#the way it's so snappy with each syllable

[theaethernetconnection]

Oh I shall be replaying Hermes' reprise Dangerous on REPEAT

[starssaroundmyscarssblog]

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄… 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐊?

pairing: 90s!liam gallagher x fem!oc

summary: in which the concept of a one night stand is lost to the fates of juniper willow

word count: 3.52k

warnings: drinking, vomit, allusions to sex, kissing, all the usual you would expect from a bender in the 90s, liam being an arrogant prick (we love him really) <3

one night stands usually worked well and functioned in natural order for juniper willow, and every other twenty-something in the country. get drunk, go home with someone who looked vaguely interesting in the club, wake up in the morning and face the awkward small talk. the system was clockwork and so was the aftermath, so why were the fates staring down at juniper willow trying so hard to knock her off balance?

she stumbled into the office with a hangover so bad she could hardly see straight, and security had to pull her aside when her id card didn't work at the turnstiles in the lobby. peter, the security guard, was laughing at her as he guided her to his small office. granted he did give her two paracetamol tablets, a flat bottle of half-drank coke and a paper cup filled with rich supermarket coffee, but he still laughed at her.

if moving didn't cause her stomach to turn itself inside out, she would have slugged him in the ribs.

the tinted sunglasses juniper shielded her eyes away with from the rest of the office did nothing to help her, and tony from accounts whistled at her as she slumped into the chair tucked into her small cubicle. the entire floor was split up into small boxes sprawling about, sometimes the occasional head would peek out and ask if anyone wanted a coffee, or if there was a stapler going spare.

"fuck off tone," she bit back, trying to cross one knee over the other but couldn't when she felt the recurring dull ache between her legs. "bit snappy, someone got lucky last night."

he nudged simon and ellie, a couple always in their own small world that gave hr a headache, on his way out. before she could stop herself, juniper yelled, "bite me!" and regretted it as soon as the last syllable left her mouth. the fizzing of the coke bottle irked her beyond belief, as did the clacking of fingers on keyboards all around her.

god knows what she was going to be like in the brightly lit room with a camera shutter going off constantly when the next band who were getting featured on the cover came in for photos.

juniper reached into her bag to pull out her planner, peeling the pages away from one another to reveal the date. in the middle of the page she'd written a simple word, 'oasis', in large capital letters with four think lines drawn below for emphasis. just below was the time they were coming in, 12:00, in three hours.

three hours to get over a hangover so bad she couldn't think straight. most of the time juniper hated half of the people in the office with a vengeance, but slowly they were redeeming themselves by falling silent when walking past her desk, or offering her cups of coffee with silent sympathetic smiles. normally she liked tea, but she could get over it.

at eleven o'clock, she started reviewing some of the concept art that had been left on her desk. oasis were coming in for a short shoot without the bells and whistles - it was the only condition under which they'd agreed to actually be on the cover of nme in the first place. the brothers were coming in at twelve, the rest of the band at one, and then they were going off for their interview downstairs at two.

a phone call came through to her from the wardrobe department to clarify that all she would need were some jackets and sun glasses, and they added a runner into the mix to ensure that the information reached the right people by the right time.

by the time half past had rolled around, juniper was beginning to feel better. she could walk in a straight line and didn't vomit each time she went to the loo. tony had also come by the apologise and declared peace by sliding over a warm slice of cake from the bakery by the school over the road. juniper was scraping the thick layer of chocolate icing off with her finger and licking it off as memories of the night before slowly pieced themself together in her mind.

someone from marketing had asked her through a friend of a friend if she wanted to go out, and usually juniper had a rule against going on benders during the week. however, the chance to go to the velvet rooms wasn't one to be passed up. juniper remembered getting out of a cab with a girl she vaguely knew, shivering in the cold from her skimpy skirt and glittery stilettos and warming herself up with a shot given to her "on the house" from the bartender.

ten minutes before the gallagher brothers were meant to be arriving, juniper had started to regret filling up her stomach with icing and felt the bright blue fishbowl full of alcohol she'd drunk the previous night sloshing around in her stomach. ellie had tried to talk to her about the composition plans she'd submitted for final review, but held them tight to her chest as juniper blazed right through the middle of the office and barged through the door to the staff loos with a harsh shove of her elbow.

juniper had made it into a cubicle just in time before she retched and a blue liquid came splattering into the toilet bowl. she slumped down against the cubicle door and held her head in her hands. the door creaked as ellie's soft hands rapped against the cubicle quietly, "june, are you alright?" she asked tentatively.

"peachy," she croaked back, lunging towards the toilet again as she felt another bout of bile rise. "not so peachy." ellie's heart softened. it wasn't very often juniper came back from a night out and was feeling the repercussions of it the next day. slowly, juniper stretched her legs and rose to a stand, sliding the lock and leaving the cubicle after flushing. she caught sight of ellie's watch, she only had five minutes until she had to be down in the lobby.

fucking mancunian cunts.

thankfully, ellie had supplied her with a plastic cup of water and some mints. she fluffed up her hair and slid the sunglasses down her nose again, surveying her pale, forlorn reflection in the harsh yellow light. juniper pinched sharply at her cheeks to inject rosiness and life, re-applied her lipgloss and failed to stare back at herself confidently.

the guy she'd taken home last night had been from manchester, thick proper thick accent and everything. he was cocky, too, and juniper wasn't sure if it was a northerner thing or not.

ellie gently pushed the small folder of composition sketches to her as they left the bathroom, and gave her shoulder a small reassuring squeeze before departing back to her desk. the phone rang as juniper walked past her own, wrapping two slender fingers around it to answer, "hello, this is juniper speaking?"

