grooves of the porch tattooing your legs with the texture of the worn wood. “Alright, I’m done.”

You pocketed your scissors, jerking a thumb towards the screen door. “Come in and wash up, can’t have you itching on the ride home.”

You held the door, propped against it as you watched him shed his jacket, shamelessly enjoying the tight planes of his muscles shifting under his t-shirt as he tossed his jacket over the porch rail, chased by the vibrant red of his scarf.

“You should be careful making offers like that,” He said as he sauntered past you, plucking his glasses off the top of your head. “You never know what kind of unsavory folks could wander out of the desert.”

You raised a brow in playful disbelief. “Maybe you should be careful accepting invitations to shower at strange women’s houses,” you countered as the door slammed loudly in its casing, though if it was the sound or the sharp way your hand connected with his ass that made him jump you weren’t fully sure.

You shot him a wink as he whipped around. “You never know what kind of unsavory things they could want in exchange~”

To say you enjoyed any chance to tease the legendary red scarf of the Sons of Calydon would be a massive understatement. It had always been that way, even from the first time Big Daddy showed up on your doorstep with him and asked you to whip him into shape.

He was thinner, hair shaggy and skin littered in bruises that stained it shades of red, purple and yellow. He didn’t talk at all then, shoulders hunched forward as you trimmed away months of disrepair, gave him a proper shave and shower and sent him off after a warm meal. It was purely transactional if not somewhat born from the pity that stirred in your gut at the hollow, glazed look in his eyes that lingered for months on end.

He would come back every few months for the same thing until his head stood a little taller, shoulders prouder, a healthy tan kissing his skin alongside the occasional bump or bruise brought on by one of his scrapes as new champion for the Sons of Calydon.

Conversation flowed a little more freely and lightly, the atmosphere of your simple home a backdrop for peaceful evenings even when your scissors weren’t needed, one of warm blankets draped over your bare legs as you sat on the porch swing, hot tea warming a ceramic glass between your chilled fingers as the cries of coyotes mingled with the deep purple sky, nothing but the stars as their witness.

Lighter still dutifully sat on the top step, boots thumping against the wood in tune with the crackle of the radio that whispered in from your kitchen where you left it running. You’d tease him about the girls in Blazewood or whatever pretty little number you had witnessed walk up to him on the street until his ears would stain with a hearty red flush, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he refuted your words and attempted to redirect the conversation.

If he really hated the teasing talks as much as he claimed you were confident he wouldn’t keep showing up with a case of Nitrofuel asking if you were free for the evening.

You placed a couple bowls on the table, the heat off the contents curling pleasantly under the yellowed bulb of the dining room light as you heard the shower shut off.

“Feeling like a new man yet?” You called through the door as you dropped some silverware in the bowls.

“It’s hard to beat a fresh cut.” He replied as the door to the bathroom swung open, his hair falling limply over his forehead still damp from the shower. Give it another few minutes to air dry and it would surely begin to curl and bounce back to life.

“I’d like to see one of those fancy city barbers have better customer service!” You stated matter of factly, waltzing up to lean on the doorframe, the light dancing over the apples of your cheeks as the floral scent of your Carlishe shampoo met your nose. The girls would give him a fit over it later to be sure.

He’s smiling at your small talk, a hand rubbing the line of his jaw thoughtfully as he squinted at his reflection in the mirror.

“You still keep those extra razors?”

You snorted. “Of course, how else can I service all the scruffy vagrants that wander through my door?”

You vanished from the doorway for a moment, and he could hear your feet thumping across the hardwood floor as you came and went, your face mischievous as you shouldered into the little bathroom with him and hopped up on the sink counter.

You brandished the single bladed razor with smug pride, a finger rising to crook in his direction as your lips curled invitingly. “Come here, Mr. Lorenz, and let me finish you off in a proper fashion.”

He was like putty in your hands and he stepped closer, hands braced on the sink at your side as your own hand came up to trace the curve of his jaw. It felt like old times, you mused to yourself, painting a thin layer of shaving cream against his skin. You used to do it all the time, though it was a bit more challenging when his skin was tender from the bruises that blossomed beneath the surface.

He didn’t hold eye contact with you then like he does now, vibrant hues of green smoldering under thick lashes trained on the curve of your lips, the delicate way your teeth teased the lower in concentration as you glided the blade across his skin with a skilled hand.

The scent of the spice in the shaving cream tickling your nose as it mingled with the florals of the shampoo, his breath warm as it fanned over your cheeks.

“If you keep staring like that,” you tapped the razor off in the sink, running the blade under the water as you turned back and met his gaze head on.

“I might think you like me a little more than just as your barber.”

“And what if I said I did?”

It came out in a breath, and you weren’t sure for a moment if it was accidental or intentional, some form of truth rolling in seas of green that you would never claim to be able to read. You stared at him for a long, silent moment, a challenge brewing on the tip of your tongue.

“You won’t.”

It was flat and to-the-point, a truth spoon fed by force down his throat like a bitter medicine to an unruly child. You placed the razor neatly on the side of the sink.

“You’re not brazen enough to jump into something without hesitation,” you elaborated, a hand rising to brush loose hairs behind your ear as you met his gaze once more. “And I think you value me too much as a friend to act carelessly.”

He huffed, fingers tapping on the countertop. “You say that like you’re confident that you know me or something.”

Your shoulders shrugged. “Not like you’ve been much of a stranger in the past.”

He couldn’t challenge you there if he tried, his very presence in your home right now a glaring reminder that the two of you had never been fully unfamiliar, always toeing some invisible line between friends and something a little past that. Maybe it did give him pause to think of upsetting the delicate balance of the game you seemed perpetually locked in.

You slipped off the counter, sliding past him without a word. You were like sand filtering between his fingers, there one moment and gone just as quickly if his grip relinquished even for a moment.

“I don’t mind waiting, I consider myself a rather patient person.” You spoke, your back turned to him as you plucked one of the bowls off the table. You spooned a helping into your mouth, humming thoughtfully as you turned, waggling your empty utensil at him.

“Jus’ be a good boy and don’t go cheating on me with another barber in the meantime.”

His grin was as crooked as ever.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Rey 2025

[windcarvedlyre]

While I'm at it, have a compilation of depictions of Barbatos. We know Mondstadt's are inaccurate:

but it really takes the piss.

For reference, here's his canon stripper archon outfit as seen in the webtoon and a TCG card:

I'll assume the missing ring things in the last image are an error. And that the TCG looks different for actual Teyvat residents; it would leak sensitive information about gods otherwise. The only difference I can see in the TCG depiction is the wings look more like... actual wings, but gold-rimmed fabric is still either fused with or draped over them.

With that in mind:

Statues of the Seven

Robes cover everything but his arms and face

No adornments on his wings or chest

No fusion of wings and fabric; instead they float a small distance from his back, attached to nothing

No cecilia

'Gateway to Celestia' statue

Outfit shows his figure more, especially his legs

Drapey sash thing over one arm and spiraling around him

Chest adornment but no wing adornments

Wings attached to back; unclear if they're meant to be attached to the fabric there or go through it

No cecilia

Wind, Courage and Wings depiction 1

(aka the fairytale Amber gives us in the prologue)

Outfit halfway between the above statue's and the stripper one

Chest adornment (simplified), no wing adornments

Gold-trimmed fabric over his shoulders extends into points instead of fusing into his wings

Simplified version of right leg sock thing

Left leg bare, no teal marking

May also have the booty shorts

Right arm bare, left maybe sleeved all the way to torso

Body wrapped in sash, maybe more loosely than the main statue

Lower part of sash maybe draped around both wrists

Something (maybe the sash) trails off, green/teal and semi-transparent

Wings have teal tint

Cecilia with green leaves

Wind, Courage and Wings depiction 2

You know. The same book.

Sash gone

Almost his stripper outfit except:

Wings still teal and unadorned, now also transparent

Other inaccuracies from depiction 1 present (no gold trims or teal lights on most of the outfit, though the crop top thing has one now)

No 'tail'

Cecilia leaves still green

Dvalin's story

This is a visual accompanying an account from Venti himself; unsurprisingly it's much more accurate. Some of the discrepancies could be intentional simplifications for the cutscene, but maybe the fact the finer details still don't match has implications about the story's accuracy.

Still lacks many gold trims and teal lights

Teal markings not present

Wings look like inorganic extensions of his outfit's fabric again, albeit with a subtle teal gradient and strange zigzags

Wing adornments finally there but lack spikes for some reason

Bonus: 2021 birthday art

From the official twitter. Faithful to the webtoon design except:

Thin gold trims along borders that previously lacked them

Pattern inside hood

New notches in crop top thing

I'm unsure if this is an overly detailed version of him for fun or if we should consider this his true canon design. The TCG card doesn't really clarify except the neck might have a gold trim:

So maybe?

In conclusion, Mondstadt doesn't know what Barbatos looks like and we might not either. At best some sort of transition from dressing more like his previous form, which happens to have detached 'wings' like his Statues of the Seven:

to the way he dresses now could explain some but not all of the discrepancies. But it's very possible (and maybe aligns better with his character story) that he's been using his current outfit for god business the entire time and all of his depictions are wrong.

Maybe the real archon outfit was the friends we made along the way.

The one constant is they always look like Nameless Bard.

[coffeeghoulie]

if youre still taking requests for mushy may maybe 18 for dewther and 25 for aethtom?

Mushy May Day 18: Courting/Romancing

Mushy May put together by the lovely @forlorn-crows <3

After coming home from their first tour, Aether and Dew discuss water ghoul courting customs as they build their hearth together. No warnings, 800 words.

divider by @ghuleh-recs <3

“Is there anything special about the rocks?”

Dew pauses, looking up from the bed sheets in his hands to Aether. They’re soft and cotton, made in human custom rather than ghoulish, but Dew has to admit that they are comfortable. “What do you mean, special?”

Aether hums, turning a dark blue-grey stone over in his hand. The quartz scattered through it glitters in the light coming in through Aether’s window. Or, their window now. A little warmth comes to his pale cheeks as he recognizes it; it’s the very first courting stone he’d ever given the quintessence ghoul.

“I mean, did you pick these out to give me for a reason? Or is it more a ‘pretty stone for the ghoul I want to court’ situation?”

Dew’s shoulders relax and he tucks a sheet into the nest he’s helping build. Aether sets the stone down, coming to help rearrange pillows and blankets, following Dew’s lead. They’ve just gotten home from their first tour, and Aether had lead Dew here, with all of his bags, instead of letting him go back to his own.

“Well, I’m glad you picked up the courting part, eventually,” Dew teases with a soft huff. “Even if Ifrit had to help you. Thought you said you were the smart one.”

Aether laughs, tossing a pillow at Dew’s head. Unfortunately, he catches it and throws it back. “I mean, I just didn’t know about courting rituals that weren’t quintessence customs. Genuinely just thought you were being nice. And you didn’t actually answer my question…” he trails off, flashing a grin that shows his gold fang.

Dew rolls his eyes, but Aether can see clear as day that there’s no real irritation in the gesture. The same look in his eyes the way he looks out on stage throwing picks. He thinks for a moment. “The pebbles mean the same thing as the hearth, from what I’ve been told,” he says, gesturing towards the mess of bedding they’re organizing on Aether’s bed. “It’s an invitation to build a nest together. At least in my school, the first step to make nests was to make it out of stones like those before you lined it with something soft. At least, that’s how it’s been for centuries. Mist’s got one just like that at the bottom of the lake she built for herself.”

“Oh, I see,” Aether hums, a violet flush coming to the high points of his cheeks. He tucks a blanket into the nest they’re weaving, looking to Dew for his approval.

“Why’d you ask?” Dew says, softer now. Aether just stares for a moment, long silver hair falling out of Dew’s ponytail, entranced with the way teal gills flutter at the side of his throat with every breath.

“I just. I wanted to know if I had to find a specific kind of rock to give you in return, or if any old one will do.”

Dew’s breath hitches the tiniest bit, head ducking to avoid Aether’s eyes. “You don’t have to do that,” he laughs, working another blanket into the hearth and adjusting it this way and that. “You already have your bedding in the hearth, that’s pretty much as good as sealing the deal.”

Aether steps around the bed to stand at Dew’s side, leaning down to nuzzle gently into Dew’s hair, avoiding the sharp points of his seaglass horns. The scent of lilies and meltwater and candle smoke fill his lungs, and he wraps an arm around Dew’s shoulders to bring him in. “Darling, you said it yourself, you were raised water. I want to honor what you knew. How you started to court me. I want to court you the way you know. Please.”

Dew sighs, and leans so heavily against him for such a small ghoul. He starts to purr, and Aether chuffs into his hair. “It varies. Ghoul to ghoul,” Dew says slowly. His beautiful blue eyes, the color of the lake on the sunniest day of the year, shut softly. “Some based off of size or shape. Some do just find one randomly. Mine, for you, was because of its color. The way it glittered like stars. Reminded me of you. Wanted it to be the first stone in our nest.”

Aether chuffs again, warmth budding in his chest. “Thank you, darling. I want you to know I’ll cherish it forever.”

Dew cracks an eye open, peering up at him. “The human bedding is way comfier than stones. I’m not making you sleep in a pile of gravel.”

Aether just laughs and kisses him. The first night in their permanent hearth, not ones made with hotel bedding, is the best sleep he’s ever gotten.

When he presents Dew a piece of baby blue agate that he’d found at the lake two days later, they don’t leave the hearth for a week. Aether doesn’t stop smiling for a month after they emerge.

[ct-multifandom]

Climatiqueen reactions

Featuring level 99 plate of corn analysis

I wonder what gets posted in the pig channel, like cutesy things?

Aurore :))))))) the children yearn for her getting screen time. Where is Mirelle

Ok so Aurore is genuinely interested in meteorology as a science and wasn’t competing in s1 to just become a TV personality

I’m getting a hunch influencer!Chloe is part of some larger akuma-baiting plan. Like she’s running competitions and showcasing her “rich perfect life” to potentially make people upset. I feel like Zoo is run by Tomoe since she was pretty much responsible for Alliance, which had the goals of invasively collecting data and making people doomscroll. This feels like the same exact thing, take 2. Vincent did an ad for her cars in revelator, and he might be in on this too.

It’s called Zoo because all the channels are named after animals get it get it?

Chloe lists off the names of miraculous animals who aren’t allowed to compete as their icons show up on screen, but she says unicorn instead of goat. Huh (maybe she’s biphobic. Sorry)

I like that Alec has a huge afro wig now, it feels more in tune with his backstory

Yeowch imagine scrolling and a news report about your father’s death shows up

I want to know what Adrien was texting Juleka about. Meow meow to meow meow communication

LMAOOO his messages to Marinette bro was infodumping. Purely one-sided yapping. I guess this lines up with what she says later about not knowing what to write in response to his perfect texts

r/malelivingspace fr he’s so unsure about his identity he can’t even decide on a wall color. In revelator we see him in front of the same wall but it had like teal and yellow swatches. Idk if he’s still deciding or if it’s gonna be like “what if my wall was a messy splatter of different colors and I didn’t have to choose just one”

TIKKIS LITTLE TEA SET oh me oh myyyyy

Gina lore also what could Marinette possibly be doing with her stuffed cat and potted plant

Why does a Reblochon pancake actually sound kinda good

Adrien: Nathalie probably isn’t going to like my pancakes 🥺 Nathalie: oh thank fucking god they taste like real food instead of chalk and nightmares

The garden hose scenes made me laugh out loud each time, they didn’t get old. Ily gorilla

They’re so cute but also that one couple in high school that has you like is this allowed wtf is that allowed

Adrien’s kinda eating in that bike helmet with his bangs in the wind

Tf is Ray posting about to be in second place

Nora is in 3rd and in 4th place is uh… chlorine? Nice to see people so interested in chemistry!

Diane seems really sweet but I have to wonder if it’s fr or if she’s secretly one of those aggravating out-of-touch people iykwim. Luck is obviously written all over her and she pretty much tells Aurore later like oh I’m only winning because I’m lucky haha see all my posts are so stupid yet everyone loves them! which is what makes her snap. I guess my question is if she’s well intentioned yet insensitive or if she’s an undercover mean girl

AURORES OUTFIT oh peak character design the sunny dress covered by the cloudy transparent raincoat? And her mismatched gold smily sun and silver frowny flower earrings? The bits of curly hair in front of her ears look like lightning bolts

Gorilla on the scooter serving Paul Blart realness

Aglae you’re so cute please don’t be Lila you little emo boy from Whoville

She’s wearing like goth oxfords with socks with ghosts on them? She has one of those “tattoo” chokers but there’s an animation error in one moment where it looks much thicker. Her hoodie has a paint splotch design and her leggings do as well in a tie dye way or maybe it’s supposed to look like they’re ripped?

Why are they posed up like the iconic Marc and Nathaniel love at first sight scene is something yurious occurring

Interesting attention to detail that Aurore sucks at makeup and is one of the only girl characters not wearing any

Oh did Aglae like, smirk sinisterly in the split second before she hugged Aurore and told her she was too nice to do anything underhanded or am I seeing things

Girl why is Manon at big kid school? I didn’t realize school for all ages meant literally fully integrated that sounds… unhelpful. And every single other character we’ve seen at school so far is a teenager.

Marlena teaching cooking class as if she doesn’t have a full time job already

Adrien how do you even mess up using a piping bad that badly

I need a full 360 on the design of that poetry teacher she looks like Professor Plum

Juleka, Rose, and Ivan are all in that class and have been shown to write poems/their own lyrics, but Luka isn’t. Headcanon Luka is bad at lyrics?

Guys great news Ivan still has an eyebrow slit, it’s just a lot smaller and harder to see. He’s also wearing a necklace made out of metal beads. His miraculous might be missing (animation error) and he still has bleached bangs.

Ok I had to double check to make sure I’m not crazy but Nathaniel’s hair is like, brown now, right? Or at least way faded. I had to turn back to the intro where his hair is bright red again and Alix is next to him… *remembers trading card lore* hmmmm I think I see where this is going.

I was gonna leave it at that ^ but then I remembered some of you will have no clue what I’m talking about so. There’s a piece of trivia that Alix dyes Nathaniel’s hair so I’m saying his hair faded because she’s been gone too long and she’ll fix it when she comes back. I’m predicting this will be the main plot of his focus episode

As soon as I saw Ondine is was like :0 👉 ONDINE!!!! She’s so gorgggg she’s finally allowed to wear normal clothes. Ondine my queen I love you and I can’t wait for your episode I’m so glad you’re part of the squad and kind of important now. If they ever need a substitute miraculous holder she’s probably at the top of the list.

Oh hi Marc. Wait are your legs clipping into the ground? It’s kind of funny that the whole gang is crowded around one table while Marc and Nath are taking up an entire big table for just the two of them

They’re eating a refined smear of orange sauce for lunch (jk I know they’re done eating)

Zoe’s phone case and screensaver are her shoe design. They all have more unique cases now ig, Aurore’s in blue with white clouds and Diane’s is pink with green clovers.

Hot take Kim was valid for asking Aglae if she thinks Aurore was about to get akumatized. That was a perfectly important and relevant question.

Also Kim has stud earrings now, I first noticed that in revelator

lmao “I know what you need, a tall glass of water!” “…Buh-” 😧👉🥛

Oh wow the food pyramid poster in the nurses office seems to be organized like the hierarchy of needs with carbs on the bottom, then veggies (vitamins), then proteins, then sweet treats. Then exercise and drinking water are drawn below the pyramid. That’s actually a pretty nice design. See this is the plate of corn content I promised you all

The drills. The lightning crown. The stormcloud skirt with neon lightning cracks… peak. If Aurore knows how to do one thing, it’s slay. Reminder that akumas “design” their own costumes

Glad to see the school is confirmed to actually have an elevator btw

The 2D wow

Oh my that train cataclysm scene was epic. Sure is lucky there was nobody on it during all that! I’m glad to have cool fight choreography again because last season it was starting to feel kinda like they just beat up the villain in 5 seconds out of obligation and left. I hope we’ll get some cool lucky charms again

Ohhhhh people have been saying that Lila hasn’t outright requested the miraculous yet before this. Omg she’s only doing it *after* the akuma gets what they originally wanted so it feels like a fair follow-up deal. Rather than expecting them to pledge allegiance to her on a gamble that they may or may not get what they want. The braincells

Episodes since the Eiffel Tower has last been personally victimized: 0

I guess they can just automatically use power ups now? Is this part of having adult powers or do they like eat a handful of special macarons every morning just in case

She has neon corset lacing on the back of her dress

Markov is now a tiny fella who snaps into Max’s wristwatch. I miss his old design because it was really cute but this new concept is pretty cool

Pegasus has been carrying this season so far what. First transformation of the season this is his show now. Miraculous tales of Pegasus

The choreography is like the same but cooler. Such small changes make it so much more visually interesting to follow like how it pauses on his shoes and chest to highlight the more interesting details of his suit, and how the horseshoe boomerang swivels in with a lightning swoosh effect. The Just Dance icons at the bottom are fun.

Did you know Just Dance has a map of the miraculous theme song where the coaches are cosplaying lb and cn? I recently found that out. I also recall one time Alya and Nino were playing a game that’s basically Just Dance in the show. Rest in piss Gabriel Agreste you would have loved Lida

Ok yeah Pegasus saved the tourists but realistically they would still take serious fall damage. I guess his portals somehow magically decelerate them so they’re ok.

Chloe degaf about this contest she’s so over it like ugh I guess you won whatev

Aurore considers Marinette and Adrien to be her friends

Oh so now you care about the book again

*Aurore putting a picture of Claudie on a hear me out cake* Max: THATS MY MOM

I see Lila is also doing that “next time…” 😈 shit Gabriel used to do before he realized that statistically it probably will um not be next time or the time after that either

I guess the ladybug community is the peace and love one where nothing toxic happens ever or something

People have pointed this out a long time ago but the merry go round is now filled with seats designed after the miraculous animals :)

If you gave Adrien the goat miraculous he wouldn’t even have powers he’d just turn into a black widow type of superhero

Marinette: I’m gonna be mature and let Adrien live his life! Marinette two episodes later: now who the fuck is that and why hasn’t he introduced her to me how do they know each other

RIP Adrien you would’ve loved Apple by Charli XCX

“Why doesn’t Sublime assume Adrien is jogging for sport, a totally normal thing to do in a park?” bro he’s wearing skinny jeans

Astruc or someone please tell us Diane, Aglae, and Ondine’s last names for tagging reasons please

Ok that’s all for now folks, see you after El Toro de Piedra probably!

[cosmic-ghost-hermit]

What is your hidden talent?

Hey, everyone! It would be super helpful if yall donated to my CashApp. I want to do this kind of work full-time. I have been told by people I read for that I am meant to do tarot reading. I am inclined to believe them because fr it has been so fun for me to see how much it helps yall. Way more fun than any retail/food industry job I've had. I feel like I am actually doing something substantial with my time. If yall want me to be able to continue to do this daily it would be so awesome if yall donated. Thank you guys in advance!

Donate to my CashApp Here

The decks I am using today are The Tarot of the Divine, Believe in You Own Magic Oracle and The Healing Waters Oracle. Take everything that resonates and leave the rest behind but always be open to new experiences.

___________

PILE ONE

Astrology: Leo, Virgo, Scorpio

Song: I Set Fire To The Rain by Adele

Vibes: Teal, green, yellow/gold, shear white cloth, smelling smoke, burning house, swimming, mixed drinks, hot chocolate, braided hair, locked doors, house plants, deep skin tone, 888, shells, feathers, crayons, colored hair, ares

Cards: 2 of Wands, 9 of Cups, 5 of Wands, Mural, Gold, Cleansing, Into the Unknown

Welcome in, pile 1! You have two hidden talents. One that you use rather regularly but unknowingly and the other you have yet to unlock. The energy I am getting from the cards makes me think the two talents are intertwined. ALSO Trigger Warning for abuse in this reading. It is VERY HEAVY. Do not read if you do not think you are ready.

The first hidden talent is starting new from the ground up. I know to you it might not sound that interesting. You have no idea how hard it can be to start new things for others. Starting from the ground up is scary and intimidating. Organizing the chaos in your mind and project that chaos clearly into reality. I see you are probably an artist of some kind. You might paint, make clay sculptures, or hand-make intricate jewelry of some kind. I see you learned to hone this ability because of a karmic relationship. They made you feel adored and cherished until you were in their grasp. When you were trapped with them, they turned on you. It's giving love bombing. This person literally blew up on you over the smallest things. I see a shattered tea/coffee cup. You stayed with them for a long time even though you knew what they were doing was wrong. You had to completely shred the life you had with them. You had to start your life from scratch. Which is why you are so used to the idea of starting with nothing and building up. The pain that you felt from that past connection still hurts you to this day. You probably have PTSD from the situation you were in. I am so sorry you had to go through all that. You didn't deserve to be treated like that.

The second hidden talent is transmutation. I see that the reason you haven't unlocked it yet is because you fear change. What happened to you in that shitty relationship makes it way easier for you to start over than to change the situation. You are scared to see things to the end. I see that this fear reveals itself in your artwork. You probably have many unfinished projects because you view yourself as incapable of seeing them through. Which by the way isn't true you are so capable of anything you want to do. Heal the hurt part of you that thinks you are incapable. Your ex was the one who instilled that in you. Don't let that motherfucker get you down. Especially if they aren't in your life anymore. Don't let them have that power over you, love. You deserve to feel good. Face your fear of them being right. You and I both know they aren't. When you do unlock this ability you will be able to transmute all the pain that asshole put you through into beautiful art. You will be able to finish all of those unfinished projects. You will be able to find true love within yourself. You will find that you were never broken like that bitch said you were. You were always lovely, sweet, and accommodating. You were always creating love everywhere you went.

_______

PILE TWO

Astrology: Sagittarius, Gemini, Pisces

Song: I Love Rock n Roll by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

Vibes: Navy Blue, white, peach, deer, horses, libraries, books, coffee, hot springs, scones, pillow forts, maxi-skirts, cowboys, mermaids, 333, wine, fine dining, tall trees, athena, artemis

Cards: The Hermit, 3 of Wands, Knight of Swords, Nostalgia, Stars, Water Codes, The Healing Lagoon

Hello, pile 2! You have one secret power but trust me it's a good one. You have the ability to pull information out of thin air. You are crazy smart. People might not think it when they look at you because you try not to flaunt it too wildly. You prefer to stay under the radar when it comes to intellect. This makes people underestimate you. I feel that some of yall reading like this for various reasons but others really fucking hate it. You have some insecurity around this skill. That's why you don't think it is a good skill tbh. You think a lot on the go even while in conversation which makes people see you as kind of ditzy. Even so, you absolutely obliterate at trivia night. Your friends come to you first when they need obscure information. You might have been a really lonely kid and spent a lot of your time reading away the time. For a big chunk of your childhood you found your companionship in novels. You may have been bullied for this. Don't let those people's words get you down. Honestly, they were just jealous of your intelligence. The friends you have now love to hear you infodump about your favorite books. They love to hear everything you know about sea creatures and astrology/astronomy. They ask questions not to mock you but because they genuinely are interested in what you have to say. You are magnificent. Your mind is unparalleled. How people perceive you has nothing to do with what is actually happening in your mind. It is just their projections of themselves onto you. Ignore them lmao. <3

________

PILE THREE

Astrology: Cancer, Taurus, Libra

Song: Stay by Zedd

Vibes: All shades of blue, creeks, hanging flowers, 9999, faires, watermelon, paint-brush, rabbits, bird chips, car horn, pearls, lily pads, walking in the rain, lanterns, puppies, beaches, zues

Cards: Queen of Cups, Page of Cups, Ace of Wands, 9 of Pentacles, Raindrops, Stagnant Waters, Light House

My dear pile 3, welcome to your reading. You have a hidden ability that I feel is only hidden from you. Everyone else seems to know this about you. You have the power of hospitality and refuge. You are a safe place for everyone you know to come to if they need it. You are the type of person to tell everyone you know if they need a place to stay for any reason, all they gotta do is ask. You have a motherly energy about you, even if you aren't a woman. You always have emergency snacks for occasions like that. You host parties and everyone always leaves feeling 10 times better than when they arrived. You are the friend that lends a hand when needed. You the kind of person to have a shoulder ready for anyone to lean on, even if you don't know them well. The most beautiful thing about this is that these actions are never self-sacrificing. You have an abundance of all that you need so you can be generous constantly to those in need. I see you resting when necessary and listening to your body. I see you volunteering in your community. I think recently you helped clean up a beach or something. Maybe you organized it? Your energy is so soothing. You are just amazing, my friend. Absolutely the softest heart on earth. I also see you might foster animals! You take in rescue animals and nurse them back to health until they can find a forever home. ;n; You are the definition of an earth angel. Please see how amazing you are and how big your heart is. I wanna be your friend so bad from hearing all of this. Never stop being this beautiful of a soul, my dear. You are perfect.

_________

PILE FOUR

Astrology: Aries, Capricorn, Aquarius

Song: Black Girl Magic by Londrelle

Vibes: Cyan, yellow, rusty red, iridescent, sake, 4c hair, magic, spell casting, curse breaking, singing, tea, pottery, steam-train, festivals, celebration, 963, small forests, mercury/hermes, lambs, Oshun

Cards: The Star, Ace of Cups, 2 of Cups, 6 of Swords, 7 of Wands, Tower, Spaceship, Thank You

PILE 4, WOW. Welcome. Your energy is just sooo woah. You are so indescribable. All that you have been through. Everything you have seen. All I can say is, wow. Your secret power is balance. It is a well-earned hidden ability. You have been through so much to gain the skills that I see in this reading. You have traveled so far. When I first looked at the reading I could not pin down exactly what skill you had because you are just so good at EVERYTHING. I legitimately out loud said, "Everything??? Everything." You know how to take care of yourself. You are an excellent lover. If you are a parent you are good at that too. You are chasing your dreams. I see you performing as a singer or a musician and your talent stuns everyone in the room. You are the best manifester in a 20 miles radius. You are a witch for sure. You have worked so hard on breaking karmic familial curses and you succeeded. You succeeded far past your soul's initial expectations. You are everything, my love. Like literally everything. Then it hit me. You are a tightrope walker. You are balancing everything perfectly. Have you ever heard of Rock Cairns? They are stacks of rocks that hikers add to as they pass by on park trails. You have turned your life into something like that. You have perfectly balanced every stone you passed in your life in a pile and you manage it all on your own. First off, I want to tell you what a good job you are doing. What a good job you have been doing since you were born. Second thing, PLEASE REST WHEN YOU NEED IT OHMYGODS. You don't need me to tell you that though. You are probably smoking a joint right fucking now while reading this or you just got done doing that. No notes, baby. You got this. I just think Spirit wanted to remind you of your magnificence.

[tadc-harlequin-au]

Hi! Please excuse any misspellings, english is not my frist language...

Firstly I just wanted to tell you that I love your AU! Your Harlequin au was what intorduced me to lovely TADC au Tumblr community and I absolutley love it! I haven't seen alternate universes as creative as these since the Sansverse era!

Secondly, I hace a question about the Patriarch: He seems to have a very good idea of who Caine is, wouldn't he be this world's equivalent to Able? I ask because althugh his design is WAY different from most fan Able depictions, he still has that "The Puppetmaster's brother" vibe that all Ables tend to have, a peace of Caine's past that he can never get rid of!

If he is not Able then I am curious of who he is, if he is then the lore just got spicier and if you don't want to spoil anything I'll understand.

But honestly: Keep it up! Your au has filled 70% of all my daydreams, the only thing I have been able to think about for a while has only been game mechanics, combat and chase sequences!

Damn y'all are fucking sleuths istg

Though I am very proud of that because that means my design philosophy worked somehow, and for that, I'll throw you guys a bone. And also because I can't keep it a secret any longer I've been holding it in since the very beginning of this au

YES.

The Patriarch of Puppets is none other than Abel, Caine's biological brother.

When I was first designing him, I wanted every aspect of Abel's design to scream "opposite of Caine", and to hold some form of symbolism. From his megaphone head, down to the color palettes, there is meaning. Don't get me wrong, Mushy's Able is a very memorable and awesome design and I could've incorporated him the same way I did Souls-like, but I wanted something deeper for Harlequin.

While Caine is adorned in golds and maroons to symbolize his warmer nature, Abel has teals and silver, a very cold and intimidating stature. Their outfits and the colors are an opposition towards each other yet reflect one another somehow, the way Abel dresses tightly and formal when Caine is loose and open, his intense red pupil conveys his hostility, whilst Caine's eyes are softer blues and greens.

His king-size height dwarfing Caine tells just how much the Puppetmaster felt living on his shadow, HELL, someone noticed the weird "A" on the sides of his head and I had to shrug it off because I didn't want to reveal it as early as that time.

Even the megaphone head design holds SO MUCH UNTOLD STORY BETWEEN THE BROTHERS THAT I WILL CHOOSE TO KEEP A SECRET FOR NOW. I've put SO MUCH THOUGHT behind his design.

*sigh*... Which is also why I very much dislike the "siren head" jokes, because it's the one thing I didn't really foresaw when I was developing his design until I finished, and someone pointed out it might cause jokes like that to prop up. Something I thought I wouldn't mind initially, until everyone made the same joke over and over again and I just audibly groan irl.

But you know. internet's gonna internet, they see one thing that resembles a popular media, it's an immediate connection. I didn't even give a shit enough about Siren head to know how the design actually looked like, just a silhouette of the guy.

Therefore, I would really appreciate it if saying this out loud would help lessen the jokes, but ik not everyone is going to see this post so.

I do still wanna thank you for your kind words, because these kinds of asks are the fuel to my fire of inspiration and motivation for this AU, and I wish that I can keep this fire going till the very end of this AU's story :')

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 6

Pairing: Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

A/N: Are things really getting better?

Warnings: honestly I don’t think this one’s that bad—comparatively, nodding instead of communicating, progression that I was not emotionally prepared for.

Word Count: 5,528

-Part 5- -Part 7-

“You could move in with me.”

Golden eyes meet your own, shining with sincerity. Maybe that’s the sunset.

Lips quirk, attention returning to the Sidra. Marking the small diamonds of teal and turquoise that gleam between the multitude of reds and yellows. A beautiful rainbow of colours. “Funny, Bas.”

“I’m serious,” he says, eyes weighing on your cheek. “You could help out, if you’re worried about being a burden. You’ve got the brains for it—it’d barely take any effort.”

You shake your head, firmly dismissing the idea, “it’s not that… I just couldn’t.”

“Why not?” He asks, clothing shifting as he readjusts himself. You peer down into the river, allowing the breeze to push and play with your feet—hanging over the ledge. Beneath you, Bas has laid a picnic blanket, the two of you sat cozily, side by side.

“It would be too much,” you reply, looking down the river. Peering at the restaurants that line it’s bank, preparing for the influx of customers that sweep in around this time. Eager to watch the colours flicker and dance. “I can’t ask that from you.”

Bas blows out a deep breath, the air bubbling from his lips. Laughter creeps into your eyes as they flick to him. He raises a single, dark brow, amusement gleaming in his gaze. “You know you sound like a horse when you do that.” Bas grins, full lips pressing together as he repeats the sound. Your own hurt as they stretch into a smile, “stop it. This is supposed to be a serious conversation.”

Amusement dances in his eyes as he takes in your feigned glare. “You didn’t seem to be taking it particularly seriously,” he counters, tucking one knee beneath his chin, propping it on his forearm as he watches you. Locks obscure some of the gold in his eyes as he peers at you from beneath a raised brow. “And your solution was to whinny like you were sulking?” You shoot back, smiling faintly.

“Well, maybe if you actually rode your horse from time to time, he wouldn’t be so grumpy,” he mutters playfully. A surprised laugh bursts from your lips, landing a knock to his shoulder in chastisement. He doesn’t so much as budge—merely smiles, propping his jaw on his arm instead of keeping the lower portion of his features obscured.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing about,” he grins, watching the Sidra reflect in your eyes. “I’m laughing at the fact you would willing compare yourself to a horse,” you return. “Why not something more majestic? Like a lion?”

“Is that what you think of me? That I’m a lion?” You try to suppress your smile—why do you even bother when you’re around him? “Would you rather I compare you to a rat?” Bas barks a laugh, loud enough to draw a few sets of eyes, your own widening at the volume.

“Your flattery could use some work,” he says, still smiling. Tension releases your shoulders, breath easing from your lungs. A cool breeze flutters by, making you shiver. He shifts closer.

“What’s stopping you?” He asks gently, allowing the quiet to calm the two of you. Lips purse, teeth prodding your lower one. “I just couldn’t,” you murmur, “like I said: it would be too much.” His brow narrows, attention remaining solely on you.

“How?” He asks. “It would just be for a little, yeah? Until you find something to do.”

“But what if I don’t find something to do? Then I’d just be a dead weight, and I’d have to go back without having done anything,” you say, softly. “I wouldn’t be able to face them.”

Bas shifts again, lowering both legs over the edge, his thigh pressing to your own. “You’re smart. You’ll find something.” You roll your eyes at his false confidence. “You have nothing to base that on,” you smile, attention briefly flicking to him. “But I appreciate the reassurance.”

“Nothing to base it on,” he scoffs. “You read essays for fun. What other sources do I need?” You release an indignant huff, stubbornly setting your gaze back on the river.

When he figures you’re ignoring him, his hand darts behind you, quickly pinching your backside, before returning to his lap. You start, then turn to glare at him, “Bas.” He gives you one of his grins, and you falter. Heat settles in your lower belly. “I think it would be a nice arrangement, don’t you?” He drawls, roughly. “You wouldn’t have to sneak around as much. Could just roll out of bed and straight into mine.”

Something dark and syrupy gathers between your legs and you glare at him harder, heat warming your skin. “We’re in public, Bas,” you chastise, eyes darting around to make sure no one detects the shift in your scent. No one except for the male who’s leaning in a little closer now, nosing at your throat with interest. “Then maybe we should go somewhere else, yeah?”

Golden eyes lock with your own, darkened with hunger. It hits you like a kick in the stomach; muscles practically melt. “You’re way too good at that for my liking,” you breathe, already having trouble looking away from his mouth. Lips lift into a smirk, sharp eyes gleaming, “well I get a lot of practice, don’t I?”

Teeth push into your lower lip, and all it takes is the few seconds you look away from him to make up your mind.

You need a night to empty your head. To feel again.

And Bas is the perfect relief.

————

The story repeats itself, more familiar to you than anything else in your life.

Hot breath tickles the nape of your neck, lips lifting into a helpless smile as you attempt to move out of the way. Arms wrap snugly around your waist, dragging you across the mattress, back flush to his naked front. Hair brushes against you, clean and rough, making you squirm in his grip. Vaguely trying not to wake him.

It’s over when he huffs a soft laugh onto your skin, and you lightly elbow him in the ribs. “Bas…” you laugh quietly, rolling over to face him. Golden eyes cut into your own, already clear despite sleep weighing his lids. “Trying to sneak away?” He asks, mouth quirked in a faint grin. You roll your eyes, noting the beams of sunlight streaming in from the circular skylight. Brow furrows, “what time is it?”

His expression mirrors your own, raising to peer over your head at the old clock mounted on the opposite wall. “It’s eleven thirty. About.”

You groan into his chest, ducking back beneath the covers. Count to seven. Pop back out. “I should be going, shouldn’t I?”

Bas quirks a brow, watching you fondly, well-accustomed to the questions you ask yourself. Watches as you sigh again, then roll over, allowing you to leave. Especially when it gives him a view of your lovely body, softened by sleep as you move lethargically to find your clothes. Pick them up. Set them on the bed. Move for the washroom. He uses the time to steady himself.

In retrospect, you were pretty quick—the two of you up and out of his house before the hour hand struck one. Walking up the short path through the garden that leads to the River House before half past.

“I’ll see you in a couple of days, yeah?” He checks, hands tucked into his pockets. Casual and at ease. Comfortable in his skin.

Lips quirk playfully, “greedy.”

His mouth matches your own, “you’re just as bad as I am. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“I’m not the one who was at attention first thing in the morning, Bas,” you whisper, smiling as his golden eyes gleam. “I’d be a little confused if you were, dove. Very flattered, though.”

Lips part in a grin, cheeks aching from your time spent with him. “Okay, I’ll drop by in a few days,” you smile, aware of your own reluctance to return to the house. “Try not to lose your head in the meantime.” Hand presses down on the handle, door swinging open, a gust of cool air greeting you.

Bas grins—one of his grins. “I’d be happy to give it to you,” he teases, eyes gleaming with amusement and a drop of sincerity. “Whenever you want, dove. It’s your call.” Heat flushes your skin at his offer—what even sex can’t decriminalise to your mind. He retreats a step, gold flashing in the sun as he grins easily, “you can’t hide from it forever. One day, yeah? I’ll show you how good it can be.”

You want to reply, but he’s already sauntering off, hands still tucked in his pockets, casual and leisurely. Bastard.

His offer repeats, how nonchalantly he regards that particular intimacy. As if it doesn’t go against the very root of human society. The foundations you were brought up on. Highlighting a primary difference between here and where you grew up. Women aren’t supposed to enjoy sex, let alone have it to themselves.

Sighing, shoulders weighed down, you allow the door to close at your back. Already missing him.

Walking into the entrance hall, you spot a parcel sat atop the entrance table, beside the vase filled with flora. Eyes flick about the room, checking no one’s around as you make for the stairs, aiming for your room.

“You aren’t going to take it?” Azriel asks, appearing in the doorway leading to the sitting room. You still, blinking. Turn around warily. “Pardon?” Hazel flicks to the package, “the parcel. Aren’t you going to open it?” Attention moves to the table between you. “That’s not—… I didn’t get anything?” You say, shifting on your feet.

“The note says it’s for you,” he replies, remaining the other side of the room.

Debate your options. Slowly walk forward, picking up the package. The note is indeed carrying your name. Flip it over to read its underside. In a clean, elegant script is scrawled: For your education.

Brows narrow, turning the parcel in your hands. No note saying who it’s from. Maybe it’s a late birthday present? “Thanks…” you murmur, absently, “I would have walked past it.” Eyes squinted in confusion, you make to turn around, interested in unwrapping it. Discoveries to be made.

“Eris left it.” Azriel states quietly. Intrigue vanishes, feeling like you’re holding scorching coals.

Gaze lifts to meet his own. “He did?” It seems he enjoys stirring up chaos.

Azriel nods, attention never leaving you. “Did he mention what’s inside?” You ask hesitantly, loosening your grip on the hard rectangle. He shakes his head in answer, making you sigh.

“And I suppose you want to know what’s inside?” You ask, grim smile on your lips. His throat rolls, eyes flicking away. “I would appreciate it if you let me know once you open it.” Blink away your surprise. Nod slowly. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Okay.”

Hastily clear your throat, emotion clogging your chest. Turn to head to your bedroom. “Are you feeling better?” He asks, again causing you to stop. Peer at him close, wary. “I am…” you hedge, watching him closely.

He nods, “good.” Shifts on his feet. “I’m glad.”

Your heart skips a beat, staring at him with poorly concealed surprise. Something flickers in his gaze, eyes briefly flitting away from your own, allowing you to shift your features to cover what you’re feeling.

“Yeah, I had… I had a good morning,” you mumble, peering down at your feet to hide the flush on your cheeks. He hums in acknowledgement, and your toes curl in your shoes, something warm and tender spreading across your breastbone. “Pillage any bookstores while you were out?” He asks, enough sincerity to have your lips stretching wide into a grin, cheeks aching all over again, painful enough you have to try to force it away.

“Not today. I thought I’d leave some for Nesta,” you reply, meeting his gaze. His features are neutral, but the edges of his irises are softer—warmer than normal. You quickly look away, stomach fluttering wildly. Too many butterflies suddenly resurrected for you to handle.

A peaceful quiet calms the room, allowing you some time to temporarily bask in the warmth of his approval.

“About our conversation, a few days ago…” he begins gently. Carefully. You shift on your feet, but don’t flee from the spot.

“I’m sorry for how I went about it,” he settles on. “Eris… There are some awful people in this world, and what he did to Mor…” he blows out a breath, shoulders loosening some of their tension. “I wouldn’t want that happening to you because he’d managed to convince you he could be trusted. I couldn’t forgive myself if that happened,” he admits quietly. “None of us could.”

Your heart rises up into your throat, pounding wildly as your eyes meet. Hazel calm, and steady. Tough and reassuring. You manage a weak nod of your head, fingers tightening on the package. “It’s fine,” you say gently, too overwhelmed to manage much more. “I’d already… You don’t need to apologise,” you reassure, fighting to keep your voice from trembling. “I’d practically forgotten.”

His eyes flicker, then he nods, accepting your assurance. “Then I won’t keep you any longer.” You nod back, mirroring the movement, “yeah. Okay.” It takes you a moment to remember yourself, clutching the parcel tighter, “I’ll go open this now, then.” You give him a smile before you turn, managing to ascend the stairs without turning to see if he’s still there.

Lungs hold at full capacity, near bursting with something warm and fuzzy as you peel back the brown paper, removing the string keeping it together. Take a few minutes to scan the pages of the volume, attention flitting mindlessly over diagrams and neatly written essays, quick to reach the end. It looks interesting, titled: Prythian: An Anthology of Discoveries.

While flicking through, you catch glimpses of constellations, depictions of your solar system, detailed illustrations of the planet closest to your own—further from the centre. Near the end, one in particular catches your attention: three overlapping ovals, appearing to make up a six-petaled flower that contains some small dots at its heart. Intriguing. Utterly fascinating.

You reach the final page, and make to flip back to the beginning, intending on reading each passage in detail, but—you’d said you’d let him see. He’s trusting you to follow through, and you’re not going to disappoint. Not now he’s allowing you some leeway.

So you hop to your feet, and make your way to where you saw him last, happily handing it over for inspection. Hazel flicks over the cover, taking in the title, scanning the first few pages in detail before shutting it again. “Thank you,” he says softly, “I’ll go through it quickly and then you’re free to read away.” A smile lifts your mouth, heart fluttering as you nod your head. “It’s fine,” you say, “take your time. I get you’re busy.”

Then you turn, not wanting him to see the deep flush on your cheeks—embarrassingly warm—and hurriedly make your way back to the silence of your bedroom. Clean and tidy, at last.

Heart pounding, you lean against your door. Replaying the gentle talk he’d given you. It’s been too long since he’s acted like that, breathing becoming shallow at the memory alone.

Slowly, you inhale a deep breath, pressing against the wood as you slide down, until you’ve reached the bare floor. Hand slides across your chest, feeling the drum of your pulse. Hold the breath to steady your lungs.

And when that breath releases, relief crushes down with it.

Finally.

Finally, you’ve gotten something right.

————

Days pass in a blur, and you find yourself pondering what to wear.

Bas had told you to find him in a couple of days, and quite frankly, you’re looking forward to it. Azriel will be done with your book soon, too. Probably either today or tomorrow, making your heart flutter. So many exciting things happening all at once! So many things to be happy about! It’s exhilarating.

The sky is clear as usual, sun beating down onto the cobbled streets. The flower baskets hanging either side doors and windows sway, leaves and petals glowing in the warmth, curling at the edges. You should wear something loose, to keep cool.

Before you know it, you’re ready and dressed, descending the staircase when knocks are landed to the front door. Golden eyes gleam with mischief when you answer, refreshing breeze sweeping in, playing with your skirts. He’s in the front garden, dark locks tied back, a few that aren’t long enough to reach framing his features. The carved beauty of his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw, the spark in his eyes…exhilarating.

“Bas,” you greet, smiling. “What are you doing here? Did you miss me?” He rolls his eyes, hands remaining tucked at his back, something rustling as he shifts. “Just making sure you weren’t going to chicken out, dove,” he says cockily, lips parting in a familiar grin. “And, well, I got you these.” From behind his back he pulls out a paper wrapped bouquet, containing pink and white baby’s breath. The flora is dried to keep it preserved, so it will store nicely in your room, without demanding any particular care.

Your can feel your features stretch as a smile overtakes your entire face. “Bas, are you serious?” Tentatively, you accept the menagerie of flowers, eyes gleaming as you peer into the swirl of colour, so complimentary to one another. He shrugs, “you seemed down last time. I thought these might brighten you up a little.” You meet his gaze, gold soft around the edges, and you feel yourself melt a little inside. “Thank you, Bas. You really didn’t need to.” You turn back to the bouquet, smiling.

“I wanted to,” he replies, nonchalantly. “So go put them up in your room, yeah? Then we can go out and have fun.”

You nod absently, making to head back inside, “where did you even find them? These don’t look endemic to the Night Court?”

“New shop,” he calls, “had all these long names in the window. Guessed you’d like stuff like that.” Lip press together in a smile, hurrying into the entrance hall and up the stairs, setting them on the table before returning. “Did you pick these out because they were the nicest or because they had the most complicated name?” You hop down the last step, mindlessly glancing at the table in the centre of the room.

“You couldn’t waterboard the title out of me,” he admits, a smile lighting his eyes. “Something like Gyrophilia Panicrolilia.” A snort bursts from you at the tangle of consonants.

“Gypsophilia Paniculata,” you amend, “from the Caryophyllaceae family. Same as carnations?” Bas sighs, “of course you know the name.”

“No,” you laugh, trying to make it clear you’re being sincere. “I just read a book on botany the other day. Otherwise I swear I wouldn’t have known. It’s a coincidence.” Bas gives you a look as if he doesn’t believe you, making you smile wider. “Well, shall we?”

You’re about to cross the threshold when you hear your name being called from the sitting room, boots lightly scuffing on the floor as to not surprise you. Stiffening, you turn to face Azriel, stood in the doorway. Hazel pierces into you, having already marked the guest at the door. A strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. He doesn’t like Bas. “Yes?” You ask, fingers wringing together.

Boots move forward, making you tense as he steps fully into view, coming to stand at your side. Golden eyes flick over the male, his familiar lips quirking and you send him a sharp glance. He barely managed to keep his mouth shut the last time they collided. “Azriel,” he greets, inclining his head ever so slightly. “Bas,” he returns, features neutral. Anxiety swarms the pit of your stomach, turning to fluttering butterflies when his fingertips graze the base of your spine. Tension seeps from your shoulders, attention helplessly attracted to his gravitational pull.

Hazel remains locked on gold for a second longer than necessary, before latching onto you. Skin prickles beneath his focus, features flushing with warmth despite the breeze. “I thought I’d let you know I’m finished with the book,” he says calmly. “Feel free to collect it whenever you want.” Slowly, you nod in acknowledgement. Swallow. “Okay,” you manage, world fading a little around him. “Is there a time that’d be good for you?” You ask, attempting to steady out your heartbeat.

Azriel pauses, thinking. “After dinner would be good,” he settles on, and you nod.

“Okay,” you answer, “I’ll knock after dinner, then.” His eyes flick to Bas briefly, and you tense. Are either of them going to clash? “Well,” you break the silence, not waiting to find out. “I’ll see you later.” You offer one of your better smiles. He nods, still watching Bas. Step forward, falling into pace beside him, heading out into the bright sun-warmed streets of Velaris.

“You heave really questionable taste, you know that?” Bas states once you’re both down the street, out of ear-shot. Smile, and roll your eyes. “Isn’t that obvious? I spend so much time with you.” He snorts, shoving you lightly. “I’m serious,” he says, eyes gleaming, “you looked like you were about to start glowing.” The laughter stumbles in your chest, coming out a little strained, but you manage to persevere. “Very funny, Bas. Now can we change the subject?” You offer, glaring at him playfully.

“All I’m saying is you picked a difficult guy,” he comments, eyes scanning the shops. Sighing, your attention flits into different windows, picking out all sorts of items and antiquities. “Why don’t you two get on?” You subvert, trying not to peer at him to mark his reaction, “I’ve never seen you quarrel with anyone else?”

Bas shrugs, “how should I know. We’ve barely ever spoken before.” Your brow dips, but he finally seems content to let the subject drop. You’re more than happy to let it slip away.

————

“Come in.”

Toes curl at the sound of his voice, but you gently push away the heat, stepping into his office, scanning the room curiously. He’s sat at his desk, piles of paper neatly stacked a few inches from the edges, ink pots and quills as well as a few daggers litter the remaining space. Typical decoration for him. The room is fairly sparse of personal touch, save for a rug laying atop the floor, muffling to step of your feet.

“Hi,” you say quietly, smiling as hazel latches onto you. Giddiness warms your heart, melting your bones to soft liquid. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

Azriel straightens in his chair, setting aside whatever report he was inevitably filing, giving you his full attention. “No, actually. Perfect timing—I was just finishing.” A sigh breathes from your lips, tension seeping from your shoulders as you step further into the room. “Was everything okay? With the book, I mean,” you ask, automatically seeking out the neatly bound volume.

He nods, standing as he picks it up, handing it over. “Do you know why he gave it to you?” Blink once. Redirect your attention to the anthology, gently plying it from his hands, bringing it to rest against your torso. Like a strange, make-shift shield. “Not really,” you admit. “We had a brief talk about my orrery, but he seemed fairly disinterested.”

“Your orrery?” He asks. “Like the one Rhys has?” Your head raises by itself, meeting his piercing gaze. Eyes sparkle as you nod, grinning, “mine’s a little smaller—by quite a bit, actually. But ‘Lain got it for me and” —you shift the volume into one of your arms, Azriel’s hands flexing at his sides as if you might drop it— “it’s the most beautiful creation I’ve ever seen. It’s utterly incredible. I’d love to show you sometime—it’s so intricately carved, and the texture is rendered so lovingly.” You stop momentarily to ease in breath. “But really, it’s utterly incredible.”

Azriel looks vaguely surprised. “I think that’s the quickest I’ve ever heard you speak,” he comments, gaze flitting to the book, “I didn’t realise you had an interest in science.” Heat flushes your cheeks, torn between clarifying that you aren’t trying to disprove the existence of the Mother, and telling him more about the worlds and the universe. Telling him everything you can think of regarding the subject, actually. It’s all perched on the tip of your tongue, ready to be recited with perfect accuracy.

“Did you have a good day today?” He asks instead, knocking you off your feet. Memories of the stars vanish, replaced by a blank space. Blink once. Twice. Nod slowly. “Yeah…I did,” you answer softly, unaccustomed to being asked after. Clear your throat. “What about you?” You fumble out, “have fun doing your” —peer at the stack of reports on his desk, wincing— “…work?” He nods back, “I suppose. It’s out of the way, now.” You nod in acknowledgement, fingers itching to tangle with one another.

“Okay,” you say, softly, “remember not to overwork yourself…” You chicken out, unable to finish with his name. Toes curl in your shoes. Just the two of you. Two people in one room. Two people alone. Alone together. Heartbeat spikes. Book shifts in your arms. Deep breath.