"hi june," clare, the receptionist, was talking back at her, "the gallaghers are here, shall i send them up or are you coming down?" sending them up would save juniper from having to brave the lift again, but greeting them in the lobby and taking them to the studio herself would give a much better impression.

she sighed heavily, "i'll come down, let them know i'll be five minutes if they wouldn't mind the wait. they can help themselves to tea if they want as well."

with shaky steps, she pushed the button for the lobby on the pannel for the lift, when the middle one slid open juniper felt like she was walking to her death. she resisted the urge to curl up into a ball in the corner and instead stood up straight, fluffing her hair up once more as she walked as confidently as she could into the lobby. with a folder tucked under her arm and her yellow tinted sunglasses pushed right up to her eyes, she locked onto two men stood in the corner by a coffee machine.

both wearing sunglasses, but whether it was by choice or they were covering up a hangover like her, she didn't know. an instinct in her was leaning towards the latter in hopes of making herself feel better.

"noel and liam gallagher, i assume?" juniper spoke as she neared them, holding her hand out. noel looked at her first, smiled tightly, and shook her hand. "yeah, that's us."

"great. i'm juniper, it's lovely to meet you both. are you ready to come upstairs so we can get this over with? i've heard neither or you are fans of this kind of thing." at this, noel's smile increased slightly. he made to follow her and thumped his brother on the back of the head to get him to join.

liam cursed his brother under his breath as he turned away from the coffee machine and dragged himself into the elevator where he nursed his head in the region noel had made sharp contact. it did nothing to help his hangover, and as he held his hand out for the nme photographer to shake he hoped she would let him keep his sunglasses on.

he nearly laughed out loud when he looked at the reflection of the three of them in the mirrored doors of the elevator. what a sight they looked in their sunglasses in crippling sates of hangover recovery. liam was about to make a snark remark that would have surely granted him another whack on the back of his head when he stopped shortly in his tracks.

the photographer looked familiar, so familiar is was scary. he'd recognise the raggedy ends of her blowout falling limp and losing shape over her shoulders from when he'd seen it splayed over a pillow as she moaned beneath him the night before, and her orange painted nails that dragged over his shoulders and neck in a darkened corner of a club toilet.

he couldn't remember her name, something like juno or julia he thought, but liam knew it was her. she had the same aura about her that he couldn't have forgotten even after stumbling back out through her front door some time around four in the morning. leaving before she'd woken up had been a bit of a dick move even he had to admit, but he was about to be part of the best band in the fucking world!

he had to live up to rock and roll standards somehow, didn't he?

part of him felt bad, but another thought it was for the best he hadn't been there that morning. the situation would have been awful, leaving and then arriving in the same place a few hours later. perhaps he should say something? only in necessary, he concluded, safe in the comfort that at least she hadn't recognised him.

juniper's head was pounding dully as she walked the gallaghers into a studio, bright white lights stabbing through the flimsy protection offered by her glasses. ellie was fiddling with a camera in the corner, and made room for juniper to lay out the concept sketches and composition proposals on the table. "ellie, this is noel and liam." she introduced, though the brothers hardly needed it. they were on the verge of being the best band in the country. "she's here to make sure we run to schedule and to get you and the rest of the band - when they arrive - to your interview on time." she spoke as ellie shook their hands and returned to her camera.

"is there anything you'd like to ask before we start? there's a few jackets we've taken from the wardrobe department if you'd like to change."

without looking up, nimble fingers darting over the buttons as she set the camera onto a tripod in the middle of the room, ellie added, "there's shirts and sun glasses if you'd like those, too." shoved against a corner of the room was a clothes rack full of stone island, fred perry and adidas. noel beelined to a blue denim jacket with a fur trim around the neck then a vintage manchester city football shirt, while his brother hung behind.

juniper was going to introduce herself as she realised she hadn't gotten a chance in the lobby, but stopped short when she saw him look up at her from the paper cup of cheap filter coffee. she hadn't just slept with any mancunian the night before, she'd only gone and slept with liam fucking gallagher.

at first she thought her mind was playing a trick on her, but on closer inspection she concluded that she hadn't. along his neck were one or two hickeys, as well as stains from her lipstick that hadn't washed away after vigorous scrubbing under the shower. his jaw was the same as well, the same one she'd ran her finger along and pulled to face her as she sat on his lap after too many shots.

if having a hangover while photographing up-and-coming music legends was bad enough, having to do it all for her one night stand was much worse. and she could hardly talk to him about it either, because ellie was keeping her to a tight schedule. thus with a sigh and a heavy lump starting to form in her throat, juniper pulled her camera towards her and began to position the brothers in various positions.

the shutter flickered for just under an hour with little to no conversation, the silence only punctuated by juniper asking liam to move a few inches to the left or to get noel to move his head back more because it looked better under the lighting that way. she changed the film three times, got them to change jackets and shirts twice and took another dose of pain killers. eventually, ellie called time. "i'll go downstairs and get the rest of the band, they should be arriving any minute now. take five minutes if you need it, be back here by five past."

a bell rang somewhere in the distance, but juniper thought it came from the secondary school over the road. stupid place to put a music magazine office really, next to a school full of kids clued up about music and pop culture when there were bands and rock stars walking in and out of the building like a revolving door. sometimes they would try and get in through the lobby, or the delivery entrance if they were trying to be clever.

excusing herself and walking down the corridor, juniper looked out a window off a short turning and watched a sea of children clad in navy blazers flood out onto the playing fields where they shouted or played football, gossiped in small circles or watched fights unfold with anticipation.

there was a sharp tap on her shoulder and through the reflection, juniper could see who it was. with a heavy sigh and a pray to a god she didn't believe him to not fuck up the interaction, juniper turned around. "listen, juno-"

immediately, she cut him off. "juniper."