“I—… There’s something…you might…” you fumble, skin flushing, unsure what to say. “I mean, it might not— You might not need to know, but maybe it would be better to tell you? But I don’t…” Embarrassment weighs in your gut, numbness gliding down your back. His attention weighs into you, making you shift to your other foot, resting the heavy book on your hip. He holds out an offering hand and you mindlessly return the volume, wringing your fingers. Deep breath.

“I…sometimes glow.”

He blinks. Nods for you to continue. Bite your lip.

“It’s only really been my hands…” you say quietly, “but they glow, quite brightly, sometimes. It’s kind of green…maybe a bit yellow? —like Starfall.” He nods again, silently telling you to continue. Tongue flicks out to lick your lips, finding them dry. “That’s…it.” Shift on your feet.

“When did it first happen?” He asks, causing you to perk up again.

“Maybe a month…” —his brows narrow— “or a fortnight ago? I’m sorry, I can’t really…” He nods in understanding. “That’s fine,” he reassures, easily sustaining the weight of the thick volume. Gestures to his desk. You follow him around the furniture obediently. Heart flutters when he motions for you to sit in the chair. His chair.

“Do you remember what you were doing when you first started glowing?” He asks, though his voice is a distant pleasure in your mind. Attempting not to lose your mind as his warmth wraps around you, his scent seeping into your clothing, seeping into your skin.

Your name sounds on his tongue, and you blink, looking up at him. Blink away the fogginess. “Would it be easier to talk elsewhere?” He suggests, gently. Shoulders a little stiff. You swallow, hurriedly shaking your head, “no, I’m fine…just remembering.”

He nods, “if you want to move, that’s fine.” You nod back. Pry your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “It was when we went to the… With Elain? To…” Lips press together. She was going to see Lucien. Hazel flickers briefly, but he waves it off, gesturing for you to continue. Heart flutters. Swallow again.

“And…you know I ended up in the river?” You ask, gently. Dips his head in response. Bite your lip in embarrassment. “Well, I got…quite angry about it.” Surprise lights his eyes, but he keeps his mouth shut, allowing you to finish speaking. Nod to yourself slowly, “and I got back up onto the path and…hit…him.” Dip your head, peering down at your feet, anxiety twisting sharply in your gut. Nausea rising. “Please don’t let him know I told you. He’ll probably be furious if—”

A surprised laugh cuts you off, making you look up at him.

There’s a dimple to one corner of his lips, the edges curved upward, and he’s laughing. Hand covering his mouth, attempting to quiet himself. You stare.

Air ceases flowing.

Mirth dances in his hazel gaze, while the laughter stops as quickly as it started, but… You stare. Eyes lock. You can’t look away.

Azriel gestures for you to carry on. “Go ahead.”

“That was” —clear your throat of the sudden raspiness— “that was the first time it happened.”

“Did Eris see?” He asks, making you stiffen. Yes, he definitely saw.

“I’m not sure…” you hedge, shifting in the seat. “It happened quite quickly, so maybe not?”

“If there was enough time for you to notice, it’s more than likely he did, too,” Azriel reasons steadily, settling back into a strategising mindset. Hard eyes flick to you, “you should have told me this earlier. Why didn’t you say anything on the way back?”

“I was scared,” you whisper. The words out before you can stop them. Humiliation burns through your stomach lining. “Anyway,” you murmur, softly, trying to tuck deeper into the chair. To take up less space in his office. “I only noticed because of the feeling. Not particularly the colour.” Burning is quite difficult to ignore.

Quiet stretches between you, making your nerves wriggle.

“Please don’t be angry,” you manage, looking up at his unreadable features. “I know I should have said something, but I just— There wasn’t a good time,” you finish quietly. Duck your head. You should have told them sooner. “A good time,” he repeats slowly. Processing your excuse.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. Unable to look at him.

Azriel sighs deeply. Flexes his hands. Folds his arms. “You know you should have said something,” he says at last. Bite the inside of your lip. Nod your head. Quiet stretches. “Any information regarding your magic,” he begins, “is information you should not be giving out. It jeopardises our unified front. Imagine if he had brought it up during a meeting without us knowing. Can you see how that would have gone?” You nod your head again.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. Head hanging between your shoulders.

He sighs, weight settling in your stomach. “Better now than later,” he says at last, and relief crushes into your bones. Shoulder slumping as you settle back into his chair. “You should tell Rhys, or Feyre, whoever you’d prefer, and we can start figuring out what’s going on with your magic. Okay?”

You stare at him. Slowly shake your head. His eyes narrow.

“No,” you mange. “No, I don’t— I’m not telling them.”

“You can’t hide your powers,” he chides, giving you a look that doesn’t settle well in your stomach. “You’ve told me. It’s no different.”

“No,” you repeat. Still shaking your head.

“Then I’ll have to tell them.”

“No,” you say, panic working its way into your throat. “No, you can’t.”

“I can,” he counters, “it’s the right thing to do.” Eyes narrow, “why are you against it?”

“I was there, you know,” you remind, gripping tight to the chair. “When Nesta—” Cut yourself off. Try again, softer. “When she was deteriorating.”

“I can promise you won’t be forced to train relentlessly every morning. That was solely to give her something to latch onto.” His brow narrows, watching you intently. “And she’s done well. Very well. You shouldn’t be scared of becoming like her.”

“Give me a month,” you ask, hands gripping the arm rests either side of the chair. “Give me a month, and if I haven’t worked anything out, I’ll tell them.” Azriel pauses, marking the trembling of your fingers.

“A week,” he offers.

“A fortnight,” you counter, joints practically splintering in your knuckles.

Hazel glitters in the low light. Then he nods, reluctantly. “A fortnight.”

————

Arms ache from the bound volume. Dust motes shooting out as it thumps on your desk—pushed up against the wall.

Cough, waving away the particles. Sit down. Stare at the anthology with dull eyes.

It’ll be exciting once you start. Just open the first page, and you’ll be alight again.

(A fortnight.)

Spine creaks as you flip open the book; your brow dips. There should be a stamp of some kind—an indentation to say where to return it to. It’s always right on the inside, yet there’s nothing here.

Frown deepens, running fingers over its insides, tracing the ribbing. It’s thicker than you’re accustomed to. Nails catch a the edges; you blink. Slide deeper, carefully prying the paper from the edge, as if it’s been stuck down from age.

A dull smile dusts your lips, spotting the stamp you’d been searching for. Triumph sparks and dies in the blink of an eye as you pull the paper from the book—clearly misplaced.

Ink catches you attention. Probably an annotation from some past scholar. Raise it to the light to see clearly.

Heart stutters. Take in the clean, elegant script.

Hello, cygnet.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch

CBMTHY Taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke @esposadomd @horneybeach1 @jeannineee @harrystylesfan2686 @tothestarsandwhateverend @abysshaven @starlight-hope @stupidwingboy @nastynesta @luvmoo @furiousbooklover @kuraikei @kemillyfreitas @chasing-autumns-chill @marvelpotter @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

[rosesandoranges90]

“PaperLock”

FemLock x Fem!Reader (inspired by the 2012 Disney short film “Paperman” and semi inspired by “paint me like one of your french boys” written by one of THE Blue Lock Writers, @kxsagi! TW: none 😊)

-Isagi Yoichi (Summer Fridays Lip Balm in “Birthday Cake”)

•You take shy, sneaky glances towards the navy-blue-eyed girl next to you as you wait for your first train.

•Then all of a sudden, the sudden gusts of wind from the arriving train cause one of your pre-cal papers to fly straight towards her cute face.

•You apologize profusely as the girl yelps in surprise. When the paper is finally removed, you both notice that some of her lip balm is printed in the middle of your homework.

•She immediately stops herself from giggling as you’re still apologizing for the incident, even though she’s already forgiven you. She actually starts to apologize as well for “ruining” your homework, which you giggle at.

-Bachira Meguru (e.l.f Glow Reviver Lip Oil Glimmer in “Citrine Gleam”)

•You’re quietly humming along to some pop song that the cute girl standing next to you is playing loudly on her phone.

•Then BOOM! A piece of your geometry worksheet basically slaps onto her face, in which she removes herself with both hands like some cartoon character.

•The partial blonde is a giggling mess as she reveals that some of her sparkling gold lip gloss got on your worksheet.

•Her sweet laughter only gets louder as you apologize for the inconvenience, with a cherry-red face giving you up.

-Chigiri Hyoma (Flower Knows Midsummer Fairytales Lip Gloss in “Bluebell”)

•The redheaded bombshell almost runs into you as she looks around to see if she missed her train.

•As you notice her breathing slowly in relief when an even faster passenger sprints past both of you, causing one of your English notes to hit her across the face.

•You immediately rip the paper from her face and apologize as she fixes her hair. As she’s doing this, she notices that she’s left a plumy pink imprint on your work.

•She shyly clears her throat, and you look at your paper and then back at her when you notice a slight pink blush on her cheeks; you’re both silent when you smile and say: “Love this color. Where did you get this?” Which earns you a comforting chuckle from her.

-Itoshi Rin (e.l.f Glow Reviver Melting Lip Balm in “Blackberry Sorbet”)

•You noticed the long-lashed beauty immediately when you sat next to her quietly while she was writing something in a black notebook.

•You’re silently staring at her in awe when a bullet train zooms out of nowhere & now one of your notes is covering her entire face, leaving you modified.

•It was only on her face for two seconds before you snatched it clean off, chanting “I’m so sorry!” over and over again.

•When the fresh, teal-eyed beauty finally opens her eyes, they widen completely and she looks away quickly, while pointing at your paper; you flip it over and immediately see a dark wine-plum lip stain on it. You immediately start laughing as she grumbles in embarrassment.

-Itoshi Sae (NYX PROFESSIONAL MAKEUP Butter Gloss in “Tiramisu”)

• She’s looking in a teal compost notebook with soft music playing from her white earbuds while you just check her out, basically.

•”VROOM!” is all you hear when a train blasts towards the station where you’re waiting. When the ringing in your ears finally stops, you notice one of your fax papers is currently resting on the lusciously lashed cutie.

•You grab the paper quickly while apologizing. The athletic woman just inhales and exhales sharply just to open her eyes to a dusty rose-button-shaped lip stain on the paper. “Um…your fax,” she deadpans.

•You’re too distracted with your now-ruined fax paper to notice the train on the opposite side of the station is coming & BOOM: a piece of paper lays straight to your face, but the teal-eyed woman gently peels it off like a sheet mask. You immediately notice that some of your lipstick/gloss/balm/oil got on what looks like some soccer plan. “Now we’re even, because I REALLY needed that.”

-Shidou Ryusei (MAYBELLINE Super Stay Vinyl Ink Liquid Lipstick in “Striking”)

•You’re just making stupid little doodles in your sketchbook while you wait for your next train.

•You swear that these trains have became faster since last time because before you know it, the force of wind from it hits you and your doodles like a semi-truck.

•As you’re grabbing your “masterpieces” from the place. You notice that one of them flew straight into the face of a girl prettier than any Barbie doll ever created.

•”I’m so sorry!!” You yell as you remove the paper from her face to reveal a quite hilarious expression. When she opens her eyes, she begins to laugh and wheeze loudly as she drops to her knees. Confused, you flip the paper around to see that a vibrant hot pink lip print landed perfectly on where the lips were supposed to be.

-Micheal Kaiser (True Velvet Lip Color Lipstick by Lisa Eldridge in “Velvet Duchess”)

•It was your first time in Japan, and you were taking in the scenery and taking pictures of the train station.

•You realize that you were NOT prepared for the intense speed of bullet trains when one flies right past through the station.

•As you regain your balance from that gravity-defying machine, you see that the map you REALLY need flew out of your hand somewhere. To find it, you look on the face of a glamorous blonde holding on to her suitcase and a pole for dear life.

•You jog towards her and grab your map out of her face while holding her hand to help her regain her balance. You apologize, then look at your map and see a sexy, cool-toned red lip print on the corner of your map. The mysterious blonde immediately notices as well and chuckles darkly: “It’s in Velvet Duchess. I think it will be incredibly sexy on you.” Your face is bright red, and you’re suddenly having wobbly knees as she winks at you, entering her train.

[cryingpariah]

Roger didn't think about how seriously Shanks and Buggy would take the leprechaun myth until the Oro Jackson is pitching starboard as they rapidly turn the wheel in the direction of the nearest rainbow bc Buggy is NOT missing out on that gold!

If anything, the boys are offended they weren’t already on the hunt for the goods! What kind of self-respecting pirate doesn’t go hunting for potentially buried treasure?! How they managed to take the wheel from Gaban is a true mystery (he was dodging their pinches because apparently teal-green isn’t actually green anymore). Their hasty plan ultimately ends up working since it re-infects Roger with all that good childhood giddiness over the holiday and off they go, chasing the glorious ROYGBIV till they hit land-ho!

As if Buggy's couldn’t get any better with the sweet sweet smell of soon-to-be-all-his treasure filling his nostrils, the second they step foot in town, everyone is calling Shanks a leprechaun! It would be the ultimate social disgrace if Shanks had the decency to be embarrassed or ashamed, no he simply dawns the hat and a fake beard to complete the bit! The locals absolutely adored it of course and happily pointed them down a beautifully iridescent path that would led them to the tiny man of the hour.

Buggy and Shanks chased each other down it passing skyscraping sunflowers and clover tumbleweeds until they come the tail end of the rainbow, leading them right to a charming mushroom themed cottage and an old man rocking in his chair.

His name? Le Pre Chaun. And with him was a treasure chest full to the brim with shining sparkling splendid!…chocolate coins.

Eh, still a win! (Unless you’re Rayleigh who has to deal with both the sugar high and crash, then you’ve lost tremendously).

[star-vader-dio]

Son of Melody

A request by @magnagaruzenmon with the quote write me a pjo fanfic but try not to spill your guts all over it. I failed that challenge but am proud of the product regardless

Chaewon lounged at the edge of the rec center, a lazy smile playing on her lips as she sat with Sakura and Hannibal. Yujin and Cecilia sprawled nearby, the summer sun painting golden stripes across the floor.

They were laughing about something stupid when the shadow fell across their group.

A boy stood a few feet away — dark-skinned, tall, and sturdy like a farm hand, his black shirt and overalls slightly rumpled like he hadn’t meant to make an entrance. His foot tapped anxiously against the floor as he waited, heart racing.

Chaewon was the first to notice him. She raised an eyebrow and said, “Can I help you?”

The boy nodded, his voice shy but carried by a curious lilt — part Southern drawl swimming in a California breeze. “Um, yeah. Artemis asked for Cecilia and Hannibal. She told me to fetch y’all.”

Chaewon smiled faintly at the familiar undulation in his voice, but said nothing.

Sakura, Hannibal, Cece, and Yujin all got up at once, stretching and groaning. Chaewon lingered, still eyeing the boy. “What’s your name?” she asked, crossing her arms.

He hesitated, shoulders stiff, then said, “Django. The D’s silent, though.”

Chaewon squinted at him. “Where’s the D?”

Django sighed, the exhaustion of a man who had been through this conversation far too often. “The D comes first,” he muttered.

Hannibal, Yujin, and Cece burst into laughter.

Chaewon and Sakura looked between them, confused. Hannibal leaned over and whispered the joke’s meaning to Sakura — who gasped — and to Chaewon, who recoiled in disgust.

Her fingers twitched. In a flash of crimson and gold, Chaewon summoned her blazing spear, the polished wood and metal materializing in a burst of flames.

At the same instant, a brilliant phoenix exploded into existence at her side — its feathers the color of twilight, embers drifting from its wings like snow. It circled her once, settling protectively near her shoulder, glaring at Django.

“You dare propose such improper things to me when we have only just met?” Chaewon hissed, her voice low and dangerous, the spear’s flames licking higher.

Django threw his hands up, panic clear on his face. “No! I meant no fornication, Daughter of War. I swear it!” he blurted. “I think… I think we’ve actually met before but under different circumstances. I was security once, for a modeling gig you did for one of Aphrodite’s daughters — name escapes me — but, uh, we had a similar conversation, and I apologized then too.”

Chaewon blinked, stiffening slightly, and then relaxed. “I am so sorry,” she said, embarrassed, not catching the faint deception woven into Django’s words.

Django shrugged, his nerves smoothing into an easy grin. “No worries.”

Chaewon stepped forward to study him more carefully. As she moved, a flash of the future slammed into her senses — Django’s hands on her waist, her lips against his, the whispered rasp of her name in the dark.

She jolted, her spear trembling slightly.

Covering her reaction, Chaewon lifted her weapon and pointed it at Django. The flames shifted — from deep black to a rare, dazzling teal.

The phoenix cried once, a clear note of approval.

Chaewon smiled wide, lowering the spear. “New friend,” she announced.

Django, clearly having no idea what he’d just agreed to, nodded slowly. “Sure,” he said, baffled.

Without hesitation, Chaewon took his hand — a binding gesture sealed by the phoenix’s approving flare — and walked with him as he led the group toward Artemis’s den set outside the rec center, hidden just beyond a thicket of trees.

Instinctively, Chaewon leaned into Django’s side — not romantically, but like an old comrade long missed.

Django nearly tripped, feeling the featherlight contact. His heart skipped a beat loud enough for Chaewon to hear.

She grinned and teased, “Do I make your heart race, cowboy?”

Yujin, Hannibal, and Cece howled with laughter as they approached the den.

Chaewon lay stretched out beside Django on one of the rec center’s lounge beds, the phoenix snoozing nearby with one jeweled eye half-open. She tilted her head, studying him with a gaze that saw far more than she let on.

“So, Hero," she asked lightly, already sensing flashes of his story through her mother's gifts, "how does a blade singer end up so alone… yet so entwined with others?"

Django exhaled slowly, staring up at the rafters. His voice came out even, almost resigned. "I made the mistake of pissing off a pack of skinwalkers back in college. They decided I was a… problem worth ‘dealing with.’" His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "Only thing that got dealt with was them. They came after me in my dorm — not my finest moment, but better than living in fear, you know?"

Chaewon nodded, her expression softening. "My mom chose you," she said, her voice carrying a rare alacrity.

Django smiled faintly and turned to look at her. "Yeah. She told me I would be free." His fingers drummed idly against his knee. "And in a way, she was right. But what I’ve learned is there’s always someone you answer to — even when you’re supposed to be ‘free.’ Morrigan though… she’s been good to me. Bloodthirsty, sure. But fair. I owe her."

Chaewon’s brows drew together slightly. "Has she told you who your godly parent is?" she asked, almost hesitant.

Django shrugged, almost sheepish. "Nope. Don’t think I want to know either."

Chaewon frowned, visibly sad for him. "But if you knew, you could find where you belong."

Django chuckled, low and almost affectionate. "Pretty sure I wouldn't fit in with my siblings anyway. My personality kind of… breaks the mold."

"But you’re here," Chaewon insisted, voice growing stronger, "and we work well together."

That drew a genuine smile from Django — warm and a little mischievous. "Well… until you decide you hate me," he teased.

Chaewon opened her mouth to protest, but a sharp voice cut across the courtyard.

"You trickster!" Artemis called, striding out from the den with the others trailing behind her. The young goddess’s silver eyes gleamed. "Spar with me! I hear you're quite competent… for a mortal."

Django sighed dramatically, getting to his feet. He gave Chaewon a long-suffering look and said, "Duty calls."

Chaewon watched him go, feeling something oddly fierce twist in her chest — a kind of faith she hadn’t realized she was capable of.

Artemis smirked at Django, already sizing him up. "Try not to bore me."

Django cracked his neck lazily. "Lucky you," he said, sliding his headphones over his ears. "I specialize in entertainment. Also dabble in being extremely annoying. You'll see soon enough."

The match was on.

Django scrolled through his playlist — completely casual — and hit shuffle. The heavy opening riff of "Seeing Red" by Architects blasted in his ears.

Instantly, something shifted.

He snapped his back sharply, yelling along to the beat, "Rent free living in your head, R.I.P. — they commented!"

As if the words charged the air around him, he ducked an arrow shot clean at his heart, stomping to the rhythm of the song. Energy rippled outward from him — not just magic, but something older, something wild.

The audience — demigods, nymphs, even Artemis’s hunters — leaned forward in disbelief. Bets flew through the crowd.

Django twisted effortlessly, a dance woven through the oncoming storm of arrows.

Another volley — faster, sharper. He barely seemed to notice. With a grin, he sprinted straight at Artemis.

Eyes widening, Artemis fired another shot — enchanted this time, a spell to always find its mark.

Django caught the arrow midair like it was nothing, spun it lazily between his fingers, and used it like a microphone. "I FELT IT WHEN THEY SAID —" he screamed along with the song, "— WE'LL ONLY EVER LOVE YOU IF YOU'RE SEEING RED!"

Another arrow — faster, crueler — he caught it too, now wielding two arrows like drumsticks, battering incoming shots out of the air as if playing percussion to the roaring music in his head.

Each clash sent sparks flying, turquoise and gold flames briefly flickering around him.

Chaewon’s phoenix shrieked once in excitement, wings flaring wide.

Grinning like a madman, Django hurled the enchanted arrow back at Artemis — a stunt so reckless even the hunters gasped.

Artemis barely dodged it, the enchanted projectile veering wildly before planting itself harmlessly into a stone pillar.

Django didn't stop. He rode the momentum, literally leaping onto the spinning arrow, balancing like a skateboarder.

The breakdown of the song hit, and Django howled, "Do you HEAR the audacity? YOU DUMMIES ONLY LIVE ON THE INTERNET!"

Flames burst from his boots, propelling him forward. Energy wove around him in threads of chaotic magic.

Turquoise fire crowned his head for a split second.

Then — impossibly — Django twisted off the arrow, spun midair, and landed neatly behind Artemis, sliding across the ground in a low crouch.

He tapped the ground lightly, grinned, and said, "Song's over."

He skipped away casually — leaving Artemis frozen in place, blinking in pure disbelief.

The crowd exploded — some laughing, some shouting, all stunned.

Meanwhile, Django kept moshing to the fading echoes of the song, moving alone in the open courtyard, like he was burning off the last wild bits of ancient power still crackling in his veins.

The courtyard buzzed with stunned excitement as Django casually finished moshing, brushing imaginary dust off his black overalls. Artemis approached him with measured steps, her silver eyes narrowed in suspicion — and maybe, just maybe, the slightest flicker of intrigue.

"You," she said sharply, pointing at Django like he was some unsolvable riddle. "What magic was that? What technique? What training?"

Django paused, lifting one earbud out lazily. He blinked at her, genuinely confused.

"Uh…" he drawled. "I dunno. I just… trust the music. It kinda tells me what to do." He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Artemis stared at him, deadpan. "You trust the music."

"Yup." Django popped the earbud back in, bobbing his head lightly to some new song only he could hear.

Artemis turned, scanning the gathered demigods like she could find a sane answer among them. Her gaze settled on a cocky-looking Apollo kid lounging against a pillar, arms crossed, trying very hard to look unimpressed.

"You," Artemis barked. "One of yours?"

The Apollo camper, a blond boy wearing sunglasses despite the evening sun, laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, no. We are not metal enough to pull that off," he said, shooting a finger-gun at Django, who just winked back.

A ripple of laughter spread through the demigods. Even a few of Artemis’s hunters snickered behind their hands.

Artemis exhaled through her nose — a short, sharp sound of frustration. "I loathe your father’s entire lineage," she muttered.

Chaewon grinned from where she leaned against a pillar, her phoenix perched proudly on her shoulder like a flame-wrought crown. She tilted her head toward Django, watching him move like the beat of the universe ran through his bones.

Trust the music, huh?

Maybe that was why fate itself seemed to hum louder whenever Django was near — as if the very fabric of possibility warped and bent around his footsteps.

After Django slipped from her field of vision, still lost in his solitary moshing, Chaewon felt her world tilt sharply. A shudder ran through the ground beneath her feet, and her phoenix bristled against her arm, sensing the vision before it seized her.

Her mind’s eye was torn open, and she saw.

Django — older, but still carrying that same restless fire — stood alone in a twilight landscape that stretched endlessly. In his hands, a weapon thrummed with life: a blade that sang just as loudly as his soul did. Its music was not gentle — it was a furious storm of grief, yearning, and defiance, woven into one haunting melody.

The sword’s metal gleamed — moonlight steel and daylight bronze — its edge sharp enough to cut the silence itself.

Chaewon felt the desperate hunger in both weapon and wielder: a longing to belong, to be seen not as a mistake or an inconvenience, but as something holy. Yet again and again, only the angry and the aimless answered their call, never the ones who could truly understand.

And yet — in the space between Django’s pulse and the weapon’s cry — she sensed something different. Something wondrous.

Elation.

The giddy, dizzy feeling of finding a missing half. The joyful terror of standing at the edge of something vast and leaping anyway.

In her vision, Django was crowned not with gold or jewels, but with a kingdom built of the forgotten — the undying and the untamed — and he ruled not with cruelty, but with justice and a serenity that could only be born at the crossroads of passion and peace.

A depthless abyss of fury and joy entwined, dancing endlessly.

The image pulsed once more — a heartbeat of fate itself — before fading, leaving Chaewon blinking back into the dim evening.

The phoenix nestled closer against her, sensing the importance of what she had seen.

Her heart hammered in her chest. Django… and that weapon. They were bound to a destiny far greater than either of them could yet imagine.

Chaewon turned toward the rec center’s fading light, knowing instinctively that this was only the beginning. she spent the rest of the day getting ready for what came next. Talking to other demigods and hero's about Django trying to understand him but the common thread was.

"He's a good guy but he's just so angry…no consumed." It was discouraging but she found that no one had nothing really bad to say about him except those who had directly crossed him. he was a hard worker, good fighter and over all kind individual, so with that update, Chaewon called it a day.

The sun dipped low over the rec center, washing the courtyard in long gold shadows. Chaewon stood near the exit, packing up her things into a small leather satchel. Her phoenix chirped softly as it tucked itself into the crook of her arm, its feathers flickering with dying embers in the twilight.

And that was when she heard the approaching footsteps — Artemis, and someone else cloaked in the velvet of ancient magic.

She was just about to sling the satchel over her shoulder when she heard footsteps — light but deliberate. She turned to find Artemis approaching, her silver circlet glinting in the fading sun. Beside her walked another woman, cloaked in rich velvet-black robes, her aura heavy with ancient magic.

Chaewon straightened instinctively, sensing the crackle of power between them.

"Chaewon," Artemis said coolly, her voice like steel wrapped in silk. "Before you leave, there is someone you must meet."

The cloaked woman lowered her hood. Beneath it, Hecate’s sharp eyes gleamed — wise, patient, and calculating, but kind in a way that most gods forgot how to be.

"My little stormfire," Hecate said, smiling. "At last, we meet properly."

Chaewon blinked, caught off guard by the affectionate nickname. Her phoenix preened itself proudly at the sound of it.

"You already know of me, daughter of war and rebirth," Hecate continued, stepping closer. "You carry two flames — the wrath of the Morrigan, and the love of Ceridwen. Very few walk between death and life so easily… fewer still without being consumed."

Chaewon bowed respectfully, unsure whether to speak.

Hecate chuckled softly, a sound like a thousand candles flickering at once.

"Don't be so formal, child. I have a task for you — a quest if you will accept it."

Chaewon nodded, heart pounding with excitement. "I will."

Artemis, standing silently beside Hecate, gave the faintest approving nod.

"There is a weapon — Asterfae, the Blade of the Crossing," Hecate said. "It is a sword forged from both starlight and darkness. It was once mine, but I relinquished it long ago, trusting it would remain hidden until the right hands sought it."

Chaewon's phoenix chirped uneasily, sensing the gravity of the quest.

"The blade has stirred again. It begs for its proper wielder," Hecate said, her voice dropping lower. "Something — someone — seeks it who should not. I would have you retrieve it for me before it falls into the wrong hands."

Chaewon lifted her chin. "Where must I go?"

A thin smile tugged at the corners of Hecate’s mouth. She waved her hand, and a silver coin materialized, emblazoned with strange shifting runes. She dropped it into Chaewon's palm. It burned pleasantly against her skin.

"Find the place where the dead drink the stars," Hecate whispered. "There, the Blade of the Crossing waits… and so do its new guardians."

Chaewon shivered, but she gripped the coin tightly, determination flaring in her chest. "I won't fail you," she promised.

"I know you won't," Hecate said warmly, brushing a stray lock of Chaewon’s hair behind her ear like a proud aunt. "You were made for thresholds. You were made to choose what others fear to face."

Without another word, Hecate turned and disappeared into the deepening shadows, her cloak melting into the night.

Artemis lingered a moment longer, giving Chaewon a rare smile. "Take the cowboy with you," she said dryly, nodding in the direction Django had vanished to earlier. "You'll need his chaos."

Chaewon laughed under her breath, feeling the warmth of destiny coil tightly around her bones.

Early the next morning, Chaewon went looking for Django, but he was nowhere near the rec center. Something in her gut told her he wouldn’t be asleep either.

Following her instincts — and a faint, familiar pull she couldn’t quite explain — she wandered toward the amphitheater tucked into the woods behind the camp.

There she found him.

Django was alone, already deep into training, the early mist curling around him like smoke. He danced between battered practice dummies with a kind of reckless grace, switching weapons mid-motion: a battered longsword here, a cracked battle-axe there, even a broken spear, wielded like an extension of his body.

It was not just sparring — it was a ritual. A battle against invisible enemies only he could see.

Chaewon leaned against a column, smiling softly as Django, mid-swing with a zweihander, spun it suddenly and air-guitared a few wild, chaotic riffs.

"We're fighting with the shadow in the dark," he sang under his breath, voice rough but strangely melodic. With a roar, he brought the heavy blade down on a dummy, splitting it cleanly in half.

Chaewon’s smile faded slightly. There was something heavy wrapped around him — a presence older and sadder than just exhaustion.

It was as if he was fighting for something… something he could not afford to lose, and could barely name.

Before she could dwell on it, two familiar presences approached — their magic brushing the edges of her awareness like fingertips across the water.

She turned to see Cerwidden and Hecate standing a few feet away, watching Django with a strange, almost mournful fondness.

"Oh," Cerwidden said with a small, knowing smile, "You're watching the Orphan."

Chaewon flushed slightly, embarrassed at being caught, but didn’t look away. "I was just… yeah. He's captivating. It's like he's trying to drag the music inside of him out into the world. Like it's clawing to be born."

Hecate’s eyes glimmered like twin moons. "He is."

Cerwidden folded her arms thoughtfully. "His father was a Griot — a sacred storyteller, keeper of histories and songs. But in a fit of rage and pride, he severed Django from the protection of his ancestors. Now he wanders — a voice without a choir, a soul with no home. His gifts… they spill out in ways even he can’t control. And with no ancestral spirits to shield him, he is always exposed. Always hunted."

Chaewon turned back toward the arena, her phoenix ruffling its wings nervously on her shoulder. Instinctively, Chaewon reached inward — calling on her mother’s blessing.

The veil thinned.

Suddenly the amphitheater was no longer empty. It was full —rows of spirits, translucent and weeping, cheering silently for Django. They were soldiers, musicians, dancers, healers — all of them forgotten, all of them lost — drawn to Django’s music like moths to a flame.

Tears stung Chaewon's eyes. "Why?" she whispered. "Why would his father do that to him?"

Cerwidden’s voice was gentle but firm. "Because sometimes a parent's fear blinds them to the truth of their own child. Django's father saw in him a mirror — a reflection of the hunger for greatness he feared in himself. Rather than confront it, he punished Django for it. He thought it would spare him pain… not realizing he was only passing that wound forward."

A tear slipped free down Chaewon’s cheek. She didn’t wipe it away.

"So why does he still fight?" she asked hoarsely.

Hecate stepped forward, her presence dark and rich as storm clouds. "Because that is who he is. He would fight beyond death itself, march beyond the veil and back, if it meant protecting even a single song still left to sing."

Chaewon swallowed the lump in her throat, watching Django weave through another furious dance, his sweat-slick hair flying, his movements raw and electric.

"And his godly parent?" she asked. "Can't they… help him?"

Cerwidden and Hecate exchanged a look — full of ancient understanding and sorrow.

"He must choose to reach out first," Cerwidden said finally. "His mother waits — aching to welcome him home — but the burden of pain and pride weighs heavy on him. Until he lets go of his shame, his grief, his rage at being cast aside, he will never truly hear her call."

Chaewon stood silently for a moment, feeling the weight of Django’s loneliness echo in her chest.

And then, Hecate’s hand rested lightly on Chaewon’s shoulder — warm, grounding, and almost motherly. The touch anchored her, just enough to pull her back from the sadness.

Chaewon wiped the tear trails from her cheeks quickly, breathing out a shaky laugh. Without another thought, she bolted toward Django.

Down at the amphitheater, Django was finishing his training — loose, fluid, the way an instrument hums after being played for hours. Chaewon, trying to hurry, misjudged the slope.

Her foot slipped.

She tumbled forward — a startled yelp leaving her lips — but Django was already moving.

Strong arms caught her, pulling her against him just before she could hit the ground. For a moment, she lay in his grasp, chest heaving from the surprise. And when she looked up, she found Django's eyes already locked onto hers — concerned, steady, bright with some emotion she couldn’t name.

Time stretched and thinned between them. Something passed in that instant: not just attraction, but something quieter, deeper — a kind of recognition. Neither spoke, but some invisible bond knitted tighter without either realizing it.

Chaewon felt her cheeks flush violently. She immediately pushed at his chest, grumbling, "Put me down, you big meathead!"

Django chuckled, a low, warm sound that sent a ridiculous flutter through her stomach, and set her gently on her feet.

Trying to cover up how flustered she was, Chaewon straightened her clothes unnecessarily and blurted, "I have a quest. And… I want your help on it."

Django's expression shifted slightly, his eyes sharpening in curiosity. "Okay, sure," he said easily, but there was a weight behind his agreement — as if he'd follow her anywhere if she asked.

Chaewon grinned, relieved, and smacked his arm lightly. "Good. Get packed — we’ve got a lot to do."

They walked toward the dormitories together, the tension between them now a thrumming undercurrent — not uncomfortable, but charged.

While Django gathered his things, Chaewon couldn't help but notice a peculiar item he packed first: a deep black satchel embossed with intricate symbols of Persephone and Hades intertwined.

Chaewon tilted her head. "Is that a bag of Nyx?" she asked, recognizing the faint shimmer of starry magic.

Django nodded, tossing a few battered weapons into it. "Got it doing a favor for Thanatos, Hades, and Persephone. Nico was busy on a date with Will Solace, so… they drafted me."

Chaewon snorted, the mental image too good. "You? Running errands for the gods?" she teased.

Django just sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "It’s not often… but I dabble."

Chaewon’s smile widened until she noticed something strange: all the weapons Django packed were old, scratched, battle-worn — none gleamed fresh or new.

She frowned slightly. "Why aren’t you packing any new weapons?"

Django zipped the satchel closed, slinging it over his shoulder with a casual shrug. "Because new ones aren’t tested. These? They’ve fought. They’ve survived."

He picked up a chipped sword reverently, like a musician lifting a beloved instrument. "People don't realize it, but weapons… they remember. Pull through enough battles, and they gain a soul — or something close to it. They change. They sing."

Chaewon’s heart squeezed unexpectedly. "You can speak to them?" she asked softly.

Django shook his head, almost shy. "Not words. It's more like… music. Each one has a rhythm, a groove it wants to make. I just… let it shine in the orchestra I carry. If only for one last song."

Chaewon laughed quietly, but there was no mockery in it — only wonder. Because somehow, it made perfect sense. Her own spear had evolved with her over the years — not through spells, but through shared blood and battle and loyalty.

Django’s peculiar kindness, his strange spirituality, continued to surprise and disarm her. He wasn’t just strong; he was gentle where it mattered most. He didn’t just fight; he listened — even to broken things.

As he finished packing, Chaewon caught herself wondering again who his godly parent was. Whoever she was, she had birthed something rare: a son who fought like a tempest and cared like a poet.

And somehow, without even realizing it, Chaewon felt herself leaning closer to him, drawn in — as if his silent music was something she was starting to hear, too.

Chaewon shook off the strange, lingering thoughts as she grabbed her own things. Django, with his weapons and worn satchel, was already ready to go, his posture relaxed but alert. There was a strange calm in him — an acceptance that whatever came next, he'd face it like a song he had to finish.

“Ready to go?” Chaewon asked, a bit of playful energy returning to her voice.

“Always,” Django answered, his smile wide but his eyes focused, like a wolf about to step into the unknown. The air between them felt lighter now, but still thick with that unspoken something.

They made their way to the entrance of the rec center, where Chaewon paused, taking in the early morning sun that was casting long shadows across the ground. She breathed in deeply, a quiet determination blooming in her chest. This quest would bring them closer to something important — both for her and for Django.

“I think this is it,” she said softly, her voice almost lost to the wind. Her phoenix fluttered lightly beside her, its wings catching the sun’s rays, and for a moment, Chaewon felt like everything was about to change.

Django took a step closer, as if sensing the subtle shift in Chaewon’s energy. He leaned in just a little, his voice dropping to a quieter tone than usual. “Yeah, this is it,” he agreed with a soft nod. “Let’s see where the road leads us.”

His words hung in the air as they began walking from the rec center toward his car. The quiet, comfortable hum of the journey stretched before them, the soft pulse of the road beneath them as they started driving east. Django navigated the car with a steady hand, his movements relaxed. He drove with a calm confidence that made Chaewon feel at ease. She realized how much she liked the rhythm of it—how everything with him seemed to flow in its own natural way.

As the car cruised down the road, Chaewon couldn’t help but observe Django. It wasn’t just his music, but the way everything he did felt like it was in sync with something—his foot tapping on the pedal, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel, his body swaying subtly with an invisible beat. He was always in motion with the music, as if it was woven into him.

Chaewon found herself smiling at him. He was so unselfconscious about it, so wrapped up in his own world of melody and sound. It was…endearing.

"Well, aren’t you just a music machine?" Chaewon teased, leaning back in her seat.

Django smiled faintly, a sheepish glint in his eye. “Yeah, it’s one of the few things I can hold onto, y’know? Even when everything else is a mess, music is there.”

Chaewon nodded in understanding, then asked casually, "Do you ever listen to our songs?"

Django scoffed, his grin widening. “Of course. I was feral for ‘Eve,’ ‘Psyche,’ and ‘Bluebeard’s Wife.’ Watched all the fancams, except Eunchae’s… I couldn’t do it, she was a minor. Felt weird. But I love y’all’s music.” He shrugged, the matter-of-factness of his tone making Chaewon laugh.

She raised an eyebrow. "So, who’s your bias?"

Django shot her a sidelong glance, his Cali-Tex accent thickening as he spoke. "Would you let me go if I said, all five of y’all?"

Chaewon chuckled, shaking her head. "Not a chance."

Django sighed dramatically, clearly enjoying the banter but also sounding slightly defeated, which made Chaewon smile more than she expected. It was like she’d finally managed to tame the wild man, even if only for a moment. "Originally, it was Sakura. She’s got this strength, this resilience, you know? She can face impossible odds and still come out on top, and it’s beautiful. But lately… things are changing in my heart. And honestly, I can’t control it."

Chaewon’s heart skipped a beat, but she smiled anyway, pretending to brush it off. "So who is it now?"

Django smirked playfully, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I’ll tell you after this quest."

Chaewon huffed, mock-annoyed. "Aggh!" But despite her protest, a small smile tugged at her lips, and she couldn’t hide it.

The car ride passed with a comforting quiet. The only sounds were the gentle hum of the road beneath them and Django’s occasional hum to the music on the radio. Chaewon felt herself growing more relaxed in his presence, her earlier curiosity about him turning into something else—something softer, but stronger, too.

As they drove, Chaewon’s eyelids grew heavy. The safety and ease she felt with Django lulled her into a peaceful sleep. Her dreams, as always, were filled with strange visions. The veil between time and space thinned, and she found herself seeing Django again, but this time, in a new, haunting light.

She saw him sitting on the edge of a bridge, an Xbox controller in his hands. His eyes were wide with unshed tears. She watched as he prepared to jump, only for something—someone—to stop him. The scene shifted, and she saw him walking, the weight of his isolation heavy on his shoulders. Chaewon reached out, but the dream drifted, leaving her with an empty ache.

Suddenly, she was somewhere familiar—a dark crossroads, the kind her mother often wandered. The Morrigan’s crows circled overhead, and the air smelled of rain and old earth.

"So you finally met the orphan," her mother’s voice drifted to her.

Chaewon nodded, her mind still reeling from the vision. "Why did you take him in?"

The Morrigan’s eyes glimmered in the shadows, her form shifting and changing. Gone was the crone—replaced by a younger, more seductive version of herself, her body every bit as powerful as it was beautiful. She looked at Chaewon with a knowing smile, her lips curling slightly. "An abandoned child will burn down the village to feel warmth. When I found him, he was shivering and ready to start looking for matches."

Chaewon frowned, puzzled. "So you snatched him?"

"No," the Morrigan replied, her voice like silk. "I merely gave him enough warmth to keep going where he needed to go."

Her mother’s gaze turned sharp, and her lips parted to reveal words Chaewon didn’t want to hear.

"What’s your interest in the orphan?" she asked, her eyes intense.

Chaewon hesitated, unsure how to answer. Her feelings were still so tangled, so new. She could barely name them, let alone understand them. "He’s kind?"

The Morrigan laughed, a deep, throaty sound that filled Chaewon with both unease and wonder. "Be in denial for now," she said softly. "But when the time comes, and you can’t fight yourself anymore, make sure he’s still yours."

The words sank deep into Chaewon’s chest as the dream shifted again, turning dark and jagged. The sound of distant gunshots echoed as her vision fractured, and everything fell away.

she jolted and watched as Django was facing off against a manticore. in his hands a dented revolver. she noticed he was pinned and without a second thought she jumped out of the car. her Phoenix pinning the Manticore threw her spear.

Massive flames of crimson and gold engulfed the weapon as it blazed a burning trail towards the creature before reducing it to glassed ash. she turned to Django as the spear was returned to her by her phoenix.

"Before she could even tease him he said graciously, "thank you so much that was very harrowing,"

Chaewon smiled happily and said, "Anytime." The drive east was long, but easy. As the sun dipped low against the horizon, the duo pulled up to a modest but comfortable-looking hotel tucked between stretches of old woods and small-town roads. The air smelled of pine and the fading warmth of summer.

Django parked the car and slid out first, stretching with a satisfied grunt. Chaewon watched from her seat, admiring the way his shirt clung to his shoulders as he moved—broad and easy, like a big cat waking from a nap.

Get a grip, she told herself, cheeks warming as she grabbed her bag and slid out after him.

Inside, the hotel was quiet, the kind of place that catered to hunters and demigods passing through. Django checked them in without much fuss, securing two rooms side by side.

“You’ll have your own room,” he said, tossing her a keycard. “Privacy and all that. I’m not gonna crowd you.”

Chaewon arched an eyebrow, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “Oh? What if I wanted you to crowd me?”

For a second—just a second—Django’s easygoing grin faltered. His ears turned a shade redder as he coughed and glanced away, pretending to adjust the strap of his bag.

Chaewon laughed softly, bumping her shoulder against his as they headed toward the elevators. She couldn’t help herself—it was too much fun watching him squirm.

Once they reached the rooms, Django paused awkwardly in the hall. “Uh… If you need anything. Y’know. Just knock. Or yell. I’ll hear you.”

Chaewon twirled the keycard between her fingers, the way she might spin a dagger in combat. She tilted her head, studying him for a moment longer than was strictly necessary.

“You’re sweet,” she said lightly, voice dipping a little lower. “Dangerous, but sweet.”

And then she disappeared into her room with a soft click of the door, leaving Django standing there like a statue.

He dragged a hand down his face the second she was gone, muttering to himself, “Great. Real smooth. She’s dangerous and sweet. Just like your dumb heart ordered.”

He threw himself onto his bed without bothering to unpack. His body was exhausted from the road, but his mind? His mind was running a marathon.

Chaewon wasn’t just beautiful—though she was, painfully so. It was the way she laughed at him without cruelty, the way she pushed back without ever trying to belittle him. She was powerful, sure, but not cold. Not guarded like so many others he’d met. She was warm. Sweet. Kind in a way that made his defenses crack.

And it was dangerous.

Because Django had built his whole life around surviving without needing anyone. He wasn’t sure what terrified him more—the idea of falling for her… or the idea that he already had started.

Across the thin wall between them, he heard Chaewon humming softly to herself as she unpacked.

It sounded suspiciously like a love song.

Django rolled onto his stomach with a groan, muffling his face into the pillow.

“This quest is gonna kill me,” he muttered.

But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was her smile—and for once, he wasn’t sure he minded the risk. Django had barely managed to flip onto his back and get comfortable when his phone buzzed against the nightstand. Groaning, he stretched out and grabbed it, expecting maybe a message from camp or a reminder about the quest.

Instead, it was a text from Chaewon.

Chae: “Still waiting for you to crowd me, wild man. You scared? lol”

Django stared at the message like it might catch fire in his hands.

For a few long seconds, he just lay there, heart pounding like he’d just run a dozen laps around the training fields. She’s just teasing, he told himself. Just being playful.

Still, the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a slow, helpless smile.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he finally fired back:

Django: “Not scared. Just being a gentleman. Thought you deserved to rest after getting manhandled by gravity earlier.”

A beat passed. Then another.

Her reply came fast, and he could almost hear the sly smirk in her voice:

Chae: “Gentleman, huh? We’ll see how long that lasts when we’re in real danger.”

Django set the phone down carefully like it was made of glass. He let out a low laugh—half exasperated, half in awe.

“Danger’s already here, sweetheart,” he muttered to the empty room, running a hand through his hair. “And it’s wearing my favorite smile.”

He rolled over again, burying his burning face into the pillows, but deep down he knew sleep wasn’t coming easy tonight.

Not with Chaewon right there, just a thin wall away.

Not with the way his heart had already started drawing battle lines he wasn’t sure he could hold. Django eventually drifted to sleep as exhaustion caught up with him. The world around Django melted into a swirl of ash and stormlight. He stood barefoot at the center of a dead battlefield, the ground cracked and steaming under an endless gray sky. He could hear it again — the music, but it was wrong. The familiar hum that usually danced in his chest now throbbed in discordant, scraping chords, like metal being torn apart. It hurt. It burned.

From the mist, two figures emerged — one wreathed in thunderclouds, skirts whipping with the fury of a brewing hurricane. The other — all black feathers and bone-pale skin, her hair streaming out into a murder of crows that screamed as they circled overhead.

Oya and The Morrigan. Both war-goddesses. Both watching him.

Oya’s voice cracked like thunder across the broken field: “Why do you deny yourself, little storm?” Her eyes flashed white. Winds howled in mourning around her.

The Morrigan circled him slowly, dragging a sharp nail across the air, leaving bloody rents in the sky. “You hold your mother’s power, boy. Yet you bind it with chains of shame. Guilt is not strength. It is death in slow motion.”

Django wanted to respond. He opened his mouth — but no words came. Instead, the broken music inside him grew louder. Wild, dissonant notes clashed together, creating a wall of white-hot noise that made him stagger. He clutched his chest, where something was thrashing under his ribs, screaming to be set free.

“You are the Songsmith of Storm and Forge,” Oya said, stepping closer, her voice softening with sorrow. “Your blood hums with creation. With war. With art. You were never meant to crawl.”

“But you fear,” The Morrigan finished. “You fear that loving yourself will make you the monster your father feared you would become.” She sneered, not unkindly. “You chain your own spirit. And you poison the music meant to heal you.”

Around Django, the ground began to split. From the cracks, ghastly figures pulled themselves free — warped memories of faces he once loved, now twisted by shame and failure. They screamed in time with the discordant music, grabbing at his arms and legs, weighing him down.

He dropped to one knee, gasping.

Above him, Oya raised her hand. A spear of pure wind and fire formed in it — luminous, blazing, alive. The Morrigan extended her own hand, offering a black dagger with a golden crow etched into its blade.

“Take it,” they said together, their voices harmonizing in a terrifying, beautiful duet. “Accept your mother’s gift. Accept yourself.”

Django reached out — but as his fingers brushed the weapons, another sound ripped through his mind: the crushing voice of his father, from deep within his memory.

“You’re dangerous. You’ll ruin everything. You’ll ruin yourself.”

The music inside Django shattered into pieces — an explosion of broken guitar strings and shrieking brass — and the world imploded into chaos.

Django screamed, not in anger but in anguish. The spears and daggers dissolved before he could grab them. The dreamscape blackened, the battlefield twisting into a nightmare of flashing memories — the bridge, the Xbox clutched to his chest, the loneliness, the empty crowd.

He fell and fell and fell — his own mind rejecting him.

In the real world, Django thrashed violently in bed. Sweat poured down his face. His hands gripped the sheets like he was trying to hold onto something precious slipping away. Quietly, unnoticed, a thin shimmer of turquoise flame flickered around his heart — barely clinging to life — and then faded.

He wouldn’t wake up peacefully. Not tonight.

And somewhere, far away, a mother who had waited far too long hummed a soft, aching song, hoping her son would hear her before it was too late.

Django woke up feeling refreshed physically, but mentally, it was like he had dragged himself through a battlefield blindfolded. The nightmare clung to him like smoke, sour and heavy, but he had a job to do — and he wasn’t going to let Chaewon see the cracks.

He got ready quickly, smoothing out any sign of how badly he had slept, then walked over to Chaewon’s door and knocked. He expected her usual upbeat greeting, but instead, when the door swung open, he was greeted by Chaewon standing there in only a towel.

Django’s breath hitched, and his mind short-circuited.

“Oh, you’re ready! Great — just wait for me inside,” she chirped, completely unfazed, flashing him a grin before disappearing into the bathroom again. Django swallowed thickly and stepped into her room, trying very hard to keep his eyes glued to anything but the towel she had left behind.

When Chaewon finally reemerged, fully dressed and radiant, she twirled around once and asked, teasingly, “Well? How do I look?”

Django fumbled for words, feeling heat creep up the back of his neck. “You… you look really nice, Chae,” he managed, voice low and genuine.

Chaewon’s heart kicked in her chest, and something electric passed between them — something thick and warm and terrifyingly sweet. She pouted at him, crossing her arms.

“You can’t just look at me like that. I might start thinking you’re falling in love with me,” she teased, trying to sound playful, but her voice had a nervous edge even she couldn’t ignore.

Something emboldened Django — maybe it was the dream, maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was just her — but he took a step closer, voice rough and earnest.

“And so what if I am, Chae?”

The world narrowed to just them. Without thinking, Chaewon pounced, throwing her arms around him and pressing her lips to his. Django caught her, stumbled back a step, then kissed her back, deep and greedy, their bodies finding a melody without words.

She clung to him, hands threading into his hair as if afraid he’d slip away. Django whimpered her name between kisses, barely able to think.

“Chae…” he mumbled again as her lips brushed down his jaw, lower, her eagerness setting him on fire.

But responsibility crashed into Django like cold water. He caught her wrists gently but firmly, breathing hard. “Chae,” he said, voice rough with regret, “we have a job to do.”

Chaewon groaned in protest and pulled away, pouting like a sulky cat. “This is why I hate kissing people,” she grumbled, but there was no real malice in it — only a deep, simmering frustration that she couldn’t quite hide.

Django chuckled softly, running a hand through his messy hair as he tried to steady himself. “Trust me, you’re not alone there,” he muttered.

They checked out easily and got back on the road, Chaewon still shooting little side-eye glances at him, half-pouty but understanding deep down. She curled up in her seat, playing with the strings of her hoodie, while Django kept his eyes on the road — and on anything that wasn’t the memory of her hands gripping him like he was something precious.

As they drove east, Chaewon’s gaze drifted to him again. Something about him struck her — how smooth his skin was. Most demigods she knew had visible scars, souvenirs from battles and monsters and mistakes. She herself had plenty. But Django? His skin was strangely… unmarred. It was almost uncanny.

“You don’t get in a lot of fights, do you?” Chaewon asked, cocking her head.

Reflexively, Django chuckled and shook his head. “Huh, no — I’m constantly fighting,” he said. “It’s just… getting something to fight back is harder. Why do you ask, Chae?”

Her heart flipped hearing the way he said her nickname — so casual, so warm. She fought the goofy smile tugging at her lips and tried to sound nonchalant.

“I just noticed… you don’t have a lot of scars. Most of us do.”

Django shrugged, flashing a crooked smile that made her stomach flutter. “A lot of healing magic. Some good old-fashioned recovery, too. I figured if I wanted to live long, I’d better treat my body like something sacred. So… early years, later years — both productive, both fruitful.”

Chaewon nodded slowly, feeling the strange warmth in his words — how he spoke about survival like it was an art form, not just a necessity.

“I like it,” she said softly, almost to herself.

There was a beat of silence between them. Comfortable. Soft. Chaewon, emboldened by the earlier closeness, reached over and gently brushed her fingers against Django’s hand resting on the gear shift.

He stiffened for half a second — startled — but didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned his palm up so their hands could fit together naturally, her fingers lacing with his.

She squeezed his hand gently, and said, almost too casually, “How’d you sleep, by the way?”

Django hesitated just a moment too long before lying smoothly, “Fine. Slept like a rock.”

Chaewon glanced at him sideways, reading the exhaustion he tried to hide in the small tightness around his eyes. But she didn’t pry. She only smiled, warm and secretive, and ran her thumb slowly across his knuckles.

“Good,” she whispered, her heart full and aching at once.

Django gripped her hand a little tighter — as if to anchor himself to her — but he didn’t say a word.

Neither of them noticed how the road ahead shimmered faintly under the early sun, as if the world itself was waiting, breath held, to see what they’d become.

The drive was peaceful, quiet, with only the low hum of tires against pavement and the occasional chirp of birds overhead. As the sun reached its zenith, Django pulled the car into the dusty parking lot of a roadside diner called Mikey’s.

From the moment they stepped out, something tugged uneasily at Django’s senses — like a dissonant chord vibrating just under the surface. The diner looked normal enough at first glance, but as they approached, he noticed how dark it was inside — as if someone had deliberately snuffed out the sunlight, the windows shaded almost unnaturally.

He frowned, instincts prickling, but before he could voice his concern, Chaewon beamed a smile at the hostess and chirped, “Hi there! I’m Chaewon and this is Django — we’re hoping we could eat here!”

Django bit back a sigh. Of course Chaewon would just walk in trusting the world. He couldn’t even blame her; it was part of what he liked — loved — about her.

They slid into a booth. Chaewon ordered a light salad, while Django picked a hefty BBQ burger with fries. Halfway through the meal, he caught Chaewon sneaking glances at his plate, her face full of longing.

Without a word, Django sliced the burger clean in half and swapped it for half her untouched salad.

Chaewon’s face lit up, and she teased, “Thanks, honey.”