"what?" liam questioned, reeling after he was sure he got her name right after debating it over and over in his head. "it's juniper. my name, but june's fine."

"oh. righ'. well, june, then . . . listen. i was goin' to say summat but i don' really remember." there was something in his head yelling at him to stop acting like a cunt, but he couldn't help it. since he'd seen june in the club the previous night, there was something about her he didn't want to let go. kissing seemed like something he wanted to do to her, but was probably a bad course of action especially if she didn't remember their encounter.

a yell in juniper's head clicked her voice into action and she spoke at the same time as him, "listen, about last night-" they both stopped to look at each other. they clearly both remembered at least one small detail from the night before, mainly who it was they'd slept with. juniper could feel the throbbing returning in full force to the front of her head, and decided to let liam speak first.

"no, you go."

"righ'. well i just wanted to say i try not to sleep with people i end up working with but sometimes it just happens and when the bird is fit, and i mean mega fit, it just sorta happens." there was a level of tiredness and, surprisingly, bewilderment about her stare up at him. perhaps it was his outspoken way, it could have been that he'd tracked her down the corridor to speak to her, but most likely it was the fact he'd even chosen to acknowledge it in the first place.

juniper couldn't believe what she was hearing. liam gallagher, blabber mouth of the century who couldn't even begin to fathom the meaning of the word 'modest', was apologising for sleeping with her. it was nice, don't get her wrong, but there was something in his words that sounded like regret and she didn't like it. not one bit.

after three minutes of endless waffle and the sound of ellie walking across the hall further down with the rest of the band trailing behind her, juniper held up her hand. "thanks, really. i appreciate you telling me you try to keep your sex life away from your work and i'm assuming you don't want people to think of you as a wet wipe, but seriously. hardly any of the men i've slept with have had the decency to bring it up if i've seen them again. and believe me, in this building it happens more than you would think-"

the movement of her shoulders being forced back into the wall behind her as liam gained in distance closer to her face startled juniper into realising he was kissing her with as much force behind it as she was throughout the night. frozen into place as liam moved his hands around as much as he wished, juniper slowly twisted around to push him as far as she could down the small part of the alcove that remained behind them. then she brought her hands up to his chest, and begrudgingly pushed herself away.

juniper looked up at him through her lashes and the lenses of her sunglasses as she fiddled coyly with the button of his jacket placed just under his chin, suddenly brimming with confidence she hoped wouldn't fail. she could see the hickeies she'd marked him with and knew it wouldn't.

liam looked down at her over the bridge of his nose smugly, grin increasing as she questioned, "what was that for?"

"couldn' think of another way to shut you up. i mean you're proper fit, don' get me wrong, but you blab enough for half of the country." juniper appeared disheartened but tried to hide it behind her furrowed brows. "is that it?" she wondered aloud.

"nah. been thinking about doin' that for a while now actually."

ellie's voice called from somewhere in the nearby distance, asking if she ("junie") had gone to the loo and if she had had she seen liam wondering about. if she had, could she please bring him back to the studio now because his brother was getting "testy".

"cunt's always gettin' testy, been testy since he came out of the fucking womb." juniper had to bite down on her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing and giving the pair way. "she'll get testy if we don't hurry up." slowly, juniper peeled away from liam's hold and began to saunter away from him.

she could feel him eyes burning holes on her back where her checked skirt met the low hem of her brown leather jacket, and called over her shoulder lowly, "if you'd started by saying you'd wanted to kiss me, i would have invited you out for a drink tonight if you weren't busy."

liam rubbed his eyes and pushed them back into his head. "i'm not busy."

"are you sure? i would've thought rock and roll stars didn't have time for that sort of thing."

"i'll make time," he rushed out, stumbling over his words at the pace they were leaving his mouth. "lots of time, all the time in the world if you want it."

"i'll think about it, would that make you feel better?"

she hadn't acted like this before, only when she'd had too much to drink and had been running the heel of her shoe up his leg throughout the night at the club, and again liam felt himself being dragged in to wanting more. the pull she had on him was too much to bear. "please, junie?" it was something foreign on his tongue, begging, to get a woman to go out with him.

juniper's eyes lit up before she pushed open the door to the studio, and suddenly her hangover wasn't feeling as brutal as it had been. "well if you insist, mr gallagher, i suppose i'll have to give you the offer won't i?"

🪩⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🎤

[seriousbrat]

gobbledegook and notes on goblins (part 2 of 2)

Part one covering the language here.

GOBLIN NAMES:

(Some of these are from canon and some are ones I’ve made up/taken from various places, including ALL the female names because no goblin ladies are ever mentioned in canon sadly)

MALE NAMES:

A goblin male name often ends with a hard “k”, which is considered a strong, masculine sound. If not a k, then they almost certainly end with another hard consonant. Male names usually feature “o” and “u” sounds, though an “a” or an “i” is often present in the first syllable of the name.

Alguff

Bodrod

Bogrod

Burgok

Garkun

Gnarlak

Gornuk

Gringott

Griphuk (often spelt by wizards, including Harry, as Griphook; “uk” and “ook” are two English spellings of the same Goblin rune)

Hodrod

Nagnok

Odbert (old name, obsolete)

Ragnok

Ragnuk

Ranrok

Rikbert (often spelt as Ricbert by humans, “k” and “c” are one letter in the goblin script)

FEMALE NAMES:

Female names often feature “s” or “z” sounds, which are considered sharp, snappy, and fresh– feminine traits in goblin culture. They often end with “i” or “a” sounds.