Django’s heart stopped for a beat, the world tilting dangerously sweet, but he smiled back with a steady, “Anytime, dear.”

They ate the rest of the meal in a quiet, happy bubble — their own little world — until it was time to leave. As they stepped into the dry afternoon light, Django paused. A voice — low, lazy, with a mocking lilt — cut through the diner’s murmur behind him.

“You know,” the voice drawled, “I’m surprised a monster diner could serve such good food.”

Django froze. His blood ran cold.

He turned slowly to find a familiar figure lounging against the shaded side of the building — a figure he hadn’t seen in years. David Mayne. Once his brother-in-arms. Now a shadow of the boy he used to know.

David’s grin widened, fangs peeking from his lips, his blood-red eyes flashing. “Song Bird,” David said with a crooked smile, “as I live and breathe. Well— kinda. I can't believe you're still alive.”

Django’s hands curled into fists. “David,” he said tightly. “What are you doing here?”

David shrugged lazily, inching closer. “Looking for something. A particular little artifact to reunite me with my dear Ophelia,” he said, voice syrupy with madness. His eyes flicked past Django, settling on Chaewon climbing into their car.

David’s smile turned predatory.

“And who,” he purred, “is the sweet thing you’ve brought along for the ride?”

Before Django could react, David pounced — a blur of predatory speed.

But Django was faster. With a flash of movement, he yanked a broken silver lance from his bag of hades, whipping it hard across David’s face. The blow snapped David’s head sideways with a hiss, blood-black eyes burning with rage beneath the tree’s shade.

“Stay the hell away from her,” Django snarled, every muscle in his body vibrating with fury.

Without waiting to see if David would retaliate, Django bolted back to the car and peeled out of the lot, tires screaming against the asphalt. Chaewon gasped, grabbing the seat as Django drove — fast and reckless — putting mile after mile between them and the vampire.

They didn’t speak. Not at first.

Only when they were a hundred and fifty miles away, the sun low and burning red in the sky, did Django finally pull over to the side of the road. His hands were shaking on the wheel.

And then — he broke. The sob tore out of him before he could stop it, raw and broken. He slammed his forehead against the steering wheel, tears spilling down his cheeks, his whole body trembling.

Chaewon, stunned, reached across and touched his shoulder. “Django…? Hey—” she said softly.

He couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t even breathe right. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I— I just— I saw him and I—”

Chaewon squeezed his shoulder, her heart breaking for him. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m safe,” she whispered, coaxing him gently.

Slowly, Django forced himself to sit back, wiping his face roughly with his sleeve. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.

“His name’s David Mayne,” Django said hollowly. “We used to adventure together. Me, him, and our best friend — Max McDonalds. Max was a son of Lugh — brilliant, brave, too brave sometimes.”

He swallowed hard, staring blankly out the windshield.

“One day, Max didn’t make it. We were hunting a rogue chimera pack. He sacrificed himself… for me. For us. David never forgave the world for it. Never forgave himself either. He got obsessed — said he could bring Max back somehow. He chased every rumor, every artifact, every dark thing he could find…”

Django’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“And somewhere along the way, he let himself get turned. Vampire blood gives you… power, immortality. Hope. But it’s fake. Twisted. He thinks he’s still fighting for Max, but he’s lost himself.”

Chaewon listened quietly, her hand never leaving his shoulder.

“I tried to save him once,” Django said, voice breaking again. “I failed.”

A long silence followed. Only the cicadas and the slow breathing of the dying day filled the car Chaewon shifted closer, reaching down and carefully intertwining their fingers — just like she had that morning.

“You didn’t fail,” she said softly. “You loved him. You still do. And love… it doesn’t always win battles. But it means you fought.”

Django stared at their hands for a long time, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

For the first time in hours, his breathing started to slow. The music in his soul — still discordant, still wounded — softened just slightly at her touch, like a broken song beginning to find its missing notes. The cicadas sang louder as the sun slipped lower behind the hills, staining the sky in hues of bruised purple and gold. Django sat frozen for a long moment, staring at their intertwined hands as if it were a lifeline he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Chaewon squeezed his fingers gently again, her thumb brushing the back of his hand in slow, soothing circles.

“You need to rest,” she said quietly, her voice tender but firm.

Django opened his mouth — to protest, to say there’s no time, that they still had a job to do — but the words crumbled before they even made it out. His body, wrung dry from grief and adrenaline, betrayed him. His shoulders sagged, exhaustion pulling at him like invisible hands.

“I’m fine,” he muttered weakly, the lie crumbling even as he said it.

Chaewon didn’t argue. She just smiled — soft, understanding — and tugged his hand toward her.

“Come here,” she whispered.

Django hesitated, the very idea of leaning on someone stirring a thousand complicated emotions in his battered heart. But Chaewon just waited, patient and unafraid.

Slowly, awkwardly, Django leaned sideways across the center console, letting his head rest against her shoulder. She smelled like soft perfume and sunlight and something uniquely her.

For a moment, he stayed stiff, muscles locked up like iron bars. But as Chaewon gently ran her fingers through his hair — a slow, calming motion, not expecting anything in return — something inside Django broke in a good way. The tension seeped out of him in shuddering breaths.

“You’re safe,” Chaewon murmured, like a promise whispered against the bruises on his soul. “I’ve got you.”

His eyes slipped closed without meaning to. The chaotic music inside him — normally buzzing, skittering, discordant — quieted for the first time in days, settling into something softer. Something almost like a lullaby.

Within minutes, Django was asleep, breathing steady against her.

Chaewon stayed still, holding him as the twilight deepened around them. She stared out the windshield, tracing small patterns against his back with her free hand, marveling at the strange, beautiful boy fate had dropped into her life.

Whatever storm he’s carrying, she thought, I want to help him carry it.

She smiled softly, heart swelling with something she couldn’t name yet.

But she had time. They had time. And tonight, she’d guard him — just as he had promised to guard her.

Django slept soundly against Chaewon’s shoulder, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. For once, his dreams were not filled with chaotic battles or discordant music.

Instead, he stood in a quiet meadow, golden and endless under a soft, eternal twilight. At the center of it all was Chaewon — sitting barefoot on a smooth stone, singing a wordless song. The melody wasn’t frantic or desperate — it was simple, pure. It wrapped around Django like a blanket, stitching together the frayed edges of his spirit.

For the first time in a long time, Django didn’t feel hunted. He didn’t feel lost. He felt… home.

Meanwhile, in the real world, Chaewon carefully shifted Django off her shoulder once she realized he had truly fallen asleep. She eased him gently back into his seat, tucked a hoodie around him like a blanket, and quietly climbed into the driver’s seat.

The road stretched out before her like a ribbon of molten gold in the setting sun. The hum of the tires and the faint snoring from Django made her smile fondly.

He’s always carrying so much, she thought. Way more than he should have to.

As she turned onto the next stretch of highway, a strange ripple passed through the air — like reality itself fluttered.

Chaewon blinked — and suddenly, two figures stood in the road ahead. Time slowed. The car should have crashed, but instead, everything shimmered and pulled to a gentle halt.

Chaewon gasped as she recognized them — not from any book, but from the deep, instinctive recognition that came from being a demigod herself.

One figure radiated a fierce, golden heat — hair like fire, eyes like twin suns. Sekhmet, the lioness goddess of war, healing, and fierce protection.

The other was gentler but no less powerful — laughter and love emanated from her like a balm. Hathor, goddess of music, joy, and mothers.

“Be calm, child,” Sekhmet said, her voice a rumble in Chaewon’s bones. “We have come to speak of the boy.”

Chaewon gripped the steering wheel tighter but nodded. “Django?”

Hathor smiled, stepping forward. Her voice was a soft melody. “He used to call for me, you know. In his battles, in his loneliness. He would hum my songs without knowing whose voice he borrowed.” Her golden eyes grew sad. “But as he grew older, the mortal pain… the anger and guilt… built walls so high even my songs could not climb.”

Sekhmet crossed her arms, regal and devastating. “And now, the storm he has bottled is breaking open. His divine blood surges beneath his skin — fighting against the chains he put on it.”

Chaewon swallowed hard, glancing back at the sleeping Django.

“What… what happens if he doesn’t let go of the pain?” she asked, her voice small.

Hathor’s smile turned sorrowful. “Then the immortal part of him will tear him apart from the inside. His power will consume him — and he will be lost.”

Sekhmet’s gaze was sharp, like the point of a spear. “He must learn to forgive himself. He must learn to live. Or he will burn himself to ash, and all you love about him will be gone.”

Chaewon felt a lump rise in her throat.

“How do I help him?” she whispered.

“You are helping already,” Hathor said gently. “You sing to his soul without even knowing it. You give him something mortal worth holding on to.”

Sekhmet’s lips curved into something almost like a grin. “Be strong, little crow. When the moment comes — when the storm hits its fiercest — anchor him.”

And with that, they vanished. Time snapped back into place. The car rolled gently down the highway as if nothing had happened.

Chaewon gripped the wheel, her heart pounding. She looked over at Django, still peacefully asleep, unaware of the battle raging inside him.

Anchor him, she thought. No matter what.

After another hour or so, Django stirred awake. He blinked groggily, the last traces of the meadow dream slipping from his mind like mist. He rubbed his face and looked over at Chaewon, who was still driving — her hands steady on the wheel, her profile sharp and radiant in the afternoon sun.

“You okay?” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

Chaewon glanced over at him and gave him a small smile — but there was something more behind her eyes now. Something softer. Fiercer.

“Yeah,” she said. “How about you? How’d you sleep?”

Django hesitated, feeling the truth clawing at the back of his throat — the dream, the way his own mind had tried to offer him peace, the silent war still waging inside him.

But instead, he lied. “Fine. Slept like a rock.”

Chaewon didn’t call him out. She didn’t push. She just smiled a little sadly, reached over without a word, and gently laced her fingers with his.

Her hand was small but firm, grounding. Warm.

Django swallowed hard. His instincts screamed at him to pull away, to retreat behind his usual walls — but something deeper, something older and wounded inside him… just squeezed her hand back.

For a few minutes, they sat like that, hand in hand, the hum of the tires and the breath between them filling the silence.

Django turned his head slightly, watching her — the way her hair caught the light, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the effortless strength she carried like a second skin. Chaewon wasn’t just beautiful — she was good. She was wild and radiant and stubbornly kind in ways he hadn’t realized he was desperate for.

The words were right there, trembling on the tip of his tongue.

“Chae… I think… I think I might be falling for you.”

But the fear clamped down like iron chains around his chest. Not yet. Not until he could be someone worthy of her.

Instead, Django cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “Thanks for driving. You’re a better chauffeur than I deserve.”

Chaewon rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed a little pink. “Damn right I am.”

Django laughed — a real, honest laugh — and rested his head back against the seat, their fingers still intertwined.

Somewhere deep inside him, the storm rumbled. But for now, he had her. And that was enough to keep the darkness at bay a little longer. After another two hours on the road, the sun had already started to dip low in the sky when Django and Chaewon pulled into the next town. It was small — one main road, a gas station, and a modest hotel named The Sun’s Rest.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of coffee and lemons. The front desk clerk gave them an apologetic smile.

“Sorry folks, we’re almost full. Only one room left.”

Django immediately opened his mouth to protest — to say they’d find somewhere else — but Chaewon shot him a look. A dangerous, no-nonsense look that brooked no argument.

“We’ll take it,” she said brightly.

The clerk slid them a key. Room 7B. Django reluctantly followed her upstairs, his heart hammering with a mix of terror and secret, reckless joy.

Inside, the room was small but clean. One queen-sized bed dominated the space, framed by two nightstands and a single window with threadbare curtains. Chaewon tossed her bag down casually and started rummaging through it.

“You can take the bed,” Django offered stiffly, suddenly finding the carpet extremely interesting. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Chaewon snorted, throwing him a glance over her shoulder. “Don’t be stupid. It’s a big bed. You’re not gonna catch cooties.”

“Still—”

She crossed the room in three steps, poked a finger into his chest. “Django,” she said, slow and firm, “you’re staying. In the bed. With me. Period.”

Django opened his mouth again, but nothing came out except a useless squeak. His yearning warred with his restraint — but in the end, he nodded, defeated by her stubborn warmth.

After they both got ready for bed — Django in sweats and a worn T-shirt, Chaewon in an oversized hoodie and shorts — Django collapsed onto the bed with a bone-deep exhaustion. Within minutes, he was out cold, his breathing evening into a soft, steady rhythm.

Chaewon watched him for a long moment from where she sat at the foot of the bed.

He looked so young in sleep. So unguarded — all the walls and sarcasm and careful humor stripped away, leaving the soul underneath. Tender. Beautiful. Fragile in a way she didn’t know how to explain even to herself.

A soft warmth bloomed in her chest.

Without thinking, she reached out to brush a loose curl from his forehead — and that’s when the air shifted. It grew warmer, richer, almost honey-thick.

And suddenly, she was no longer alone.

Standing before her, luminous and serene, was a woman — or three women, blurred into one shifting figure. Brigid.

The triple goddess. Patroness of poetry, fire, and the forge.

Chaewon scrambled upright, heart racing.

Brigid smiled — a fierce, bright smile like the sun itself — and said in a voice that echoed from three mouths, “So, little daughter of the Morrigan… what are your intentions with my son?”

Chaewon stammered, face burning. “I — I don’t know. I… I’ve fallen for him,” she admitted, the words tearing free with terrifying honesty. “But I don’t know how to move forward. So I just… tease him. Flirt with him. Hope he figures it out.”

Brigid laughed — a low, musical sound that vibrated in Chaewon’s bones. “While he can be dense,” she said fondly, “he is mine and his father’s son. He truly cherishes you. And you’ll be great together… if he doesn’t destroy himself first.”

That last part landed like a stone in Chaewon’s stomach.

“Destroy himself?” she echoed, fear slipping into her voice.

Brigid’s smile faded slightly. She stepped closer, her three forms folding briefly into one — a woman both young and old, beautiful and terrible. “He holds too tightly to his pain. To the guilt that is not his to carry,” she said. “If he cannot accept all of who he is — both the mortal and the divine — his own soul will tear him apart.”

Chaewon swallowed hard, looking back at Django’s sleeping form. “I don’t want that,” she whispered. “I want him to be happy. To be free.”

“You may be the key to helping him,” Brigid said gently. “But he must choose it.”

Chaewon hesitated — then, heart pounding, asked, “How was he born? How did you… come to be his mother?”

Brigid’s expression softened with a bittersweet pride.

“His father — Django Sr. — was a Christian minister. A griot of his people. His life was… full of cages. Traditions. Pain. He clung to control, believing it would protect him. But after losing four children…” Her voice faltered, rich with old grief. “…he broke. He prayed. Not with neat sermons or polished words — but raw. Open. Begging for something — anything — to help him.”

Brigid stepped closer, her voice dropping to an intimate whisper.

“And I answered.”

Chaewon blinked, stunned.

“I bore him a son,” Brigid said. “A child of fire and music and wild hope. I warned him: Django would take the best and worst parts of both of all 3 of us, his father his mother, and me— the yearning, the stubbornness, the power — and forge it into something neither parent could fully understand. I begged him to be patient.”

Her face twisted with old sadness.

“But he wasn’t. As Django grew and fought against every boundary placed around him not out of malice or ill intent but because he wanted to build who he was not be molded into something else, Django Sr. grew afraid his fear of losing control never left him and he was worried that Django would falter despite his continued tenacity and resilience. They clashed, and in his fear on the eve of Django leaving for adulthood, Django Sr. disowned him — cutting him off from the strength of his ancestors, from his roots.”

Chaewon’s throat tightened painfully.

“And the worst part?” Brigid added softly. “He never hated his father. Django still believes it was his fault. What if he had just been better — quieter, smarter, wiser, smaller, easier — he could have been loved the way he craves like his sisters but that was never possible for him.”

Chaewon felt her own heart shattering a little at that.

“He doesn’t understand yet,” Brigid finished. “That he was never the problem. That he will never be whole until he embraces all that he is — not just the parts others wanted him to be.”

The room grew still again.

Brigid brushed a tender hand over Django’s curls, then looked at Chaewon one last time.

“Be patient with him, daughter of the Morrigan,” she said. “Guide him gently. And when the time comes… remind him he was born of prayer, not mistake.”

Then she was gone — leaving only the faint scent of woodsmoke and honey in the air.

Chaewon sat there for a long time, staring at Django’s peaceful face, her heart burning with a fierce, protective love she didn’t quite know how to name yet.

But she knew one thing:

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Django dreamed he was walking hand-in-hand with Chaewon down a cobblestone street at dusk. Lanterns glowed soft gold, and music — real, live music — floated from every alley, each note familiar like a half-remembered lullaby. Chaewon smiled up at him, radiant and happy. She was wearing a simple but beautiful white dress and Django… Django wore something that felt lighter than anything he’d worn in years. Hope, maybe.

They approached a quaint little house with a roaring hearth inside. It should’ve felt perfect.

But as Django led Chaewon inside — to meet his mother — he froze.

There, seated by the fire, was his mother. Only… she was obscured. A haze blurred her face and form, like sunlight on water. No matter how hard Django tried to focus, he couldn’t see her properly. Couldn’t reach her.

Dream Django’s heart cracked a little. Even in his dreams, he was still shut off. Still ashamed. Still… distant.

Chaewon noticed his hesitation. She squeezed his hand, grounding him without a word. Django swallowed thickly and pulled her closer, hiding his sadness behind a crooked grin. Somehow, even without seeing his mother clearly, the fire burned warmer with Chaewon by his side.

But before he could say anything, the dreamscape began to dissolve — melodies unraveling into sharp discordant chords — and Django jerked awake, heart pounding.

The first thing Django felt was warmth.

The second was softness — a light touch against his forehead. He blinked groggily awake and found Chaewon sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him with quiet fondness.

Still half-asleep and desperate for something real, Django reached out without thinking, pulling her down into his arms. Before she could say a word, he tilted his head and kissed her — not rough, not desperate, but aching and sweet.

Chaewon melted into him instantly, her hands fisting gently in the fabric of his shirt.

When Django finally pulled back, his face flushed and breathless, he whispered hoarsely, “I really like you, Chae. I… I wanna spend more time with you. If you’ll let me.”

For a moment, neither moved. Then — soft, glowing like the sunrise outside the window — Chaewon smiled and said simply, “I know.”

And in that moment, something subtle stirred in the air around them.

The old, ever-present hum of music inside Django — usually silent unless he was playing — buzzed to life faintly. A shimmer rippled through the room like the strings of a harp being plucked gently. Nothing explosive, nothing frightening. Just a small, undeniable truth being sung into the world.

Chaewon rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes, trusting him completely. Django’s heart swelled painfully, overwhelmed, and yet somehow… lighter.

He didn’t know if he was worthy. He didn’t know if he could fix the broken pieces inside him. But for the first time in a long, long while, Django thought — maybe — he didn’t have to be perfect to be loved.

Maybe he just had to be willing.

As Chaewon settled against his side, pulling the covers over both of them with sleepy grins, Django stared up at the ceiling — wide awake now.

There, in the quiet of the room, he could hear it.

The music inside him — usually just a faint hum he had learned to ignore — was louder now. Richer. It wasn’t chaotic like before when his powers surged uncontrollably; this was steadier, deeper, like a heartbeat made of melody. A promise he hadn’t realized he had been carrying all his life.

She’s the one pulling it forward, he thought hazily. Maybe… maybe I don’t have to be scared anymore.

Django closed his eyes and breathed her in — lavender shampoo and warmth and everything good he thought he’d lost long ago.

The melodies didn’t stop this time. They stayed, soft and sure as if the parts of him he’d spent so long burying were finally beginning to sing in earnest joy not just in rage and pain.

As they prepared for the final stretch of their journey, Chaewon took a moment to simply breathe. The sun was dipping low on the horizon, casting a golden hue across the parking lot where they had pulled over. She glanced at Django, who sat quietly on the edge of the car’s backseat, looking out at nothing in particular, lost in thought.

Without overthinking it, Chaewon crossed the small space between them and slid onto his lap, straddling him lightly but resting her forehead against his shoulder. Django froze for a second in surprise, but then relaxed, wrapping his arms gently around her waist as if anchoring himself.

The intimacy of the moment was sweetly chaste — no hurried kisses, no rushed caresses — just the quiet, grounding comfort of one soul leaning against another. She could feel his breathing slow, steadying against her own heartbeat. They stayed like that for a while, exchanging nothing but occasional glances and soft, unspoken reassurances.

That was when Chaewon noticed it: the music.

At first, she thought he must be humming again like he always did — Django could hardly go an hour without some song in his throat — but when she tilted her head to look at him, she realized with a small shock that he had fallen asleep in her arms.

Yet the music remained.

It wasn’t coming from his lips. It was radiating from him — a low, resonant vibration, like a river of sound running beneath his skin. Stronger, fuller than anything she had ever felt from him before.

Chaewon brushed a hand along his hairline, awe softening her expression. “You’re safe with me,” she whispered, her thumb stroking lightly along the shell of his ear. “All of you.”

At her words, something stirred deep inside Django — the immortal half he had spent so long denying. The music surged, growing louder and more intricate, a complex harmony fighting to break through.

But Django, even asleep, resisted instinctively. His body tensed under her touch. His face twisted into a grimace of pain as if he were grappling with some unseen weight. In the dreamscape of his mind, his father’s disapproving glare hovered like a specter, pressing down on him with the force of judgment he could never seem to escape.

Chaewon tightened her arms around him, her voice desperate but steady, “No… please, it’s okay. Let it out. I’m here.”

But the fight inside Django had already begun to spiral. The magic, locked away for so long, turned volatile — twisting and writhing like a serpent within him. His stomach churned violently. With a strangled noise, Django jolted awake, stumbling toward the nearby gas station bathroom.

Chaewon chased after him, concern etched across her face, but by the time she reached the door, she heard the harsh, awful sounds of him vomiting.

Inside, Django leaned against the sink, pale and trembling. He wiped his mouth shakily, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror. The music hadn’t left — it was louder than ever now, an endless chorus rising inside him, aching to be freed.

He splashed water on his face, desperate to calm the storm within.

Outside the bathroom, Chaewon pressed her hand against the door, closing her eyes.

You’re safe with me, she thought again, sending the words through whatever invisible link bound them now.

Even if you don’t believe it yet, I do.

After cleaning up and splashing cold water on his face, Django returned to the car. His stomach was still twisted in knots, but he masked it the best he could. Chaewon didn’t push — she just offered a quiet, supportive smile that both comforted and wrecked him.

They pulled back onto the road, the world outside bathed in the heavy gold of late afternoon. Django gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles whitening.

The music inside him hadn’t faded. It worsened — swelling against his ribs like a rising tide. A low hum vibrated through the car’s frame, and Chaewon tilted her head curiously.

“Django…” she said, almost a whisper, “you’re humming again.”

He shook his head sharply. “No, I’m not. It’s—it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

But she knew better. Chaewon watched as faint lines — intricate knotwork patterns like golden thread — shimmered under his skin, flickering with each frantic beat of his heart.

The music was leaking out of him. Not because he wanted it to — because he couldn’t stop it anymore.

Chaewon placed a gentle hand over his. “You’re not broken,” she said firmly. “You’re not wrong for this. You’re… beautiful, Django.”

His throat tightened painfully.

“You don’t understand,” he rasped. “It’s too much. If I let it out, if I stop fighting it—”

He clenched his jaw, feeling the old guilt, the old shame rising up like bile. The memory of his father’s stern voice echoed in his ears: “Control yourself, boy. Focus. You must be better than this.”The fear of becoming something weak and pitiful, something too large, too bright to fit in the careful life he had carved out for himself.

“I’ll lose everything,” he muttered.

“You won’t lose me,” Chaewon said, fierce and steady.

But Django didn’t — couldn’t — believe it. Not yet.

The golden glow around his hands flickered again before dimming, almost as if he was strangling it into silence. The car filled with a heavy, aching stillness, the kind that made Chaewon’s heart break a little.

She squeezed his hand once more, a silent promise that she wasn’t going anywhere.

Even if he couldn’t see it yet.

They drove on toward their destination — a boy carrying a power too heavy for his heart, and a girl determined to help him carry it, even when he couldn’t carry himself. They arrived just after dusk. The ruins were older than anything Django had ever seen — crumbling stone and twisted vines swallowed by time. At the center, on a pedestal of pale marble, rested the sword: a strange, luminous thing that pulsed faintly, almost like it was breathing.

Chaewon stepped forward instinctively, but the air around the sword pushed her back — firm but gentle, like a wall woven from light.

“It’s not for me…” she whispered, stepping away.

Before Django could move, a low, mocking voice slithered through the ruins.

“Ah, Songbird. I knew you’d come,” David drawled as he emerged from the shadows, eyes gleaming crimson in the dying light.

Django stepped in front of Chaewon without thinking, shielding her.

David smirked, fangs flashing. “You look tired, friend. So much fighting yourself… It must be exhausting,” he said, almost sympathetically. “Don’t worry, Songbird. I’ll make sure you never have to worry about the music again.”

In a blur, he lunged — faster than any human eye could follow.

Django caught him mid-strike — barely. They grappled, David’s monstrous strength forcing Django back. The music inside Django roared for release, but he gritted his teeth, crushing it down.

“You can’t protect her,” David whispered, breath cold against Django’s ear. “You can’t even protect yourself.”

David’s hand seized Django’s shoulder — fingers tightening — the start of the Turning. Django felt the chill of death creep under his skin.

This is it, whispered the darkness in his mind. You were always destined to fail.

But then —

Boom.

The music erupted from him, a radiant blast of gold, silver, and fierce blue. David was hurled back, screaming as divine fire burned through him.

Chaewon reached for Django, desperate to pull him toward the sword — but again, the energy turned her gently away. It was not her burden to carry.

“Go!” she cried.

Django stumbled toward the sword, every step a war. When his fingers closed around the hilt, everything — sound, time, breath — stopped.

The ruins melted away into a dreamscape of swirling gold mist.

Brigid stood before him, radiant and terrible — maiden, mother, and crone in one, her hair a crown of fire and wheat.

She regarded him with a mixture of exasperation and deep, aching love.

“Why,” she asked softly, “are you so determined to destroy yourself, child of my heart?”

Django clutched the sword tighter, trembling.

“Because… because I’m wrong,” he choked out. “Everything bad… everything horrible that’s happened — it’s because of me. Because of what I am.”

He looked away, shame raw on his face.

“David became a monster chasing the same dreams I did. Max died because I couldn’t protect him. And Dad —” His throat closed up. “Dad disowned me because I was too wild. Too much. Too wrong. I can’t afford to lose anyone else.”

The mist shuddered softly around them, as if the world wept for him.

Brigid stepped closer, hand hovering over his heart — not touching yet. The music inside him surged, tangled and painful.

“No, little flame,” she said fiercely. “You are not responsible for the choices others make.”

Her palm pressed gently to his chest. The sword — the sword — began to sing, a quiet hymn threaded with voices: You are not broken. You were never broken.

“David chose his path, seeking forbidden knowledge. Max chose to fight for you, knowing he might fall. Your father chose fear over faith. What will you choose?”

Her gaze softened.

“You can mourn their choices — but their sins are not your chains to carry.”

Tears welled in Django’s eyes, hot and blinding.

Brigid smiled — a rare, aching mother’s smile.

“You have carried the weight of others so they would not suffer. But it’s not your burden anymore. You are free.”

She glanced toward Chaewon — frozen in time but still reaching for him — and back at Django.