Adartza

Arantza

Eguzki

Garazi

Isaskun

Itziar

Joska

Nadezhda

Saveka

Sigdrífa

Revka

Rifavka

Rizakva

Urdza

Urzuri

Zevka

Zigrífa

GOBLIN SOCIETY:

Goblins generally prefer to live underground or in cave-houses, in proximity to the ore and metal that is so important to their society. Most live together in large underground cities. The largest of these in Britain is Lekbek or Lek Fell in the Yorkshire Dales, which is connected through what is known to humans as the Ease Gill cavern system, part of the wider Three Counties system. The larger group of goblins in a particular territory, such as Britain, is known as a Bastion.

It is of interest to wizarding scholars that there is not as much linguistic variation among Goblins in different parts of the world, compared to humans– it is theorised that they have some method of communication between Bastions hidden away deep in their underground cities. This is a secret closely guarded by Goblin leadership.

Most goblins are miners or smiths/artisans, and in opposition to a common human misconception only a few are involved in banking or monetary transactions with wizards. The goblins usually encountered by humans are the Gringotts goblins, who act as a liaison between humans and goblins— this fact warps the perception the Wizarding World has of the species. It is ore, not coins, that is of value to goblins, as casting galleons, sickles, and knuts takes little real skill. To them, wizarding currency is merely a way to maintain influence over wizarding society. Still, each smith tasked with minting coins employs a mold with his or her serial number as a method of tracking those coins. Knuts and sickles contain trace amounts of gold, as gold is unable to be produced magically, and goblins can tell instantly if the coin is counterfeit.

Many of the Gringotts goblins are members of the same sprawling extended family tree, and though many do not know each other they share a common descendant in the goblin Gringott, who founded the bank in 1474. This is not at all universal, however, as many goblins now working for Gringotts were born to miners or smiths and simply displayed a good head for numbers or the diplomatic skills necessary to treat with humans from a young age.

Goblins have a loose system of factions— most of the time, those born to mining families become miners, while those born to artisans become artisans, and those descended from the goblin Gringott remain bankers. However, this system is usually maintained out of habit, as it is not enforced and is not rigid— Goblins prize raw talent, and if a young goblin can prove their skills in a different area than that of their parents, then they are happily accepted and permitted to shine.

Goblins have different ideas about property than humans. They prize talent and the ability to create above all things, and therefore believe that true ownership of an object rests with its maker— “buying” the object is viewed merely as a loan. Among themselves they are typically generous and neighbourly, and do not exchange money but goods and services. For instance, a miner might need a brooch for his daughter— if he provides the artisan with extra raw metal, the artisan will make it and the daughter is permitted to wear it until her death, upon which it returns to the smith. If the smith is no longer alive, it goes to whichever smith has taken over his tools and trade, who may or may not be a blood relative.

Some more radical elements believe that wizards should have no rights to own any Goblin-made items at all, but this is not a view shared by all. However, inheritance by blood is not a Goblin value, and nearly all goblins believe that upon the death of the human “owner” of a goblin-made artifact, the artifact should return to its makers rather than passing onto the descendants of the wizard who, in their eyes, have done nothing to deserve it. They do not respect or understand wizarding laws regarding this matter.

Goblin leadership is run by a Council of Elders, composed of the Grauld, the oldest goblins in each Bastion. They aren’t voted into their positions, but simply come into them upon reaching a certain age and if they are willing to leave their previous role behind. Supposedly banking, smithing and mining goblins are represented equally, but in practise the banking goblins have long held more sway than they should given their smaller numbers. (nearly 100% of banking goblins join the Grauld whereas many smithing goblins opt to continue their trade, and mining goblins have a higher rate of mortality) Some theorise that this is because of their close association with wizards, and that the Ministry of Magic is pulling the strings to make sure that their influence over goblin politics remains stable, as many in the smithing and mining factions often call for isolationism and a total withdrawal from humankind.

Goblins tend to believe that humans are lazy and resort to magic to fix every problem and create the things they need, rather than valuing the time and effort needed to carry out a trade and create quality artisanal goods. The few wizards who have ever earned even grudging respect from goblins have tended to be particularly brilliant inventors, though wizarding smiths are often regarded with suspicion and contempt.

Goblin leadership has also long had an interest in Muggles and Muggle technology; however, the Ministry of Magic keeps an extremely tight leash on goblins in this regard; they are expressly forbidden from contacting or approaching Muggles in any way, and have been promised harsh consequences if they do.  

OTHER NOTES:

Gravak Leshak: the Goblin Liberation Front (literally “Goblin Freedom”, the “Front” is added on by wizards.) An organisation devoted to the advancement of Goblin interests in wizarding society. Mostly comprised of banking goblins, (as the other factions, particularly the miners, tend toward an isolationist approach) they advocate for more power and influence over the Wizarding World, and have often resorted to violence to achieve these ends as well as strikes and picketing. Gravak Leshak is not officially supported by Gringotts Bank, which maintains a neutral position— however, many of the top officials at Gringotts have ties to the organisation.

Other goblins: There are goblins living assimilated into the Wizarding World, especially in rural areas. They may work as artisans or barkeeps. They tend to be solitary and not care much for politics, and usually maintain cordial relationships with neighbouring wizards. It is these sorts of goblins who typically beget half-goblin children, as mainstream goblin society is by and large hostile towards humans.

Gobbos vs wand-carriers: While the term “Vvargden” in Gobbledegook is simply a neutral term for wizard or witch, Goblins use the literal translation in English of “wand-carrier” as a despective term. Conversely, many humans refer to goblins with a variety of rude slurs, the most common of which is “gobbo”

Ak Varld Vvargden: a popular Goblin rights manifesto, perhaps the most widely distributed Gobbledegook text in existence. It is typically studied by humans who are learning the Goblin language, owing to the slightly more tempered views it expresses when compared to other Goblin political writings– which on the whole tends to be rather bloody and violent. This is because it was originally written with the intent to reach a Wizarding audience as well as Goblin.