“And don’t you want to be there for her?”

Her voice warmed, teasing. “She really likes you. Teasing you, holding you when you’re too stubborn to hold yourself. It would be a real shame to destroy yourself here, wouldn’t it?”

Django looked at Chaewon — at the faith she had never once withdrawn — and something deep inside him loosened.

He drew a ragged breath — and let go.

The sword flared in his hand, blinding light and music exploding outward.

Time resumed in a rush.

Chaewon stumbled forward, and Django — golden runes glowing faintly across his skin, the sword humming with music — caught her with tear-streaked eyes and a quiet, relieved smile.

Chaewon smiled back, fierce and beautiful — just as David roared from the shadows.

The sword — no, Django himself — responded. The blade shifted into a massive bass guitar that played itself, every thrum of its chords unleashing radiant waves of light and shadow.

Sunlight and abyssal darkness crashed together, burning David where he stood.

David retched, screaming, claws extending as he hissed with rage and agony.

The guitar twisted — now an axe — which Django hurled, pinning David against a cracked stone wall.

Then Django sprinted to Chaewon, shielding her as the spirits of darkness — summoned by the sword’s will and his own heart — formed a protective barrier around them. Her phoenix wrapped around her, brilliant and proud, watching Django with wonder.

He was radiant and terrible both — the frozen flame, the illuminated darkness.

A weapon made for contradictions — forged in the darkness of Nyx and reforged in the golden furnace of Olympus — and now wielded by the only soul capable of balancing such forces.

Music roared through Django — he was the instrument — as he wrenched the axe free, shifting it into a shining glaive.

With tears streaming down his face, he drove the weapon into David’s heart.

“I’m sorry, old friend,” Django whispered.

David, gasping, smiled through the flames consuming him.

“It’s okay, friend,” he said hoarsely. “We’ll be together again… adventuring… you, me, Max, Scáthach, your lovely lady… I’ll make sure of it.”

As the fire took him, David’s final vision — a gift from the sword — showed him laughing beside Django, Chaewon , Max, Scáthach, himself, and Ophelia in a bright world beyond death, joy blooming across their faces.

He died smiling, free at last.The ruins were quiet now, except for the soft hum of the sword, settled once more into its pedestal. Ash floated in the air, the last traces of David’s passing.

Django slumped to the ground, the sword slipping from his fingers, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Chaewon dropped beside him without hesitation, wrapping her arms around his shaking shoulders.

For a long moment, they just sat there, pressed together, the enormity of it all crashing down on them. All the fear, the loss, the survival, the impossible choice he had made — it crushed the breath out of both of them.

Chaewon sniffled first, and Django — exhausted, overwhelmed — followed.

Tears spilled freely: not just from grief, but from a bone-deep relief neither of them could put into words.

And then, somehow — somehow — Django let out a shaky, stunned laugh.

Chaewon hiccupped through a sob, then started laughing too — broken, messy, beautiful.

They laughed and cried together until they could barely breathe, the sound of it echoing against the ancient stones.

Django wiped his face clumsily and turned to her, only to find her already looking at him, eyes shining.

Without thinking — without hesitation — he cupped her face in his calloused hands and kissed her.

Softly, almost reverently at first — like she might break.

Chaewon kissed him back with a fierce little hum in her chest, fingers tangling in his shirt to drag him closer. They kissed like they had been waiting lifetimes for it. Like the sword had only been a beginning, not an ending.

When they finally broke apart, both of them panting and giddy, Chaewon blinked up at him, dazed.

“Okay,” she said, laughing breathlessly. “Maybe I do like kissing people.”

Django barked a surprised laugh, the sound pure and bright.

“Hopefully only me,” he said, pretending to be stern but unable to keep the joy out of his voice.

Chaewon grinned at him, her whole face lighting up, and nodded happily. “Only you.”

Django leaned his forehead against hers, still laughing quietly. For the first time in a long, long time, the music inside him wasn’t something he had to fight.

It simply was — singing softly between them.

And for once, he let it. The ride back to the Rec Center was quiet but warm, Django’s hand resting lightly against Chaewon’s thigh the whole time, like he needed to make sure she was still there. She didn’t mind.She leaned against him, feeling the faint thrum of music still singing through his soul.

When they pulled into the cracked parking lot, the sun was just beginning to rise, streaking the sky in brilliant pinks and golds. Inside, the Rec Center buzzed with early activity — demigods and minor immortals coming and going, weapons clattering, laughter echoing off the scuffed gym floors.

The moment Django and Chaewon stepped through the doors, the room went still.

Heads turned. Mouths fell open.

It wasn’t just the battered, awe-struck look they wore like a second skin — it was the gleaming sword strapped across Django’s back. The blade shimmered between deep, velvet darkness and piercing, radiant gold, its surface shifting and alive like liquid starlight.

Whispers broke out almost immediately.

“Where the hell did he get that?” “Is that…a trueborn blade?” “That’s pure Darkness and Light—no mortal’s supposed to even touch that!” “And is he… holding hands with Chaewon?”

Django, usually quick with a smirk or a joke, looked uncharacteristically shy. Chaewon, however, only grinned like a cat who had eaten an entire flock of canaries.

“He slayed a vampire,” she said brightly, slinging an arm around Django’s shoulders. “Drove me cross-country, fought off death itself, and answered a quest from Hecate. No big deal.”

Before anyone could recover from that bombshell, a ripple of otherworldly energy passed through the building. Two goddesses — one cloaked in midnight, the other crowned in moonlight — stepped through the doors as if the walls themselves had opened for them.

Hecate, wearing torn black jeans and a leather jacket, surveyed the room with a grin full of wicked amusement. Artemis, pale and cool beside her, simply raised an eyebrow at the spectacle.

Hecate’s sharp gaze landed on Django immediately.

“Of course,” she said, laughter bubbling from her chest, “the drama queen needed someone as dramatic, theatrical, and musically brilliant as she was.”

She was, of course, talking about the sword.

Django shifted awkwardly, reaching up to unsling the blade from his back, fully prepared to offer it to her.

But when he tried to hand it over — Nothing happened.

The sword refused to leave his grip.

It pulsed once, fiercely, the music within it harmonizing with the music inside Django himself. The connection wasn’t just deep — it was eternal. Not a bond of convenience or circumstance, but of fate — across all lifetimes, all incarnations.

Hecate laughed harder, tossing her wild hair over one shoulder.

“Looks like she’s already chosen, kid,” she said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “You’re her true host — not just now, but always. No takebacks.”

The crowd murmured excitedly, half in awe, half in jealousy.

Chaewon beamed at Django, pride practically radiating off her.

Hecate’s sharp eyes flicked to Chaewon, a mischievous glint lighting up her face.

“You might have some competition, little crow,” she teased. “Your boyfriend just got himself a very clingy new partner.”

Chaewon let out a low, happy growl — almost a purr — and leaned possessively into Django.

“Well,” she said playfully, “I’d rather it be her than some flimsy second-rate weapon. Besides, she gets him like I do. I guess I can share… just this once.”

Django turned beet red but couldn’t stop grinning.

Hecate threw back her head and laughed again, the sound wild and free.

Artemis just shook her head in fond exasperation, muttering, “Mortals and their endless drama,” as she moved to inspect the sword more closely — not to take it, but to admire it, as one admires a rare comet crossing the sky.

And somewhere deep inside Django, the music thrummed — stronger, surer, finally sung for himself, for her, and for the future they might build together.

As the crowd slowly dispersed, some still casting awed (and slightly jealous) glances at Django and his radiant sword, two particularly mischievous figures darted forward — Yujin and Cecilia, grinning like foxes about to raid the henhouse.

“So,” Yujin said loudly enough for half the room to hear, elbowing Django in the ribs, “when’s the wedding?”

“Yeah,” Cecilia chimed in, winking at Chaewon. “You slay a vampire together, survive a death quest, get soul-bonded to a magic sword — you’re basically married already.”

Django opened his mouth — probably to sputter out a very awkward denial — but before a single sound could escape, Chaewon’s eyes widened slightly.

The world tilted — not unpleasantly, but like a song shifting keys mid-melody.

For a moment, the Rec Center, the crowd, the noise all fell away — and she saw.

A glimpse of another time, another place.

She and Django, a little older — but still laughing, still dancing wildly under a star-drenched sky, the world blurring around them in a rush of music and monster-slaying and breathless kisses. Both wore matching simple wedding bands, the metal gleaming faintly with enchantments old as the gods themselves.

They looked — happy. Whole.

Chaewon blinked hard, the vision fading like mist under sunlight.

When she returned to herself, Django was still fumbling for words, cheeks flaming.

“I—uh—well—we’re not—technically—”

Chaewon just smiled. A soft, knowing smile. She slipped her hand into his, intertwining their fingers, feeling the warm thrum of his music against her skin.

“Maybe not today,” she said lightly, squeezing his hand, “but someday.”

Django’s voice caught in his throat.

Yujin and Cecilia practically squealed before being shooed off by an amused-looking Artemis.

Chaewon just leaned in, bumping her forehead against Django’s.

“You’re stuck with me, songbird,” she whispered.

And somewhere deep inside Django’s chest, the sword hummed in agreement — as if it, too, had seen that future, and was already singing the first notes of their shared song.

[monsterblogging]

Fuck JKR: How To Create A Harry Potter-Esque Aesthetic Without Any Harry Potter In It

So I saw a few posts from people mentioning that a reason people might be into Harry Potter is because of the aesthetic or atmosphere, and ya know what? I can't even argue that, because if there's one thing about HP, it's that it Sure Does Have Aesthetic And Atmosphere.

So! I'm gonna tell you how to STEAL ITS LOOK! Because:

JK Rowling considers ANY support of her work to be support of her politics.

Fan content/fan merch is still free advertisement for Rowling's work. YOU might not choose to give her money, but you can't be sure you won't pull people into the fandom who will.

Everyone should create more things that aren't tied to corporate-owned IP, period.

So. Most things in these films have an aged, antique look. You'll see a lot of brown hues, both on sets and on people's clothes. There's a lot of near-blacks (especially charcoals and walnuts) and lighter grays on the sets, especially from the third film onwards. (Wood is more often than not stained dark, while lighter hues are often provided by bricks or plaster.) The last two films use a lot of stormy blues and grays. Prisoner of Azkaban also emphasizes contrast between tones, which heightens a sense of texture. True black also appears throughout the films, such as on students' uniforms and many Death Eaters' outfits, and on the chairs in Malfoy Manor. White appears occasionally, especially on Hedwig, students' shirts, or during winter scenes, but pure white isn't otherwise really common. Paper or parchment is usually warm beige. There's also a lot of silver, gold, and brass, often appearing on things like dishware, tools, trinkets, Christmas baubles, and so forth. Bronze also comes up occasionally.

Reds, yellows, blues, and greens are pretty common throughout the films, even outside of Hogwarts, though you'll see just about every color somewhere. For example, orange is often found around the Weasleys, and orange, maroon, and purple feature in the divination classroom. Teal features prominently in Grimmauld Place (contrasted with saffron yellows).

Most colors aren't really super bright; a lot of the time they look a little faded, or like they're colored with natural dyes. If you use medieval illustrations to source your colors, or aim for earth tones and jewel tones, you'll be about right for a lot of what you see in the films. Bright colors are pretty rare; some of the brights we do see are in Honeydukes, Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, and certain magical effects, such as Floo fire.

A lot of light is provided by candles, torches, or fireplaces, which cast a warm yellow/orange light. Moonlight is represented by blue light in the first and second films. Blue light is also used for the Goblet of Fire and the penseive.

Another thing you gotta have in there is clutter. It should look kinda antique and give off a kind of magical or mystical atmosphere. Think books, storage jars, orreries, crystal balls, old lamps, antique clocks, vintage glassware, antique mirrors, old teapots, and little metal trinkets. (If you're trying to decorate a physical room, your stuff doesn't have to actually be antique, of course; antique-styled is fine.)

Texture is also very important, which can be represented with full or top grain leather book covers, stone walls, dents and scratches, cracks, embellishments, and embossing. Additionally, all damage and wear gives a sense of oldness to things. Stains and variegated colors also add interest. (If you're decorating a physical space, you might look into aging/distressing/antiquing techniques.)

If you want a space to look cozy, you don't really want bare or blank walls. Shelves, paintings, tapestries, and wallpaper can all help with that. Again, use brown, rather than black. Warm, yellow lighting will also help. If you lean toward blacks and cool lighting, you're going to have a colder-looking space.

Fashion in the wizarding world is extremely all over the place, ranging from stereotypical fantasy witch and wizard clothing, to pretty normal vintage clothing, to some wacky vintage-inspired looks, to the kind of fashion that would be put under the cozycore umbrella, to ordinary modern clothing. One thing that's absent is subculture fashion as we know it. (Bellatrix Lestrange does look kinda goth, but it's less a subculture thing, and more a "yeah we're putting our bad guys in fancy black stuff" thing.)

If you're trying to lean into the whole eccentric/quirky/old-fashioned kinda thing, you'll want to pass over the more modern and obviously synthetic type stuff. Also, patterns, textured fabrics, knits, mixed colors, lace, and other embellishments can add interest to outfits.

Architecture is also all over the place. Hogwarts is pretty medieval, while places like Diagon Alley give more Victorian vibe. The main thing is looking old fashioned and quaint.

To try and summarize all of that:

Browns. Lots and lots and lots of browns. Blacks and grays, too. Contrast between light and dark browns and blacks/grays.

More beige and gray than pure white; more charcoal gray and dark walnut brown than true black.

Among other colors, mostly earth tones and jewel tones. Very limited brights.

Polished metal and glass also add shininess.

Old-fashioned. Vintage. Antique.

Clutter, texture, patterns, variegation. Minimalist/clean aesthetic avoided.

Aged and distressed.

Lighting often yellow/orange due to coming from fire. Blue/teal light often coming from moonlight and certain magical light sources.

Now, here are some things we actually don't see. I'm not mentioning them to discourage you from using them if they're what you really want, but to inform you about them so you can consider whether they might throw off the vibe for you:

Green/purple/black combos.

Purple/silver/black combos. Pink/purple/teal combos.

Pink/black combos.

Orange/black combos.

Green/orange/purple combos.

Red/black combos.

Basically a lot of combos commonly associated with Halloween, witches, or vampires.

Big raw crystals. We see crystal balls now and then, but that's it.

Other natural items used as decorations - feathers, pinecones, sticks, etc. The one exception I can think of are the shells embedded in the walls of Shell Cottage.

Crushed velvet. Lots of fantasy uses this, HP films don't.

If you need inspiration, go look up medieval and renaissance diagrams and illustrations of stuff like the four elements, the zodiac, the solar system, and all that. Go look up alchemical symbols and emblems. Search up pre-WWII vintage ephemera. Go look up Victorian clipart. Look up stuff like botanical, zoological, and astronomical books and art from the 17th-19th centuries. Look up vintage wallpaper and fabric patterns. Look at vintage-style crafts. Research period architecture and fashion. Research European heraldry.

If you're wondering what exactly you're going to design around without Hogwarts and the Four Houses, here are some suggestions:

The four classical elements (earth, air, fire, and water)

The four seasons

Card suits - Tarot, French, whatever you want

Holidays - Halloween, Christmas, whatever

Fairy tales

Flowers

Mythical creatures

Bugs

Birds

Any other animals you like

Ecosystems

Your own original worldbuilding

So yeah, there ya go. You don't need to keep participating in HP to indulge in the aesthetic.

[NOTICE: Anybody who clowns on this post by making this about them and their childhood, patting themselves on the back about their chosen means of "ethical" participation, praising the fandom, or adding any other form of irrelevant bullshit is getting blocked. Also, I don't want to hear about PJO or Earthsea again for the millionth time, either.]

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

now we HAVE to see that championship moment 🥺

A Roll of the Dice--A 'Roll for Initiative' Blurb

Series Masterlist

Complete Masterlist

Your wish is my command. Ask is referencing an earlier post I made about custom cleats that Joe wears.

___________________

The air around you is tense and biting. Jimmy and your dad are huddled together, comparing notes and concerns about the game today. It’s a hard fought season. After a three game winning streak, only interrupted by one loss, with the Bengals fighting tooth and hot molten nail to cinch an 11-6 record, with a knock down and drag playoff game on top, leaves you here on the sidelines--you, Robin, and your mother pressed in tightly for the Championship game yet to be played out on the field in front of you. 

Your phone shakes and you begrudgingly dig it out, fingers curled in to preserve their warmth. But this is what you do for love, you suppose. You sit in the cold, the air biting at your nose harshly. Storm begged for a treat and I had to give in after he was quite well behaved for his inhaler. 

The text is from Joe’s personal assistant, who swings by the house when you two are gone to check in on Storm and so these texts aren’t new to you. A picture follows it up of Storm, happily licking from the tubed treat. 

He knows who he can push over. Thanks again for checking up on him. 

A laugh reaction comes near immediately before the bubbles populate. Everyone’s a sucker to Storm. Happy to help! 

And it’s true everyone is a sucker to him. Storm knows he can get what he wants when he wants it too. A fact that you’re more than sure no one else would dare object too. The crowd rumbles around you, as the speakers overhead crackle to life. The siren song for every football fan in the stadium, as yet another intense match up waits to unfold. 

The teams begin to run out as the announcers roar overhead. The decibel reaches a level higher than you thought possible, but against the Eagles’ you’re not sure why you’d ever have such a low expectation. You can’t make out individual players, not quite at this distance, but you watch them, cladded in their white uniforms, all helmets and cleats thundering over the ground as they charge out. 

“Today’s a special one folks. As the Bengals take the field, we are pleased to announce, from the Man of Steel himself, Joe Burrow, that he’s dawning custom made cleats in collaboration with Nike.”

The news furrows your brow. You’re arm in arm still with Robin and your mother and you can sense their collective gaze on you. You look at them to see they’re also unsure of what is unveiling. Before either one of you can speak, the announcer’s continuing on. The screen now panning from Joe’s face to a cut down at his cleats as he runs out onto the field. 

You immediately place the colors, even on the Jordan inspired cleat, throat seizing at the sight. Joe almost always wears the black and white Jordan 1 cleats. Those black and white cleats are more his uniform than his actual uniform. The kind thing that he’d probably never change out of superstition. You’ve heard the boys talk about only changing out cleats, or gloves, when it felt like it had bad juju--a few too many dropped passes, or interceptions, or bad blocks. The kind of thing that you’d written off as a constant, a piece of his routine, until now. 

“Here, and I quote from Burrow, ‘Blue, pink, and teal--colors that on their own may not seem like much, but combined are a testament to the fight, courage, and strength I’ve witnessed in someone incredibly close to my partner and I. I wear these colors today to honor their fight, to honor the fight of everyone impacted by thyroid cancer. And no fight would be complete without a little bit of lucky dice to go along with it.’ Incredible words right there.”

The base of the cleat is white, with the outer ankles sporting a teal d20--the number 20 facing out in gold--the toe is a tiger stripe effect of the blue, pink, and teal. All you can do is stare, chin quaking at the sight of him running towards his teammates, his feet decorated for you and your mother.

“At the bottom of your screens for those of you at home, there is a QR code for you all to scan. It will take you to the Thyroid Cancer’s Association’s donation page, for the division up in Cincinnati, where if you are able and willing you can leave a donation to those who need your support. There is also a video on that page too, an interview with Joe about the cleats and the process of making them.”

There’s no way to control it, to ease back the tears, to keep your composure. It doesn’t matter if there are cameras, if there’s a stadium that will witness the breast bone cracking sobs, but you turn to your mother, her own tears streaming down her face and you’re so utterly relieved you can still turn to her. That she’s still here in your hands, as you wind your arms around her neck. 

For Joe to hail that, call out and honor you and your mother in a moment about him makes you ache. You want them to win, want this moment to ring full and deep. 

“Now, if you don’t marry that boy,” your mother laughs as she pulls away from your embrace. The kind of tease that you now is all truth, painted in a laugh. 

Robin’s hand is steady over your back when you turn to her, looping her neck in a hug too. “Thank you,” you choke out to her. “For making him the man he is. For just being there.” 

You need it to convey that you don’t know who Joe would be if anything else in his life didn’t happen the way it did. You need Robin to know that not only are you happy, you are so deeply seen by Joe and she is at the root of that too. 

“No,” Robin corrects, “that’s you. He does what he does because he loves you and that’s because of who you are.”

Your face is tight from the tears, when you turn back to the field and watch the starting kick, having missed the coin toss but knowing you heard in the background as it was discussed. Your skin is hot now too from the emotions you’ve worked up as you watch Joe’s every step in those cleats. 

The opening drive is brutal--both teams going damn near blow for blow. Every yard is a scramble. Every tackle hits harder. Your heart leaps in your chest at every run and every pass. The Eagles score first, but Joe is lightning in a bottle when the offense returns to the field, coming up from behind to even out the score. 

At the start of the second quarter, with a time game of 7-7, you can also hear the mantra in Joe’s head, the analysis he must be doing about needing to score not to just get ahead, but to create momentum that should the defense tire out they have breathing room and then some. But given the way the team’s been playing--scrappy, physical, and hard-- you wonder if Joe would ever actually entertain the idea of taking this game slow. A field goal and a touchdown puts the Bengals in the lead but the turned field goal proves to be nearly deadly at the end of the the half. 17-10. 

The Eagles set a deadly pace on their first drive back after the half time, bringing the game back to a tie at 17-17. The score board teeters and totters--flipping from one lead to a tie back to another lead. You’re push to the edge of your seat, right up against the short metal gate to help people up and down the section. Your voice may ultimately get lost in the masses but you hope you’re loud enough to cut through the noise. “Let’s go, hon! C’mon! It’s fucking showtime! You’re not tired; you’re never tired. Not here! Not on this field!”

Joe takes the snap, drops into the pocket. The offensive line is holding and holding until the dam breaks. Joe scrambles out from immediate danger of a sack, drops another few yards back, cocks his arm back and the ball sails. Spiraling around and around in on itself. Tee catches it, breaks through a tackle, carries on up to the forty, then the thirty-five, crosses the thirty, books his way up to the twenty yard line, then the ten. 

“C’mon Tee! C’mon! Can’t no one stop you.”

“Touchdown for the Bengals!”

24-20. Right in time for the fourth quarter to begin. You duck your head into your chest for a moment, whispering a prayer just to get ahead and to keep a lead. That’s what this game is about, not just getting a lead, but securing it. 

Just an edge, just one little sliver of a mistake that they can capitalize on. Joe said he viewed football like chess, reading the opponent in the moment and trying to use that knowledge to think one to two steps ahead. It’s a language you understand mostly in broad strokes. But you watch the field now, praying you see that opening too. That you see the crack in the defenses, that Joe sees it too, as he stands on the sidelines, watching, rallying with the offense, talking to Coach Taylor, the Defensive coordinator too. 

They just need the smallest of slivers, the tiniest thing to put them ahead. The game feels like a grid lock, though the Bengals are still ahead, the Eagles have the ball. The play lock still has 3 minutes left. 

“Just one small sliver,” you whisper out into the universe, praying that the die stitched into Joe’s cleats are more than just decoration. 

The ball is up, you watch it, willing some force of the cosmos to wobble it, render the 4th down conversion mute. At the apex, the ball descends, nose dives down and it looks like it’s going to land square into the Eagles' receivers hands. Until a second pair of gloved hands stretch up, tips of the fingers just enough to send the ball down early, down the white jersey and into Bengals’ hands. The start of a massive return if only he can catch it and keep control of the ball. 

“It’s caught! It’s tipped out of the way. We’re at the 25!”

Blood rushes up into your ears, muffles the sound of the cheers but not the voice of the announcers, “The 30, 35. The 40!”

And you count alongside the announcers, starting at the 45.

50. 

45.

40. 

35.

30.

25.

20.

15.

10.

5. 

All. The. Fucking. Way. 

The stadium erupts. The play clock ticks, and ticks until the 2 minute warning. With the Bengals to take over possession with a touchdown.  Their focus remains unbroken, you can see Joe huddling the team together, watch every single man on the side sharpen their gaze. No game is guaranteed until the play clock strikes 00:00.

You watch every snap, and can just barely catch the cadences that Joe calls above the roar around you. There are no knees taken, not yet. Not until it’s beyond a shadow of a doubt with just a minute left on the clock and the Bengals have made two first downs on their possession, pushing the Eagles further and further back from making a return themselves. 

You glance at the clock. It drops once, a thirty second dump. Joe’s still kneeling, ball in hand. His head turns and you’re not even sure if he can see you, make you out that clearly, but maybe he can. Because he points one singular digit over in your direction before standing again. Your skin buzzes, with the cold, with the excitement. 

“C’mon, hon! C’mon! Right there! It’s right fucking there!” you holler. 

Joe takes the snap again, dropping down to one knee immediately afterwards. Another thirty second dump. 

31-20 blares from the scoreboards. You’re up before you can realize what your feet are doing, slapping at the padded railing beneath you. The Bengals are going to the SuperBowl. AFC Champions yet again. 

And Joe wastes not a second, pulls the helmet off his head and runs. His teammates are booking into the field, slapping at Joe as he passes them, but none of them matter. Not at all. You can see the camera trying to catch up with him, a reporter working her damnedest to keep up with his full on sprint. 

Your laughter bubbles from you right as Joe bends his knees, hopping onto the ledge. He reaches out one hand locking in around your elbow. You’re gripping onto his jersey and pads. “You did it, Joe. You fucking did it.” Your hoarse as you shout it, can feel and hear the scratching and creaking in your voice. 

Joe takes your cheek, palm pressed into your face. “For you--I did it for you and your mom.” You can’t even respond. Your throat seizes, the breath you were going to use to speak freezing at his words. Joe’s lips are pressed to your cheek, a long and dramatic press. “Love you,” he whispers against your ear. 

“Love you more,” you return just as soft. His words are just enough to thaw you out. 

“Speaking of Mrs. Tammy,” Joe grins as he scoots back out of your embrace to face your mom. “How do you like the new kicks?” He swings his legs just a little to show them off. 

Her hug is deep, rocks the both of them side to side. “They look wonderful. Thank you. And congratulations, Joe.”

Robin and Jimmy are quick with their hugs and praise before Joe slips back down into the rowdy sea of interviews and his teammates. A hat is slapped onto him, a t-shirt thrown over his shoulder. But you can only watch, teary eyed again as Joe speaks, catching the trail of other die stitched into the middle of the cleats too. All of them with their highest number facing out in gold, a 2 all the way up to the double 00 for the d100. 

All his die set to a winning combination. 

________________________________

‘Screaming, crying, throwing up--just look how proud they are of Joe in the background. And the cleats, oh the cleats made me bawl.’ 

‘If my man doesn’t custom make cleats for me, kiss me on national television even though he doesn’t do PDA and honor my momma at the same time, I don’t want him.’ 

‘The IMMEDIATE run to them I’ll just be single forever.'

“Those are just a few of the comments from the pretty viral moment of you, Joe, running to the sidelines after winning the AFC championships into the arms of your partner,” the interviewer laughs. 

Joe nods, unsure of where the information is headed question wise. “Okay. A little odd, it’s all about my relationship.”

“It was a very sweet gesture, You have the cleats made for your partner and their mother, correct?” The question is met with sharp silence. But she recovers. “And then you unveil them at the game, go on to win, and find them immediately in the crowd. I think people are just a little shocked to see that from you. Is your intention to share more?”