Euskaldunak: As mentioned in part one, Basque wizards and Goblins have had a unique relationship throughout history in that there has been markedly more cordiality and cooperation, even friendship, between the two than in other parts of the world. This relationship still remains to some extent, but it has largely diminished due to the best efforts of the Spanish Ministerio de Magia to quash it. Nevertheless, goblins around the world have more respect for the Basque language and culture than for any other group of wizards.

[sabraeal]

Heyyo! This is gonna come off kind of creepy, but I remember in one of the posts you reblogged, in the tags you mentioned the significance of cadence in your writing, could you maybe explain a little more on how you think of cadence and how you incorporate it into your writing? Thanks and I hope you have an awesome day!

Oh nonny, it's totally not creepy! I talk in the tags to be heard, and minds latch onto what moves them. I'm glad this bit makes you curious!

I should preface this by saying that I am the sort of person who "hears" prose when I read it, so to my mind, the sound it-- and even the sound of certain words-- adds a lot to how I interpret a piece of writing. Lots of writing advice will tell you to vary you sentence structure, since people get board by repetitious cadence, and you're also told that lots of short sentences will imply action or high intensity. All of which is true! But you can do SO MUCH MORE.

A major pet peeve of mine when I read is being TOLD something about a character or a relationship; it's author interference, which can really ruin immersion since like...you can lead a horse to water but you can't tell it to drink. Like, sure you can TELL me these two characters like each other, but unless you can PROVE it in the prose, what the point? So the question becomes, how do you make the read FEEL a certain way without telling them. How do you convey tone and emotion and sometimes even physicality without explaining it.

The first way is diction. The second way is cadence (which also...diction, in a different hat). Or sometimes, even a lack of one. Look at these two passages:

His brother, the prince. A man he only speaks of in hushed tones, in furtive glances, as if he could hear them from miles away.

Her feet stutter beneath her. The knowe is his, it obeys him even in his absence –

–could he not, if he asked it?

vs.

Rich people, man. He didn’t even know Oktoberfest came in cans. It’s the only name he recognizes in the chest, so after getting brave on four of them, he picks one out via the tried and true method of whichever one has the stupidest name. Pumple Drumkin wins by a mile.

(The method holds. He’s also pretty sure this has more booze in it than normal booze. Man, rich people get the booziest booze)

He’s not drunk, or at least not drunk-drunk, you know? But – happy, as weird as that sounds.

The top one is from Between the Night and Morrow, and the second is a part of Nothing Was My Own. A fantasy setting vs modern. It's also Shiryuki's POV vs Obi's POV. For Night and Morrow it's important to me to convey the otherworldly air of the knowes, which involves longer sentences, ones that are almost breathless-- then stopped short by Shiryuki's more logical, shorter sentences as she interacts with it. She may have her extra sense, the way the fey do, but she is not of that world.

Since it's Shirayuki I can also choose to give her longer, more obscure worlds, the kind that sort of flow one to the next, and it allows the reader to be swept along with her description. Way back in high school to teachers probably told you about alliteration and assonance, and this is where you want to use those tricks, creating almost a soundtrack WITH the prose.

Obi and WFB is almost the opposite! Not only is he less lyrical over all, but so is his setting!. I try to keep his sentences shorter, as well as his words (which changes the longer he's with Shiryuki, and you can see changes back in scenes in M&B). I want his POV to be snappy, so when I *do* use alliteration, it's with harsh syllables, making it sound more like someone spitting bars than a symphony. And then when he does use longer sentences, it's either frantic, with many clauses (like oh god oh no don't have a feeling don't do it bro), OR it's it im allowing himself to be soft. It's something the reader can relax and feel in the moment with him. And then have quickly crash to a halt, because he's not allowed nice things. You can see it happen more an more in the later chapters, because Obi eventually learns to accept that he's like, a smart kid and he doesn't have to drown every emotion in anger.

[crewman-six]

The matching vowel in "douche canoe" bumped back to the second syllable instead of the first, but I think the fact that their long vowels makes it work. The short vowel between them gives it a pattern that flows well in English and actually makes it easier to say in that rapid fire "snappy insult" way.

Meanwhile, "cheese needle" stretches the pattern a bit, dispite following the rule, with its long vowels being stacked up right next to each other. But in this case the trailing syllable has no vowel sound at all and basically drops out, so it ends up working out.

Though it's worth pointing out that in both of these, it's the stressed syllable in the second word that matches vowels with the swear word!

*hurriedly scribbling notes*

[yourheartonfire]

The protagonist was grimly determined not to kneel, and briefly they succeeded. When the guards dragged them to the command tent and shoved them down, the protagonist hit their knees and kept going, landing face first on the carpets spread over the muddy ground. It felt kind of nice, to rest their aching head a few seconds on something soft.

Above them there was silence, and then a heavy sigh. "When I said, 'patch them up and then bring them to me,'" said the oh-so-familiar tones of their old playmate, "I thought it was clear that the 'then' in that sentence meant when they were no longer dying."

"The, ah, prisoner is weak from loss of blood and general trauma," said a medic nervously from somewhere near the tent's door. "But their wounds have been tended and they are stable, your highness."

"Your highness?" the protagonist mumbled into the carpet threads. "Coming up the world, huh?"

The medic cleared their throat again. "They're also on a great deal of painkillers. But they will live to see tomorrow."

"That remains to be seen," said that exquisitely cold voice and an ugly laugh ran through the tent.

There must have been a signal because hands gripped the protagonist's bound arms, hauling them up to their knees before their old friend.

 The antagonist was a black hole in the center of the protagonist's spinning vision. They lounged across their seat, wineglass dangling from their fingers, in a way that made the simple camp chair look luxurious. They were flanked by some very angry looking generals, nobles, the normal assortment of court flunkies. The protagonist saw a few familiar faces, but no friends. Not in this tent. 

"[Protagonist]," the antagonist said with that too-calm, too-bland court voice that boded violence for someone later. "You are under arrest for high treason. You will be brought before my father, the Emperor himself, for judgement. I don't expect it to go well for you. Have you anything to say for yourself?"

The protagonist bared their teeth in a bloody smile for the room, ignoring the twinge of pain from their split lip. "It's a long journey from here to the capital."

The antagonist conceded the point with a tip of their glass. "I am considering breaking both your legs."

"Wow, you are really leaning into the whole dark lord aesthetic," the protagonist drawled, fighting to form the words. God they were tired. And it wasn't just the morphine. "Is that red wine? You hate red wine."

The antagonist gave them a too-tight smile. "If you don't like it," they said, each syllable crisp and sharp enough to cut steel, "perhaps you shouldn't have had the prior occupant of my position killed."

There were any number of responses to that. The costs of war. People that the protagonist had lost too to far worse fates. But the former crown prince had been a fixture of the protagonist's childhood too. For once, the protagonist bit back their snappy response.

The antagonist's eyes narrowed. They put down their glass and stood.

The guards' grip tightened as the antagonist approached. The protagonist braced for the strike; a punch, a kick, maybe even a knife to the gut. But the antagonist did something worse; threading those fingers heavy with rings, through the protagonist's roughly cropped hair. The protagonist bit the inside of their cheek, hard, to resist leaning into that caress. But they couldn't help the shudder that went through them as the antagonist's touch lingered on the swollen, tender bruise at the protagonist's temple.

"Oh darling," the antagonist said softly. "All this chaos and death, just to scratch this rebellious itch of yours. Was it worth it?" The protagonist tried to jerk away but the antagonist tightened their grip, forcing the protagonist's head back to face them. "All this blood just to wind up back where you belong. On your knees in front of me. "

The protagonist swallowed, feeling their throat bob against the antagonist's hand. They could see it in the antagonist's bleak gaze; the old mute plea under the regal bluster, asking the protagonist for a laugh, for a lie, for the love and attention everyone else was too busy to give the second royal child.

It would be so very easy to step back into that old role. Give them what they wanted. The apology. The repentance. But there was a limit to the protagonist's sympathy.

The protagonist raised their chin higher. "Why do you care? You've got the prize, the crown, the throne." They lowered their voice, going for straight for the heart. "Don't you like having everything you've ever want-?"

The antagonist's hand, heavy with jewels and gold, whipped out with a crack. Everything went black and twinkling for a second. The protagonist came back to themselves hanging in the guards' grip, their cheek a livid, wet wound.

"Very well. Let's do this properly," came the antagonist's voice from overhead. "Clean that up, sedate them..." The antagonist's hand stroked across the protagonist's newly aching face. They flinched. "And put them in my tent. We'll continue this conversation in private, darling."

There was another ugly laugh from the room as the guards hauled the protagonist away. The protagonist didn't bother trying to get their legs under them. They had to conserve their strength if they were going to escape.

The antagonist wasn't a kid anymore. But then again, neither was the protagonist.

[todoscript]

Work of Art

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader genre: smut. word count: 3.6k+ warnings: 18+. shibari. bondage. submissive bakugou. dominant reader. begging. praising. bakugou being a little bit of a brat?

anonymous requested: okay but what abt.. submissive bakugo👉👈 him being all bratty and shuts up when you deny him—

author’s note: ohhh boyyyy... submissive bakugou really got me writing more than 3k’s worth of filth haha, but i hope you enjoy! shoutout to my gals, rosie ( @shoutogepi​ ) & val ( @shoutodoki​ ) for indulging with me during our talks about sub bnha boys

“Hmm, I don’t see why you’re so against this,” your voice sounds out, and Bakugou immediately perceives the saccharine dripping upon every word, a lilt of a smile dancing on your colored lips, painted in a vivid rosy red pigment that only enhances your seduction. Despite how sweet you sound, he knows that underneath that layer of sugar lies a venom waiting to intoxicate him—ensnare his reasoning and leave him utterly vulnerable to your mischief. As in this moment, you embody every characteristic akin to a vixen, enveloped in the lacy fabric of your black lingerie.

Bakugou sits before you bound to a chair with an intricate network of cordage twined across his naked skin. The patterns and shapes knotted together contrast stunningly against his expanse of hard muscle—reminiscent of paint on canvas. And you tonight are the artist.

“You look so pretty, like a beautiful piece of art…” you say languidly. Each syllable uttered is drawn out in alluring breaths that somehow makes him feel hazy. He grits his teeth at how much that extra flair in your voice affects him, eyebrows narrowing tightly as he fidgets in his seat. His arms and wrists ache from just a simple wriggle, your meticulous work granting him no chance to get free.

“Ah-ah, you’re not gonna get out of this one,” you tease. Right as he opens his mouth for a snappy retort, the words are swooped from under him when your hands begin to trace his naked skin—starting from his thigh, up to his abs, and then landing to his chest, where you make a point to taunt him by dancing your fingertips there before bending down to meet his eyes. Your ruby red lips curve impishly at what you reduced him to. “You can try as much as you like, but I’ve tied the ropes this way so you can’t get free~ Don’t want you to spoil the fun after all,” you sing. Fully aware of your boyfriend’s strength built upon many years of arduous hero training alongside that powerful quirk of his, you made sure Pro Hero Ground Zero would not turn the tables on you in his haste for pleasure tonight.