“Well, I wanted to share that moment with them, of course. It’s been a pretty intense season. The team's fought hard to be where we are and it meant a lot to me to have my loved ones support at the game. But I don’t think I should be setting some sort of standard or bar for anyone else’s relationship. Nor do I think questions about my job should be about, like, my romantic life, you know? I play football and just happened to want to share that moment with my family that attended to support me.”

“Is that a no on sharing more?”

There’s a teasing lift, he shouldn’t go there, but Joe’s not going to share more. He leans in a smidge closer to the mic. “Is there a question about football in there?”

It seems to rather effectively shutdown the line of questioning and when the next reporter goes, the conversation turns back to preparations for the SuperBowl, if the team is approaching the lead up that game any differently.

“SuperBowl or not, it is a game. We’ve been consistent since our break in our performance from the bye week in the reps we run, how we train and I don’t think there’s any plans to deviate from that,” Joe answers. 

“Will the custom cleats make a return on the SuperBowl stage?”

“We’ll see. There’s some good juju in them, but tune in to find out.”

[noneorother]

It couldn't be a masquerade ball because it was an unmasked ball

The S2E5 ball symbolism seemed very prominent to me when I watched Season 2 even for the first time, but I saw @meatballlady ask this wonderful question & Neil's answer and thought : hey why not share my thoughts on the clothing at the ball as well.

If you're reading this you probably know all about how coat lapels are an important character signifier both seasons of GO. If not, TLDR; jacket lapels align with a character's intentions, and their alignment with a faction is determined by their jacket colour (light goes up or dark goes down).

So why do I say that this was an "unmasked" ball? Because if you follow the lapel theory, all the important participants who seem neutral in real life gain allegiances in their costumes when they enter the bookshop. Let's break it down.

Crowley & Aziraphale

If you aren't just making everyone fancy, but actually trying to reveal intentions during this ball, then it would make sense that Aziraphale and Crowley don't change outfits : they've been wearing their hearts on their sleeves since season 1. Maggie

In everyday life, Maggie purposely wears tops without lapels. Everything is round or crew-neck, and she never wears black. In the ball reveal, Maggie wears black for the first time, and has big pointing down lapels on her navy satin shirt, indicating alignment with Hell in both colour and intention. All of her cutesy bows and hearts and gold jewelry are gone. She wears sparkly silver only, and a prominent wristwatch (like Crowley). However, her pinkie ring is still present. (go read @indigovigilance's post about pinkie rings, it's great).

Nina

Nina is all over the place in real life. Colours clash and she wears black and earth tones often. She also never wears jackets with lapels. When we get to the ball however, she suddenly has a golden brocade jacket with teal & crimson shoulders, and golden hair clasps. She becomes exactly what Maggie is attempting to project in real life, but her lapels are pointing out and up, so alignment with heaven in both colour and intention. No pinkie ring on Nina in the series. Under the jacket she wears green and crimson. A confused pairing as I've ever seen on the show. Who knows what that's about*. Jimbriel

In normal life, Jim is ultra-neutral with lapels pointing out (neither up nor down) on a brown coat. (Underneath is a whole different ball game for another post.) Jimbriel gets a hilariously Liberace-fied version of the Aziraphale outfit : bowtie, poweder blue and labels pointing down and also to the side, fluffy white and details like Michael and Uriel. He's HELPING AZIRAPHALE WITH THE PLAN, wink wink nudge nudge. You go Jim. Mutt

Mutt the magic shop owner also has a pinkie ring in real life, as does his spouse, and keeps it for the ball. He gains impressive gold details on his lapel-less tunic, and the colour shifts from base of black to a base of navy, with red and white flowers instead of orange and teal swoops. His sleeves widen, becoming almost an angelic robe-like tunic, making him kind of a mysterious mashup of symbols. Arnold

Arnold of Arnold's music shop fame is wearing black with rainbow tie and suspenders before the ball, without much jewelry save a pinkie ring. Inside the ball, he keeps the black, but now has crimson and teal accents instead of rainbow, and lapels that are very high up, but that point out to the side, making him more neutral/Mutt the magician aligned, even if he's wearing black. Justine

Justine wears Hellish green and black in real life on her daisy patterned dress, no lapels here. She has no pinkie ring either, but once inside the ball, all the green melts away and she's allllll black flowered lace. She also has no lapels here, making her also more aligned with Mutt & Arnold than anything, but just as mysterious. Mrs Sandwich

Mrs Sandwich seems easier to judge. Black and gold no lapels in real life, alllll sparkly black and big downturned lapels for the ball. No pinkie ring on her in either outfit, but a prominent wristwatch. This makes total sense to me. Even if she might not be aligned with hell directly, she runs a brothel and profits off of sex workers so probably a pretty bad lady if we're weighing the odds from a biblical perspective. In other moments she also seems pretty fond of Crowley, and pretty unhappy with Nina (see above). Mr&Mrs Cheng

Mr & Mrs Cheng are VERY interesting to me. While Cheng wears all black in real life, and we never see her partner, she is transformed in the ball into the only character (besides Nina in solid green) who wears a green pattern. She has become a plant/garden (specifically a Monsterra, like in Corwley's box), and her husband is the pollinating golden butterfly, (with neutral lapels on a black background). Neither of them wear pinkie rings, but Mrs Cheng keeps her distinctive teal earrings, and is now sporting red lipstick, making her and her husband most associated with Nina. Nina also trusts Cheng enough to mind her coffee shop whilst talking to Crowley across the street in the last dregs of E6. As an aside, they also seem to *sort of* have a pre-teen girl child at this ball. We see her briefly in the evacuation but very hidden between other characters, and never in the ball proper. Mr Brown

Do we need to go through Mr Brown's outfit again? I don't think so. ------------------------------ * I have a feeling it's to do with other things, like Jim's sweater vest, but I'll have to dig into it later.

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

so 96% of you wanted to see me do a redesign of mermista. and while i can draw, i've been stuck in an art block so i opted to just draw over her current design. i don't hate all of it so i'm not changing everything.

let me go through the complaints i do have about her design.

first off, she does not look like royalty in the slightest. she just looks like some girl who likes the color blue. even the gold accents don't really help. i'm not saying she has to walk around in a gown and tiara but at least add something to her design to indicate that she's a princess?

secondly, those clown shoes are NOT IT. who even thought of that? they look uncomfortable and ridiculous, and doesn't make sense for her character design.

those sleeves/armor (??? i honestly don't know what those are) and gold gauntlets also do not look practical in the slightest. they look like they'd be a hindrance for a swimmer. and guess what, she still has them in her mermaid form.

the OG mermista design wasn't the greatest but at least it looked like she could swim comfortably.

so my objectives were:

give her outfit a more streamlined look so it would make sense for her powers

make her look like actual royalty and not some girl with a cool color palette

expand more on the indian-inspired design and reflect that in her usual outfit, instead of putting her in a saree-inspired dress for one episode and calling it a day (i say saree-inspired because it's not really a traditional saree, but more like a modern and slightly western rendition)

i made two versions of her redesign - one with a dupatta and one without. the dupatta, i understand, could be a hindrance in certain situations but i just wanted to give an example of how to take inspiration from a culture instead of just using it for brownie points. a dupatta is something indians would wear with their casual attire, mostly with salwars, unlike sarees which are generally reserved for special occasions (there are sarees that are casual wear, but they're still not the most convenient).

secondly, i gave her a headwear inspired from desi wedding attire and older indian tiaras. mind you, indian tiaras themselves are a lot more complex and beautifully crafted, but 1. it would take me ages to draw all the details and 2. i figured mermista would go for a simpler look, especially when she's not at her palace. also, while indian headwears are usually made with gold and jewels, i gave mermista's headwear pearls because.. pearls, oysters, ocean. mermaid vibes.

i changed the shoes and gave her a pair that are inspired by water shoes. i know that she would transform into a mermaid while swimming anyway, but these still look more comfortable without serving clowncore.

i replaced her gold accents with silver because the gold doesn't really mesh well with the teal, in my opinion. while indians are known for their love of gold, a lot of people nowadays opt for silver, because it is less expensive and more compatible with casual wear.

i highlighted the fishscale pattern in her outfit since you could barely see them in the original.

i gave her a bindi and the necklace that 80s mermista wore, as a tribute to the OG show, and the design is complete. i know that some of these may not be the easiest to animate but if they could animate perfuma's cape thing, entrapta's hair and a hundred different outfits for catra; this design is just child's play.

let me know what you think of the redesign and if you want me to do the same for the other characters!

[age-of-greta]

The Sun

The Sun presents a feeling of optimism and fulfillment. It represents the dawn which follows the darkest of nights.

Author’s note: wow hi!!! It’s been a minute! Life has been busy, but I have been thinking of this fic for a while. This one is entirely spontaneous and will have no posting schedule. Just as soon and I can get it written it will be out. I hope you guys enjoy :)

Pairing: Josh x reader and Jake x reader

Warnings: cursing, angst, adult themes, alcoholic consumption, smoking

Word count: 10.1 k

PART 1:

“I can’t fucking stand you! Matter of fact, I hate you!” You scream, your voice raw with emotion.

He lets out a laugh. “Yeah, right back at you Sugar.”

You’re boiling inside. Filled with rage, sadness, and anger. You can’t decide which emotion is the most prominent at the moment. You blink away the hot tears that have formed in your eyes. You feel the sting of them rolling down your cheeks.

“I’m fucking done. We are done. It’s over.” You say, with still a hint of anger, but at least you weren’t screaming this time.

He stares at you for a moment. Blank expression, impossible to read. You think maybe for 0.1 seconds you see a hint of sorrow in his eyes, but with him that would be impossible.

Eventually he scoffs at you. “Fine by me.”

He stays for a few moments with his eyes lingering on you.

“Get the fuck out!” You shout, while tears spill down your face.

Then he’s out the door as fast as it started. Leaving you there in a puddle of your own tears and rage.

Nothing had ever made you feel this way before. You were unsure how you would ever feel normal again. But there was one thing that you were entirely sure of- you fucking hated Jake Kiszka.

**

Teal is so tacky. It’s one of the tackiest colors to exist, you had decided. That's what you were doing at this very moment staring at a teal handbag that you would like to set on fire. It was sitting on a bar next to an equally tacky girl. You realized how insane you felt, but you needed to do something to distract your mind from the truth. Tonight was your third date with a guy named Aiden. He was fine, there was nothing wrong with him. He was attractive, ambitious, successful, and nice. But a part of you knew you were already so bored with him. You never knew how to pick a good guy. Which is why you tried your best to give Aiden a fair shake. Nonetheless, here you were sitting at a booth only thinking of a teal purse. You had decided to meet for drinks after work. You wore a hot pink blazer with a white tank turtleneck and a matching hot pink skirt, that might have been a little too short for work. You wore white tall boots, with gold jewelry. Your hair was done in loose curls and you had on a full face of makeup. This wasn’t your normal attire to work, but you knew you had a date tonight. Out of the corner of your eye you see Aiden pop in. You breathe in and prepare yourself. He’s in a nice gray suit. He always looks nice.

“Hey! So sorry I’m late. Traffic was awful.” Aiden says, reaching down to hug you.

You hug him back. “Oh no you’re fine! I just got here myself. How was your day?”

He smiles at you. “It was great actually. I had a really big pitch that I think went well for me. But I’m happier now that I’m here with you. How was your day?”

You make sure to smile at that, even if it did make you cringe a little. “Well that’s great. My day was good. Rather mundane I suppose, but work feels like that everyday.”

He chuckles. “You’re right about that. Ready for some drinks? A martini right?”

You nod your head. “Yes please.”

“Great. I’ll be right back. You look beautiful by the way.” He says with a smile before he heads over to the bar.

You take a moment to breathe in a little. Aiden was so nice. You had already decided that you would go on another date with him when he would inevitably ask later. You picked at your nails while you waited for your date and drink. You eyed the door constantly, that wasn’t a good sign. It was somewhat stuffy inside, but maybe that was in your head. You were just finding something to complain about. You had been like that for a while. Anytime a man would show interest you bounced. The truth is you were looking for someone to set your soul on fire. You craved a love so deep, that even the ocean would be jealous.

Instead you got guys like Aiden. Again, nothing wrong with him. But he didn’t ignite you. You knew who was to blame, but you hated to even think of him. So you chose to do this same routine over and over. Dating- then never speaking again. It’s not like you necessarily needed a man in your life, you were perfectly content with your life as is. But you wanted excitement again. Maybe if you gave Aiden a chance he could be that for you. Though you doubted it. You continued to eye the door. It wasn’t really busy, but every now and then someone would walk in. Mostly people in suits off to commence nefarious activities, then wake up and do it all again tomorrow. That life never spoke to you, but here you were smack dab in the middle of it. Funny how life works.

You fiddled around with your nails some more, damn you needed to get them done. You glanced up and thought your eyes were playing tricks on you.

Hair.

Then he spoke.

Immediately you felt chills run down your spine. There’s a voice you hadn’t heard in years. There’s no way. You creep your head around the corner and see four very familiar faces. Your blood runs cold and your face becomes incredibly pale. Holy shit.

You whip your head back into your booth trying to stay out of their line of sight. What were they doing here? Why were they here? What?

Just then Aiden returns and hands you your martini. He frowns at you when he sees your face. “Hey, is everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You blink a few times and nod your head. “I’m um- I’m fine.”

He sits back down across from you and takes your hand. “Are you sure?”

Just then that voice rings from right behind you. Now it’s closer.

“Oh shit. Well hey Sugar.”

You turn around and Jake is standing over you with a shit eating grin plastered on his face. You’re absolutely shocked and horrified. You try to speak but nothing comes out.

“I thought I heard your voice.” He flicks his eyes over to Aiden and extends his hand. “Hi. Jake Kiszka.”

Aiden gives him a strange look, but eventually extends his hand and says “Aiden.”

Finally you are able to muster up the courage to speak. “Jake.” You say calmly. “What are you doing here?”

He smirks at you. “I could ask you the same thing, Sugar. We were out scouting bars. We just moved here and I’ve got to say, you were the last person I was expecting to see tonight.”

You furrowed your brows while your voice goes up an octave higher. “What? You just moved here? Like from Michigan?”

Then the rest of them make their way over. You see Sam, Danny, and your old friend Josh.

Aiden clears his throat, clearly sensing your tension. “How do you guys know each other?”

Jake flicks his eyes to you and gives a wide smile. “Old friends.”

Aiden huffs a little at that. “Okay. Well looks like you have some catching up to do, with your old friends. I’ll call you tomorrow? I’d love to plan something if you’re free Saturday.”

You look back over at Aiden and nod your head.

He excuses himself and slides out of the booth.

“Bye Aiden! Lovely meeting you!” Jake yells out.

Jackass.

The other three are now approaching the table.

“Holy shit!” Sam exclaims when he sees you.

“Oh, hi Sam.”

Then you’re standing up and Sam hugs you, then Danny’s hugging you. Then you see Josh.

“Hi.” He says, standing there with his arms around his back. “Long time no see.”

You are unsure of what to say to that. “Hi Josh.”

“So, can we join you or what?” Jake asks.

You let out a breath and then motion your hand for them to all sit in your booth.

Jake scoots in right next to you. Immediately you feel the need to down your whole martini so you do.

“Whew. Damn Sugar. You okay?” Jake asks, nudging you.

You nod. “Yeah. Just wasn’t expecting such a-“ You pause. “Reunion.”

Josh smiles at you. “I can tell. Well don’t fret if it’s unpleasant for you. It’s just temporary. We are here with a new label working on an album. They decided to rent a house out to us for the next few months.”

You feel bad all of a sudden. You loved Josh. You and he had been friends for years. That was until you started dating Jake. You see, you and Josh had been friends after meeting in a coffee shop in Detroit. You had grown close with all of them, but Josh was your best friend. You two were practically inseparable. You pretty much did everything together. Then, one night you and Jake hooked up and the rest was history. It was hard on Josh. But you were too enamored by Jake to quit. You both had fallen fast and hard. Taking things way too fast, but it felt euphoric. Jake was like a drug. The highs were so high. But the lows were so low. You and Jake were only together for around 10 months. It was a toxic and crazy relationship. The only thing you and Jake were ever good at was sex. To this day no one made you come as hard as he had. But Jake acted like a selfish child. You two spent more time arguing than anything else. When you had broken up you had cut off all contact with all of them. You couldn’t bear it any longer. Josh had tried to reach out to you, but you ignored it. You wanted to forget Jake had ever existed- and that meant cutting off all people who reminded you of him. Then, you had moved to Nashville and gone on with life. You hadn’t seen or spoken to any of them since the break up.

“No it’s not that it’s unpleasant at all. Just unexpected. I never pegged you guys to settle down in… Nashville.” You said, trying to give a convincing smile.

Jake chimes in. “Settle down? We aren’t necessarily doing that. It’s temporary. I fear domesticity.”

You scoff. “Yep. I know.”

Jake laughs at you. “Good one.”

Josh changes the subject. “So what are you up to these days?”

You shift your gaze to Josh. “Well nothing as exciting as you guys. I work at a marketing firm and I have a Beta fish.”

Josh smiles at you. “That does sound exciting. Marketing huh? I can totally see it.”

You nod. “Congratulations to you all by the way on your success.”

“Thank you! We’ve been trying. It’s been a while since the garage band days.” Sam says.

“Yeah. It seems as if we’ve all grown up.” You say, still trying to push back negative feelings.

“Sam, Josh, you guys wanna go get drinks?” Danny asks, obviously trying to give you and Jake a moment to speak.

They both agree and follow Danny to the bar.

“I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks!” Jake yells to them and Sam gives him a thumbs up.

Then it’s just you two alone again. You turn around to face Jake. He’s still wearing that same smirk.

“You know Sugar, I’m digging the pink. You look good.”

You try not to let those words affect you. “Thanks.” You reply flatly.

“So, Aiden?” Jake asks.

You take a sip of the other martini on the table. “What about him?”

Jake hums. “Doesn’t really scream to me your type.”

“Oh yeah? Well what is my type?” You poke.

“Me.” Jake says and grins ear to ear.

You swig the martini again. “Funny.”

“C’mon Sugar. Lighten up. We’re just two old friends catching up.”

You pinch your face up and look at him. “Oh is that what we are?”

Jake smirks at you. “Okay well you know- ex lovers, future lovers. It’s all the same.”

You roll your eyes at him. He was always so full of charm which drove you crazy.

The other three returned with drinks in hand.

“So what are we getting up to tonight? It feels just like old times now.” Sam says with a bright smile.

You start to shut that down. “Count me out unfortunately. I have to work in the morning.”

It gets a little quiet.

“Well what are you doing this weekend?” Josh asks.

“I have pilates, but other than that I guess I’m free.” You reply.

“Does Aiden know that?” Jake teases.

You roll your eyes again.

“We have a show we’re doing this weekend. Would love if you could come and see us play after all this time.” Josh adds.

You pause for a minute, contemplating your options. But you didn’t want to seem so abrasive to Josh, you really did feel bad for ghosting him the way that you did. “Yeah, that sounds fun. I’ll be there.”

Josh smiles at you. “Great.”

“We can have a pass up front for you. Then I guess maybe uh Jake could text you the details?” Sam says cautiously.

Jake chuckles. “I’m blocked.”

Sam falls quiet, fearing maybe he had stirred something up between the two of you.

You try to lighten the situation. “Oh yeah? How do you know that?”

Jake shrugged. “I’ve reached out here and there. It’s never gone through.”

Yikes.

You clear your throat. “Josh? Do you still have my number? If not I can text you.”

“I’ve still got it.” Josh says lightly.

You half smile. “Great. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to slip out of here. It was truly great seeing you guys.”

“Care if I walk you out?” Josh asks.

You weren’t really expecting that.

“Oh yeah sure.” You reply.

You smile and nod everyone else off and Jake has that same smirk on his face.

“See ya soon Sugar.” Jake says, eyeing you up and down.

“Jake.” Is all you say with a nod.

Then you and Josh are walking out of the bar. It’s definitely awkward and there’s so much to be said, but you’re so unsure where to start.

“I’m just right here.” You say motioning over towards your car. “Thank you for walking me.”

Josh gives you a small smile. “So if I text you are you actually going to respond?”

Ouch.

“Josh I-“ You start.

He holds his hand up to you. “I’m only teasing. I know it was a weird situation.”

There was the sweet and understanding Josh he had always been. “It was. But there was still no excuse for me to do what I did to you.”

Josh shakes his head. “Consider it water under the bridge.”

You give a small sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“I’ll see you Saturday?” Josh questions.

You nod. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Josh smiles. “Good.”

“Hug?” You say extending your arms out.

Josh obliged and stepped in and hugged you. It felt like comfort. You smiled into his shirt. When you both let each other go. Josh was reciprocating that smile.

“I’m glad I ran into you tonight. Get home safe.”

“Me too. Bye Josh.”

“Bye.”

Then he stood outside and watched you pull out, waving you off.

Your head was running a million miles an hour. What just happened? You felt like you wanted to vomit, half bile, half rainbows. All you knew was that now you had to prepare for a Saturday with your ex-boyfriend, old best friend, and their band.

**

Saturday had rolled around quicker than you had anticipated. You huffed as you threw your pilates bag into your car. In a way you were ready to work out all of the anxiousness and frustration you felt. Your pilates studio wasn’t too far from your townhouse. It was in an upscale little plaza next to a smoothie shop, which you would definitely be taking advantage of after. Once you arrived you checked into your class and rolled out your mat. You took a few deep breaths and adjusted your attire. You wore a rather loud pair of green leggings that fit you like tights, and a white sports bra top. You unlaced your white sneakers, letting your bare feet hit the mat. You felt grounded, drained of negative energy. Pilates was always an outlet for your stress, better that than alcohol.

After an intense session you felt reborn. You rolled up your mat and hit the locker room, splashing cold water on your face. You took your hair down and watched it cascade down your shoulders, it had gotten so long. You dried your face with a clean towel and wiped the sweat from your hairline. You rolled on some deodorant and you were vibrating with excitement at the thought of the peanut butter banana protein smoothie you were about to inhale. After dropping off your items in your car you walked with some pep in your step to the entrance of the smoothie cafe only to be met with confusion.

Jake?

He saw you through the door as soon as you saw him, his face lighting up with a smile as he got up to meet you at the door.

“Hey Sug. What a pleasant surprise.” He greeted, as you stepped in.

“Are you stalking me?” You ask, half serious.

He lets out a chuckle. “You wish. No, Josh and I are here meeting with our social media manager. She wanted smoothies, but I’ve got to say I was hoping this pilates studio next door was the one you frequented.”

You glance around him and see Josh at the table giving you a wave while a blonde girl scrolled through a laptop.

“So why this smoothie place? Did you search for one closest to a pilates studio?” You ask in an accusatory tone.

“You overestimate me Sug. This was just the closest one to our house.” He replies coolly.

“Closest?” You ask with pinched brows.

“Yeah. Our house is somewhat secluded I guess. It’s a few miles behind that block of townhomes.”

“Motherfucker.” You whisper.

Jake looks at you strangely. “What?”

”Nothing.” You say dismissively.

He cracks that annoyingly perfect smile at you. “Don’t tell me you live close to there?”

You glance up at him, always finding it hard to lie to him “I do.”

”Well I’ll be damned. What does fate have in store for us Sug?” He asks through a smirk.

You scoff at him. He was ridiculous.

“Let me at least buy you a smoothie and you can come join us.” Jake offers.

You make a face at him. “I don’t need you to buy my smoothie Jake.”

He cracks a smile at you and places his hand on your lower back ushering you towards the ordering station. “I know you don’t need me to. But I want to. Y’know good karma and all.”

You scoff. “It would take a lot more than a smoothie to give you good karma.”

He lets out a small laugh. “You’re right.”

You two order and stand by the counter while you’re waiting on all of the smoothies. He had ordered one for him, Josh, and the laptop girl too.

You try to tune Jake out but you can feel his eyes burning into you.

“What?” You ask, looking over at him.

“Ah nothing. I thought pink was your color, but it might be green.” He suggests with a smirk, while nodding his head towards your tight green leggings that are practically painted on you.

You roll your eyes but feel your face flushing red. Thankfully, they call your order number up and you grab your smoothie and Josh’s while Jake waits for whatever else he ordered. You walk towards the booth and are greeted with a smiley Josh. You decide to slide in next to him, the blonde girl barely looks up from her computer.

“Ah I thought that was you. I didn’t know you would be joining us this morning?” Josh questions, almost as if he would believe that you and Jake had planned this.

You lightly laughed at that notion. “Yeah me either. My pilates studio is next door. I come here religiously for these protein shakes.”

“Pilates and protein? What happened to my beer and mac & cheese girl?” He teases with a bright smile.

You huff a laugh, but before you can respond Jake comes buzzing over to the table. “Here ya go Dev.” Jake says, sliding over to the blonde girl who was so wrapped up in her computer. However, that’s not the case anymore.

She flashes a smile to Jake. “Oh thank you Jake.” She says, her voice thick with sweetness.

Oh she likes him. You can tell by the way her eyes light up when she sees him. You get it, you really do. But why is it bothering you?

Josh clears his throat. “Okay, well maybe proper introductions are in order here? Devan this is y/n. We all go way back.”

Jake snickers at that. “Yeah, way back.”

You flick a brief look of judgment at Jake, but you notice your heart rate quicken.

“Yes… and this is Devan, she is our newly hired social media coordinator. She’s brilliant. I figured you two might have some common ground with your marketing career?” Josh offers.

Devan meets your eyes. She’s pretty. Moderately short dirty blonde hair with platinum highlights, blue eyes lined perfectly with black eyeliner and encased in black rimmed large eye glasses. You weren’t sure if they were for seeing or fashion, but they looked great on her. She was trendy in a business casual way. Very much a Nashville girl.

You flashed her a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Devan.”

She offers you a tight lipped smile before averting her eyes back to her computer. “Mhm likewise.”

Oh. You would completely understand her demeanor had she behaved like this the whole time. Work is work. However, she lit up like a Christmas tree for Jake. So you were led to believe that you and her would not be making each other friendship bracelets anytime soon.

“Jake, can you tell me what you think of this filter?” Devan asks in that sickeningly sweet voice again.

Jake glances up at you slightly with a grin and scoots closer to Devan. He brushes his hand with hers as he scrolls on the mousepad and you see her cheeks dust with pink. “Oh wow. Devan this is beautiful. We really are so lucky to have hired you.” He says nudging her shoulder. “Josh, look at this.”

Jake spins the computer around and you glance at the photo. It’s a fucking black and white picture with grain. You now know Jake is trying to put on an act since you’re here.

Josh purses his lips. “Yeah… absolutely. Looks great.”

He has always been so kind.

Your attention is diverted when your phone starts to vibrate on the table.

Aiden Rodgers flashes upon your screen and Jake sees it before you do.

“Sorry guys. I’m going to get out of here and take this call.” You look over directly to Josh. “I’ll see you later?”

Josh gives you a polite smile. “Yeah of course.”

You grab your phone that’s still lighting up the table and glance up at Jake before shuffling out of the booth.

“See you tonight. Do feel free to bring Aiden, Sug.” Jake says with a sly smile.

You make a face at him. Why did he always manage to get under your skin? As you walked off you took a deep breath and answered your phone.