Thus, his usual brash exterior dwindles in the face of your ministrations when you play with the rope a bit more. When he notices your eyes descend to his angry red cock that stands firm amid the knotwork surrounding it, his impatience builds. Bakugou wets his lips, finally ushering some words out from his dry throat.

“Fuck… Stop stalling already…” he tells you, voice borderline on a plea, but his remaining pride pushes the inflection back in hopes it resembles even a lick of his regular gruff tone. Your hums in reply don’t entail much, other than the fact you’re still prolonging his needs.

“Stalling? Who said I was stalling?” You feign ignorance before deciding to take a seat on him, straddling his thighs. “I just want to admire my work of art a bit more… I did a pretty good job—” your hand suddenly comes to his cock, fingers coaxing its hardness that makes his breath hitch, “don’t you think?”

For once, Bakugou’s scrounging for words at the sudden contact. He’s not used to being so speechless when it comes to passion in the bedroom with you. If anything—moaning and yelling aside—he regards himself the more vocal one between the two of you, his dirty talk and crude language a routine he always enacted to get you hot, bothered, and oh so ready for him. However, the shibari ropes braided across his body press a button that spurs him to be so… submissive.

God, him and “submissive” do not belong in the same sentence.

He thinks this, and yet the aesthetic arrangement on his skin emphasizes his sensuality and vulnerability, and it somehow makes arousal wholly envelop his cock.

“Well?” You bring him back to the situation at hand by thumbing over the slit of his length, slick with his pre-cum. The touch causes a groan to slip past his lips. “I asked you a question, Katsuki.” You stroke his length up and down for every word, stopping right at the end and leaving his cock weeping for more of your touch, strained by the rope.

“Ah, f-fuck—” He internally curses himself for the stutter. Glancing at you, he heeds the smirk that still hangs proudly on your red lips.

Boy, does he itch to wipe it off your face with bruising kisses and have wanton moans singing from them when he pounds you into the bed. To his dismay, however, that itch remains unreachable thanks to your painstakingly elaborate composition. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, this shibari shit you performed on him was executed with great attention to detail for him to be left so aroused and unable to break free in this damn chair. But would he ever say this to you out loud? Hell no. So he settles for defiance instead.

Bakugou looks you straight in the eye with a smug expression plastered on his face. “Hah, is this supposed to impress me? Seems like a bunch of amateur work to me, babe,” he scoffs boldly, earning a raised brow from you at his attitude despite the position he’s in. Perhaps he needs a reminder that no matter how much he squirms, he isn’t getting a sliver of authority tonight.

“Is that so?” You jab, finger looping around the cordage tied across his collarbones to pull him forward in his chair. His face is so close to yours; he can feel your breath on his lips and smell the enticing fragrance of your perfume. It’s an off-beat mix of rose and jasmine that gets his blood pumping from just a whiff. “I don’t think you truly understand the position you’re in right now, Suki,” you muse sensually, lips tugging back into a smirk that has him second-guessing his actions, “I just need to remind you then.”

At that, your hand immediately falls to his cock, stout and weepy with pre-cum, capturing Bakugou’s attention. He groans wantonly while you stroke it. Dropping to your knees, you watch as your ministrations evoke bliss into his cock from below. You can tell without even glancing at him that he’s biting his tongue to suppress his obscene noises. However, the increasing volume in his voice betrays him.

“Agh, fucking goddd—” he drawls beneath his breath when you decide to pick up the pace with your hand, applying the right amount of pressure that had his walls slowly cracking in front of you. The strain on his body from the ropes heightens his lust. Bakugou tugs on the restraints in the fit of pleasure building inside him.

“Hm well look at that. You were so bold before, but now look at you—” Your other hand goes to fondle his balls, the extra sensation making him buck in his seat, “a hard, aching mess at my touch, isn’t that right?”

“Ugh, if you—fuck—think I’m going to give in— Haaahhh...” His words are a jumbled mess. Bakugou leans against his seat, tossing his head back while involuntarily rocking his hips into your hand.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you over your moaning and groaning,” you mock, watching his brows knit together at the lust consuming his being. His panting comes out ragged while he gasps for air, thighs flexing at the fire coursing through his body that teeters on a tightrope. However, before he can reach his high, the sensations are ripped away when you quickly remove your digits from him, recognizing his imminent release.

Bakugou shoots his eyes open. A sharp shift in his seat has the chair’s legs scraping against the floor. “What the hell?!” he growls, practically snarling the words out. There’s a wave of anger heard in his tone that you don’t take a liking to. You wag your finger.

“That’s no way to talk, Katsuki.”

“I don’t give a fuck! I was so damn close to cumming! Why the hell did you stop?!” Bakugou yells vehemently with a pierce in his red eyes. You run your hands on his thighs as you lean up to return the look.

“Y’know if you’re going to act like this—act like a brat—I might as well just leave you here and not let you cum at all tonight, hm?” you threaten, and the notion brings his temper to an immediate silence. The idea of you keeping him bound to this chair while his cock cries for release is enough to diminish his poise. He sinks in his seat submissively when you inch closer, eyeing the bright red of your painted lips that curls salaciously with each word you utter to him.

“But if you behave, sit here obediently, and continue looking all pretty for me, I might let you cum. How’s that sound?” you offer.

He bites his lip. It’s like he’s making a deal with a succubus right now, that damn voice of yours coaxing him.

“F-Fine…” he manages to answer. You smile at his compliance before placing a kiss on his cheek. You’re granted a glimpse of the faint, red imprint left on his skin thanks to your lipstick when you detach from him. Almost as if you’ve marked him as yours.