**

Lunch with Aiden went perfectly well. You had fibbed a little and said that you had a family thing come up for the evening, so Aiden offered lunch. He took you to a cute little patio restaurant where you indulged in a salmon and goat cheese salad with a lemon blueberry mojito. He was funny and charming. But you couldn’t help but let your mind drift elsewhere while he was speaking. You sent Aiden off with a hug and a promise to call him soon. Now you sat in your living room nursing a wine cooler contemplating what you would even wear tonight. What is the attire for attending your rockstar ex-boyfriend’s concert? Part of you wanted to bail on the whole night and not even go, but you couldn’t do that to Josh. Despite all of the shit with Jake, Josh was always there for you. It was about time you showed some reciprocation after all this time.

You groaned and peeled yourself off of your couch. There was a laundry list of things that needed to be done before tonight and you had better get started. Your phone buzzed whilst you were in the middle of an everything shower. When you climbed out you check it immediately to see a text from Josh:

After party tonight at our house. Would love for you to come and you’re more than welcome to stay. Pack a swimsuit!

You felt a swirl of emotions hit you. You missed them and you knew going would be fun. But were you ready to be around Jake for longer than 10 minutes? You dried off and tried to do anything but contemplate how the night might play out. Once you had completed all of your skincare, you threw your hair up to dry in a turban towel and picked through your closet. You fingered through your dresses, business casual blouses, and blazers. Nothing spoke to you. Then, it hit you.

Black.

Jake had said he loved you in pink and green, but you still remember the way he trembled when you wore black. You tried to reason with yourself that the sole reason you were choosing your outfit was not based on him, but you were drawing blanks.

Once you applied sultry makeup and put bouncing curls in your hair you were ready to get dressed. You picked up your lingerie-esk black see through cami adorned with lace. It was entirely sheer except for the front. You decided to pair it with a longer silk black skirt with a high slit and black strappy heels. Once, you were dressed, you accessorized and sprayed yourself with a perfume that made you smell like a walking dessert. You might have taken a liquid shot of courage before you got into your Uber to head to the venue.

There was a line of fans outside and you smiled to yourself knowing that their dream was coming to fruition. You clicked your heels on the pavement up towards the box office, carrying your small duffle bag and gave them your name. You were given a lanyard and entrance to the side door where a rather muscular man led you down empty hallways. He smiled and attempted to strike a flirty conversation with you while taking your bag to carry it, but you were already bored of him as he droned on about how important he was. Finally you had made it to a lounge area where you saw Danny rummaging through the fridge with Sam hot on his heels. You laughed to yourself at a memory that had come to mind seeing the scene before you. Josh had always called them tweedle dee and tweedle dumb in the most endearing way. Where there was one the other surely would be in tow.

“Y/n! Hey! You look hot!” Sam yelled, rather loudly as soon as he noticed your presence.

“I believe this is where I leave you ma’am.” Muscles said, sitting your bag down on a chair. “If you require my assistance later or need help getting to your seat, here’s my number.”

You politely accepted his small slip of paper and tried to pretend like you didn’t see his wink.

“You made it!” Josh stated enthusiastically heading your way.

You wrapped him in a warm embrace. “I’m done dodging you.”

He smiled at those words. “Promise?”

”Pinky.” You said, extending your finger out towards him.

This was something you and Josh had done in the past. The most serious of vows, your pinky promises.

You saw his heart swell at your action, happy to have his best friend back. That was short lived when you felt a cloud come into the room. You could sense his eyes on you.

“Want a drink?” Josh asked, nodding towards the small wet bar.

“Just a vodka soda please.”

As one twin left you, another approached. Jake didn’t say a word as he took you in with his eyes. Scanning you up and down no doubtably undressing you with his eyes. You tried not to let that affect you.

”Jake.”

He nodded towards you. “Sugar. You look… just wow. Takes me back to a different time.”

Your face slightly reddens at his admission. You expected more of a sleazy conversation from Jake rather than an unintentional trip down memory lane.

The mood shifts entirely when Josh comes back with a vodka soda and two limes.

“You remembered.” You say to Josh with a smile, gesturing towards the extra lime.

“Of course. How could I forget?” He replies with a grin.

Jake clears his throat. “Well glad you could make it. We have a hell of a show tonight and I assume you’ll be at our house later of course for the party?”

You give a quick glance to Josh, who is looking at you hopefully. “Yep. I’ll be there.”

Jake flashes you a mischievous grin. “Excellent. Enjoy yourself tonight Sug.” Then he heads off to converse with one of his technicians.

“Rather brooding isn’t he?” Josh jabs.

You snicker at that. “I’ll say.”

Josh turns towards you and places a hand on your back. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you.”

A wave of guilt mixed with sentimentality rushes through your veins. You loved Josh. No matter what happened with Jake, he was still that beautiful shining beacon of light for you. It was then you had decided to focus on him rather than concern yourself with whatever Jake may do. “I missed you too Josh, so much.”

“Alright everyone! Openers are about to go on. I need you all dressed and ready to shoot some social media content in ten!”

You glance across the room and see Devan with an iPad in hand. She was wearing a similar stylish business casual outfit like she had previously worn. When she finally looked up from her screen she noticed you immediately and gave a harsh face. It was brief, but you had caught it.

“Devan can we push this back a little? Y/n just got here and I’d like to show her around.” Josh asks.

Devan makes a face a Josh before tapping furiously on her tablet. “Eh sorry no can do Josh. The best I could do is an additional fifteen minutes but that will cut into Danny’s tik tok later. Besides, we need to make sure we are staying somewhat confidential with our filming so that nothing gets leaked.”

You felt a pit form in your stomach. She didn’t want you around and you were intruding on their work.

“Uh Devan she’s basically family.” Sam chimes in. “She wouldn’t dare leak anything.”

“No, it’s fine!” You try to say as nonchalant as possible. “I wanted to catch some of the opening act anyway. You guys go and get dressed and do your thing.”

Josh gives you a sad look, but eventually nods on.

“I’ll call that security guard to come fetch you. Oh! Jake! I need your feedback on something.” Devan says, hurrying over towards Jake who looks at you with raised brows.

“One sec Dev. Gonna walk y/n to her seat.” He says, shuffling past her.

He walks up to you with a pleased smile and sticks his arm out. “Shall we?”

You give him a pointed look and huff before grabbing his arm. “Break a leg.” You say to Josh with a smile.

He gives you a half hearted smile back and nods. You wondered why his mood had seemed to change, but Jake’s voice quickly snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Excited?”

You hum. “I supposed. Eager to see how much you’ve all changed.”

Jake chews on his cheeks before he speaks. “I guess we all have… changed quite a bit. Grew up a little.”

You laugh. “Oh, have you? That seems far-fetched for some of you.”

He huffs a laugh back. “You’re talking about Sam right?”

“Oh most definitely.” You snicker, but can’t hide the smile that creeps out. “You didn’t have to walk me, you know. I can manage.”

“And leave that meathead to try and sweep you off your feet? No way Sugar, I’m the only one who can do that. Besides, these halls can be empty. No one around. Private really.” He retorts with a shit eating grin.

There he is. You roll your eyes. “Oh Jake, you really always have been ever so charming.”

“You flatter me. But in all honesty it can be difficult to navigate around backstage. When we first started playing at bigger venues I would get lost just trying to find somewhere to smoke a fucking cigarette.”

“Cigarettes? That’s a nasty little habit.” You say with faux disapproval.

He turns towards you and sets his eyes on yours. “Quite. Sometimes the things that can hurt you the most are what you want more than anything. You crave it.”

You feel your heartbeat quicken at that statement. Your chest starts to blaze with an indescribable feeling, but before you can respond you’re interrupted.

“VIP guest? I’ll usher her over to side stage.” A crew member says approaching you and Jake.

Jake clears his throat and nods at the man. “Yep, thank you.”

Then he turns away and heads in the opposite direction without looking back at you. You felt your brain spinning as you blinked to come back to reality. You were taken to your seat where you were surprisingly close to the stage. You weren’t necessarily in seats, but had a foldout chair side stage on the floor. Your mind drifted to what they might play and if Jake played with as much passion as he used to. When you two had dated you were mesmerized watching him play. His dedication, his intensity, the way his body swayed around that guitar, the facial expressions, the sweat, his…hands. Stop. You couldn’t think that way. That time was over. You have moved on. You were over Jake. Right? You hated him. Didn’t you? You massaged your temples and requested a drink from a crew member. When it arrived you nursed the burning liquid in attempt to suppress whatever in the hell your psyche was feeling. You tried to concentrate on the openers, but before you knew it their set was over and you were left thinking what the next setlist might be. Since you went no contact, you did not go out of your way to search for them or their music. You only know the early days. The early days. Would they play it? Your song? They used to play it all the time. A catchy song written drunkenly by Jake and Josh one night when they were younger, but you were the driven force behind its publication. They played it all the time. It was a great jam song, but no one knew Jake had dedicated it to you. Anxiousness swirled in your stomach as you anticipated the mere minutes before they would take to the stage. You had to admit there was quite a turn out. They had fans and not just casual ones either. A part of you felt proud while another solem that you had missed the build up to this moment.

The lights dimmed and cheering ensued. Then you heard those familiar chords billow through the speaker. It couldn’t be. Your song? They started with your song? Josh’s wailing fills the venue and Jake’s fingers move at lightning speed to match his twin. Highway Tune. Your song.

So sweet. So fine. So nice. Oh my.

Jake used to jokingly say this to you all the time. Your body betrayed you as you swayed to that ever so familiar sound, the build up to the catchiest little riff that has haunted you for years. For a moment Jake’s eyes meet yours and a bright smile appears on his face followed by a wink. He knew what he was doing. The song comes to a close and you hold your breath in anticipation to see if they do it. Danny beats the skin off of his drums, Sam plucks wildly at his bass, Jake strums and struts, you see Josh take a breath and then look at you before the close out.

Sugarrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

**

You were reeling after the last two hours of whatever that was. A rush of conflicting emotions assaults all of your senses as you make your way backstage. Starting off with your song and then you heard a song that made a pit form in your stomach. You’re The One. Was that about you? Timeline wise it would make sense. You wouldn’t dare ask in fear of being embarrassed if it wasn’t about you. But you had a gut feeling that it was.

All of a sudden they all rush back into the green room high off adrenaline.

“So, what did you think?” Danny asks, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat from his chest.

“You guys were phenomenal. Seriously, I was blown away.”

Danny smiles, clearly pleased with your answer while Sam pulls you into his side for a hug.

“Feels so nostalgic in here huh?”

You let out a small laugh. “Sure does Sammy.”

“Nostalgia for sure Sug.” Jake says, pressing a freshly poured glass of some dark liquid to his lips. His eyes are intense as they study you, trying to see if there’s any falter behind you.

You breath out when you see Josh and take the opportunity to get you out of this weird eye contact that you have with Jake. “Josh! Oh my god, your voice! You were absolutely amazing. So grown up now.”

He smiles sweetly at you. “You’re too kind. It’s been a work in progress for a while.”

“I can tell. I always knew you were talented but I just- wow.”

He blushes slightly at that.

“Yeah yeah enough of the love fest. Can we please go home and start drinking?” Sam says in a faux annoyed tone while sending you a wink.

“Don’t have to ask me twice. Wanna ride with me Sug?” Jake asks looking towards you with raised eyebrows

You swallow thickly at that. “I’ll hang back with Josh. Gotta find my bags anyway.”

“Suit yourself.”

**

“Josh!” You say in a fit of giggles as he matches your laughs.

“What? It’s true! He absolutely looked like he was snorting steroids.”

You and Josh had left the venue and were headed back to the house. You thought you would be anxious, but neither you nor Josh had shut up or quit laughing. It all felt so natural, just like it once did.

“We’re just around this corner here.” He says, whipping his jeep to the left.

“Josh.” You start. “I have a confession.”

He raises his eyebrows at you. “Yeah?”

“See those trees back there? Just to the right of that little park?”

He quints and nods.

“I live back there.”

His mouth falls open. “No shit?”

You laugh and nod. “I’m so serious! I live in one of those townhomes. That’s why I was so weirded out when I ran into you guys at the smoothie cafe.”

Josh grins and taps the steering wheel. “Hell. Small world. Who would have thought?”

“It’s the universe bringing us back together Joshy.” You say playfully giving his arm a light tap.

His grin turns into a full on smile at that. “I’ll hold you to that.”

When you arrived Josh grabbed your bag and ushered you inside. The house was quite big, definitely bigger than your townhome. There was loud music blasting inside and a slew of bodies which didn’t look familiar to you.

“Wanna take this to my room?” Josh yells over the music.

You nod and grab his hand as he leads you up the stairs.

“Shit it’s loud down there. I’m going to fix that when we get back there. I don’t wear earpieces to protect my ears on stage only to have it ruined at a shitty house party.” Josh says, as he shuts his door.

His room is so very Josh. There’s a white plush king bed in the center, perfectly made. A John Denver poster hangs on a blank wall with a few plants scattered around. But your favorite feature is a small reading nook that Josh has made out of his relatively small windowsill.

“Josh, this is so cute.” You say, running your fingers through his books. You two had always been avid readers and you were delighted to see his new found fame hadn’t changed him.

He gives you a bashful grin. “I guess. I just need a space that’s just for me. Somewhere to escape from the normal insanity that is my life.”

You shrug at him. “Understandable. The reason I chose the townhome I’m in is solely because of a clawfoot tub in my bathroom. I will sit in that thing for hours after a long day at work.”

“You still stay in there long enough to be a mermaid?”

You nod and smile. Josh use to always call you a mermaid because of your extensive baths.

“Ready to head down? I’ve got to kill this music before we get the damn cops called on us.”

You agree and follow him down the stairs. He introduces you to a few dozen people who you couldn’t possibly remember before taking two tequila shots. He throws you a seltzers and a leaves you with a promise to return as soon as he gets the music turned down. You sip on your drink as you can feel the two shots of tequila already working it’s way into your system. You took the time to walk around the house and explore. Careful to avoid any unwanted interactions. You finally found yourself in a small corner of the living room observing some vinyl that was hanging. It seems their collection had almost doubled since you last saw it.

You weren’t alone for long when you felt his presence near you. It was magnetic the way you two had always gravitated towards one another and you knew he was fighting that pull just as much as you had.

“Enjoying yourself Sugar?” Jake asks, leaning in closer than necessary so you can hear him. Immediately you can smell the booze on him. Was he trying to drink away the feelings he felt just like you were?

“Having a splendid time Jacob. Thank you.” You reply, cordially.

He laughs and presses his back up to the wall, observing the party with you. “Why do I always find you in a corner by yourself? You should be out there mingling and mixing.” He teases.

You scoff. “We all aren’t social butterflies like you I suppose.”

Jake turns back and leans in closer to you. “Don’t play coy with me Sug. Don’t forget, I know you. You are very personable. Dare I say charming even?”

You take this opportunity to poke back at him. “Charming? I think I use my charm a little bit differently than you.”

He clicks his tongue and brings his glass up to his lips. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I use my charm simply in a way that any human would; for the purpose of social interaction. Right? You use your charm to try and get panties to drop. So why are you lecturing me? You need to get out there and mix and mingle instead of standing in this corner.”

Jake studies you as you speak and takes a step even closer. He stares directly in your eyes, his slightly red and half-lidded. “Fair, but there’s only one person here that I want to try that charm out with.”

You tried not to flinch at his words, but that hit you like a bullet train. “Yeah?”

He leaned down, bracing himself on the wall. “Yeah.” He whispers into your neck. His hot breath fanning on a sweet spot that caused goosebumps to form everywhere. “And I can only get to her in this corner. Unless of course she would like to accompany me upstairs? We could do a lot of mixing and mingling up there.”

Fuck.

You feel a rush in your chest as Jake’s eyes bounce from your eyes to your lips.

Oh but his lips.

Slightly wet from nursing his drink, but so perfectly plump and pink. You tried to remember how they felt when they used to graze every inch of your skin. That thought alone sent shivers down your spine. You felt frozen in time as your heart was thudding. Maybe it was the alcohol in your system or maybe it was the burning sensation of lust coursing through your veins, but you were going to kiss him. No you were going to fuck him. You didn’t care, all of your inhibitions had long flown out the window. You stared back at him intently and fluttered your eyes tilting your head forward. He leaned in slowly and parted his lips. You followed suit. His nose brushed yours and electricity shot down your spine. This was it.

“Jake!”

Damnit.

You both spun around to see Josh heading your way. Jake huffed a few curse words under his breath as you instinctively took a step back.

Josh makes his way over to you and runs his fingers through his hair. “Thank god I found you. That redhead is looking for you. She’s been following me around for the last few minutes. Something about plans you had?”

Redhead?

Your stomach sinks slightly at that and you feel embarrassed that it did. Of course he has little flings or hell even multiple girlfriends.

Jake cocks his head at his twin and narrows his eyes at him. Almost like he cannot believe what he just said. There’s a long pause of silence between the two of them, neither breaking eye contact from the other.

Finally, Jake lets out a huff and glances back at you before walking off.

You were now beyond grateful that Josh cockblocked you.

“Such a sour puss. You ready to go swimming?” Josh asks you with a grin.

You match his. “Absolutely.”

**

You stared at yourself in the mirror feeling a little self conscious as you took in your body in the black bikini. Jake hadn’t seen your body in a while. Not since you had become more womanly and of course the months of pilates classes. You knew you looked attractive, sure but you still had those voices inside your head criticizing every imperfection. You massaged your temples to get out of your own head and threw on a large Nirvana t-shirt with some leather flip flops before leaving Josh’s bathroom.

“Ready?” He asked you, sitting patiently in his windowsill. “I got us towels.”

You let out a small laugh. “Thank you. Yes, let's go.”

You and Josh descend the stairs and head outside. There’s a decent amount of people there. You don’t scan around looking for Jake, instead keeping your eyes on Josh as he plops your towels down on a chair. He’s wearing light orange swim trunks that match his tan perfectly. It’s just now that you realize how fit he looks. He has really filled out since you last saw him.

You take off your t-shirt and slide off your flip flops, placing them all on the chair. When you glance up your eyes meet Jake’s. He’s staring at you, mouth slightly agape. He’s in the pool, with a fair skinned girl with red hair laughing and straddling him. Her arms are on his shoulders and instantly jealousy creeps down your spine. Why were you jealous? You couldn’t say, but you were. You peeled your eyes away from Jake and headed towards Josh, who was at the cooler fetching you drinks.

“Hot tub?” You ask him walking up behind him.

“Oh yeah sure-“ He turns around and his eyes scan your body. He’s not being nonchalant about it and when he catches himself his face dusts red and he clears his throat. “Yeah hot tub it is.”

You and Josh pad your way to the hot tub, opposite to where Jake and the red head were. You see Sam sitting in there animatedly speaking to Danny. You giggle because you can tell he’s intoxicated.

“Wow wow wow!” Sam whistles wildly at you two approaching. “Josh, you look incredible!”

Josh laughs at his brothers antics while taking your hand to help you climb into the hot tub. The warm water goes from slightly uncomfortable to pleasant the more you sink down in it. You crack your watermelon tequila seltzer and cheers with Josh as you get settled, opting to share a jet together.

“Sammy boy, how much have you had to drink tonight?” Josh pokes.

He throws his hand up at you two. “I lost count. I’m just trying to celebrate! Enjoy the lovely night with lovely people!”

Danny groaned at the end of that sentence and handed Sam a bottle of water. “Drink this.”

“Ah! The gang’s all back together. Where’s Jake? I’m surprised he peeled himself away from you.” Sam giggles. “He was eye fucking you all night on that stage.”

It got quiet.

“He’s in the pool.” Danny offers, bluntly.

Sam cranes his head around to look for his older brother. “Oh. Shit. Is that one Holly or Katie?”

“Holly.” Josh interjects. “Katie is the other one.”

Other one.

Sam sucks in his cheeks and turns towards you. “Sorry. I know that might be awkward for you. It’s nothing serious.”

You let out a laugh. “It’s okay Sam. It doesn't bother me.” You lie. “That was a long time ago.”

“Sam, no one was thinking that. You’re the one making things weird.” Danny says through a laugh.

Sam lets out a breath. “Pshhhhhh. Nope. Come on we all remember how they used to-“

“Sam!” Josh snaps, somewhat abruptly. “Let it be. Can we not traumatize her again?”

You play it off. “It’s fine I promise. But tell me about this house? It’s insane! You guys are living here for how long?”

Josh faces you. “It is. I’m very grateful they gave us such a big place to write this album. We used to go in the smallest cabins in the woods and hold up for weeks. But I think we should be here for at least a good six to nine months.”

You swallow at that. How would you be around them or him for that long? “Wow. Sounds like you guys will be busy then.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “We would be if we could stay on topic.”

You smile at that. “Not much has changed, has it?”

Sam sips his water. “Not even a little bit.”

**

Eventually the party had died down and the crowd began to disperse. Danny and Sam were on cleanup duty while you and Josh both quickly took a rinse shower and put dry clothes back on. You were done first, so you decided to head back down wearing gray sweat shorts with a white cropped tank. Your hair was slightly damp and had curled up significantly.

“Need any help?” You ask Sam as you see him throwing cups on a trash bag.

“That would be great.” He offers with a big smile.

You get to work and grab a bottle of cleaning solution with paper towels and being spraying and wiping down the sticky surfaces, while Sam finishes picking up trash and begins to sweep.

“You’re too sweet, you know that? I’ve always thought so.”

You giggle at his drunk confessional. “Thank you Sammy. So are you.”

He shrugs. “I guess. I’m sorry if I made you upset earlier. I’m just glad to see that you don’t have an achy Jakey heart.”

You can’t help but laugh at that one. “It’s okay, really. I’m a big girl.”

Sam grins at you. “I know you are. But for what it’s worth, he hasn’t really been the same since- you know. Despite how he acts it really fucked him up. He never said a word to indicate it, but we could all tell. I’m sure you heard that song tonight. He would absolutely kill me for saying all of this to you right now, but I feel like you should know it. If for nothing but closure. Fuck, I know I’m drunk and I’m oversharing here.”

You feel like the wind has been sucked out of you. A pool of emotions you absolutely cannot identify swirl in you. Does Jake have feelings for you? After all this time? That song? Were you right?

You’re interrupted abruptly by Josh climbing down the stairs. “Sammy, why do you have our guest working?”

Sam clears his throat, trying to drop all of the conversation that had just occurred between you two. “She volunteered because she is kind. Unlike a certain diva I know.”

“Please. Jake and I have the next clean up- that was the agreement.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah yeah. Help me take this trash out.”

Josh gives you a head nod as he grabs two bags of trash and walks with Sam towards the door.

Then you’re left in your own thoughts, absentmindedly putting away things that you have no idea where they go.

“So who are you?”

You whip your head around to see redhead approaching you. She’s still in her neon pink bikini tracking pools of water on the floors Sam had just cleaned.

You try not to narrow your eyes at her as you tell her your name. “Old friend of theirs.”

She takes in what you say. “Hm, old friend? I don’t think I’ve ever heard them talk about you.”

You’re a bit taken back by her nastiness. “And you are?”

“Holly.” She says with a smile. “Jake’s good friend. Thank you for helping clean up and all, but the party’s over. I think we’ll get it from here.”

Okay now you narrow your eyes at her. She doesn’t know you and you have a good inkling she doesn’t know how much of good friends you and Jake used to be. “Appreciate your tip and all, but I’m staying here tonight.”

She makes a face at you. “What are you taking the couch or something?”

“No.” Josh’s voice peaks from behind you. “Not that’s it’s any of your concern, but she’s staying with me.”

She drops a considerable amount of attitude with Josh in the room. “Oh! No, yeah I just didn’t know.”

She heads back outside as Josh scoffs. “Don’t worry about her.”

You flash him a smile. “What? She seems so friendly.”

He nudges your shoulder. “You have no idea.”

You and Josh had decided to go outside to make sure everything else was done before you had retired to bed. You found Jake sitting in a chair with redhead practically on top of him. His eyes found yours when you stepped outside, but you looked away quickly and refused to look back.

“Is Sam making a fucking fire?” Josh asks through a laugh.

Danny walks by and places his hand on Josh’s shoulder. “Indeed he is. Something about old times sake and a card game?”

A smile spreads across your face. “Rummy? That’s what we used to all play when we were high out of our minds.”

“Bingo!” Sam yells from a distance. “And you’re in luck baby because look what I have!” He holds up a sandwich bag full of joints.

You shake your head and smile at Josh. “Oh my god.”

He throws his arm around you. “Are you up for this?”

You think about it for a second. Contemplating being around Jake and redhead even longer. You didn’t want to be a buzzkill though, so you bit your lip and nodded your head.

You all eventually gathered around the table. You seated yourself next to Josh and Sam, trying to steer away from Jake. It was to no use when he sat down directly in front of you. His eyes bore into yours, but again you wouldn’t look at him.

“Wanna shuffle Sug?” Jake asks you, attempting to hand the cards in your direction.

You can see redhead squish her face up at the pet name.

“Sure.” You take the cards and begin to shuffle them around before dealing.

Sam lights up and starts to pass the joints around. You collect your cards and take a joint from Josh, watching him take a drag. You bring the joint to your lips and take a small hit, not wanting to do too much for the night. The smoke fills your lungs and you feel that light sensation rush to your head. You close your eyes and exhale, deciding to take another puff before passing it back to Sam. It’s not long until all of you are red eyed and smiley. The first few games were won by you and Danny, then the cards got tossed to the side stories began to flow. At this point the cotton mouth began to set it.

“Gonna go grab a bottle of water. Want one?” You turn to Josh.

He gives you a smile. “Please.”

You head towards the house and go to the bathroom first, relieving your bladder. You wash your hands and stare at the mirror, trying to fix the slight black smudge under your eyes. You were tired and ready to call it a night. Once you headed back into the kitchen you were startled by a body standing there.

“Fuck! Jake, you scared me.”

He laughs. “Sorry Sugar. Just wanted to come and check on you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are.” His voice was like velvet. He was always somehow more attractive when he was stoned.

“Careful Jake. Don’t want your friend out there to hear.” You say nonchalantly, grabbing two bottles of water.

Jake gives you a devilish grin and steps closer. Backing you up into the countertops. “Oh come on now Sugar. Just say the words and she’s gone.”

You look up at him, studying that beautiful face. “I’m good actually.”

You shimmy out from underneath him heading back outside to Josh. You let out a deep breath before returning to the group.

“Thanks love.” Josh says, taking the bottle from you.

Jake returns to the group not uttering a word.

“I’m tired.” You announce to Josh.

“Yeah me too.” Redhead states. “Jake can we go to bed babe?”

You glance up at him. He looks at you with raised eyebrows, almost asking you. You avoid his glance and he mutters a “yeah” towards her. It sort of felt like a stab to your gut, but you wouldn’t give it any attention.

“Good night guys!” Redhead yells, toting Jake’s arm all the way inside.

You and Josh helped put the fire out before heading back inside.

“What a damn day.” Josh jokes, handing you toothpaste to put on your toothbrush.

You huff a laugh. “Tell me about it. Also I’m freezing, why is it so cold in here?”

“Daniel insists we keep the house at a crisp 68. Michigan blood isn’t used to this Tennessee heat.”

You snicker. “You would all boil if you came to my place.”

“You’ve adapted well I see.”

You shrug. “I’ve always preferred to be closer to The Sun I guess. Makes me happy.”

Josh smiles at you. “I know what you mean.”

You both brush your teeth side by side. A part of it felt so domestic, like it was something that you two had done every night forever. You chalk it off to being high and climb into bed with your once best friend.

You snuggled down into his plush sheets and both crack a few jokes before drifting off to sleep. Somehow, Josh’s arm found it’s way wrapped around you. You were no longer freezing; you were now warm.

Both inside and out.

***

Thank you for reading :)