“Good boy.” The praise sends a shiver down his spine as you whisper it into his ear. He watches you descend onto your knees again, gazing at his cock like you’re about to pounce. And god, does he wish you would just do it already, but instead, you choose to prolong him some more and glance at him.

“Now… what do you want me to do to you?”

Really? Did you have to ask this? Bakugou furrows his brows at how you play cloy. “Argh, you already know—”

“I want to hear it from you though,” you interject, leaning forward and running a finger along a prominent vein on the side. His pretty cock twitches at your touch. “Use your words and tell me all the things you want me to do to you, ’Suki.”

Before he can bite his tongue, his mind is already one step ahead of him, blurting out his thoughts shamelessly. “God, I want to be in your mouth. I want you to suck my dick and let me cum in your throat. And then I want you to get up here, ride me to oblivion, and let me paint your pussy so fucking white. Please please please—” He adds in his pleas for good measure, the desire to climax overpowering his pride in the heat of the moment that feeds your ego.

The word “please” has never sounded so dulcet coming out of that usually vulgar mouth of his. Who knew Bakugou Katsuki was capable of begging so well? It’d be an absolute shame not to reward him for his good behavior.

You lick your lips. “There, that wasn’t too hard, was it?” Then you begin acting on his wishes, your tongue making contact with his hard cock, gradually running up the side until you reach the head. Swirling against the tip causes a growl to bellow from his throat, jerking forward when you wrap your lips around the entire head. He watches with lidded eyes as your lipstick begins smearing across his dick, sucking him in like that.

His moans sound frenzied the more his cock inches into your warm cavern. The sounds encourage you to eagerly bob your head up and down his length with your spit collecting in the back of your throat. You adore the way his cock feels in your mouth, so heavy and thick, and especially love the fact that your controlled pace has your man reeling with pleasure, finally letting his unabashed whimpers out. You savor every little sound like it’s your favorite song on repeat, which it might as well be from how slick gathers at your cunt listening to them.

“Shit! Baby, please don’t fucking stop!” he begs, head tossed behind him as you moan your response into his dick, picking up speed. Your hand pumps his shaft a few more times until you bring it down to your panties to move the material aside and rub your clit. The contact sends a tingle through your body that urges you to bottom his cock into your mouth. Feeling your wetness enveloping his cock gratifies every nerve in his body until it ultimately leaves him undone.

”Agh! Sh-Shit—!” he curses, his climax peaking as his white cum spurts inside your throat. You make sure to swallow every last drop, tasting his delicious cream on your tongue as you detach from him with a lewd pop.

Bakugou is still catching his breath by the time you happily wipe your mouth of your excess spit and any lingering drops of his delectable seed, his chest heaving in and out with the red rope flexing at his every movement. A haze clouds his vision from the intensity of his orgasm, but he’s at least able to see you standing before him—lipstick now messy but that mischief in your eyes persisting.

“Sukiiii~ You’re absolutely gorgeous like this—tied up, sweaty, and gasping for air just because of me,” you praise.

“B-Baby…” Bakugou’s tone somehow rings higher than usual. Your eyebrows perk up, the wetness at your core saturating through your panties hearing the shameless little whine.

“Kiss me… please…”

Well, since you asked so nicely…

You straddle his thighs and bring your lips to his own, letting him taste the bittersweetness of his cum from your tongues fervently melding against each other. Soon the makeout session comes to a halt with a quick peck on his lips. He peers into your glimmering expression with an insatiable need, struggling in his bonds as his cock hardens once more at your proximity—skin so warm against him. But your lingerie still obscures him from your real treasures. He wants to rip it off you already.

“Can I get out this damn thing yet?” he asks, quiet yet impatient. You shake your head.

“’Fraid not, Katsuki, I still need to ‘ride you to oblivion,’ remember?” you quote him.

Crap. He does. And surprisingly, there are no objections when you remind him. His silence amid your established authority doesn’t go unnoticed by you as you grin devilishly at how pliant he’s become throughout the night.

As if you’ve read his mind, your hand finds the clasp fastened on your back. “Since you’ve been such a good boy for me—” a simple flick of your wrist undoes the grip holding your bra together, “I’ll reward you for the rest of the night.” On cue, the skimpy garment glides down your shoulders.

Tossing the bra into the void of the bedroom, you can’t help the giggle that bubbles from your lips at Bakugou’s widened eyes aimed at your tits bared before him. He absentmindedly shifts in a vain attempt to lift his hands and grab your mounds, forgetting the rope bound on his arms behind his back prevents him from touching your soft, naked skin.

“Aw, you want to touch my tits?” you chide. Bakugou grunts in response, and you’re amused by the way he turns his head bashfully as if you miss the subtle blush dusting his cheeks. Such a cute little act.

Cupping your hand under his jaw brings his attention back to you. You nudge him so he faces you again, not allowing his eyes to gander anywhere else but on your own.

“I’ll let you do a little bit more than touch…” Your thumb lightly brushes his lower lip, pulling it down ever so slightly, and he realizes what you want him to do.

And boy, is he eager to abide by your desires.

Opening his mouth, he doesn’t hesitate to latch onto your right nipple immediately, tongue poking out around the bud. You hum in content at how passionately he licks and sucks, petting the back of his head and brushing your fingers through his soft blonde hair to encourage him along.

“Ooooh… That’s it Suki… You’re doing so well, sucking on my nipple like that,” you moan as Bakugou moves over to your left breast, giving its twin the same amount of attention. He groans between licks, flattening his tongue and drawing out the sound erotically against your skin. It spurs you to grind your clothed pussy on his erection, earning you his hisses between tugging your nub into his mouth.

In the meantime, your other hand, not caressing his locks, stumbles upon your wetness seeping past your intimates, practically soaking through onto his dick. A few strokes of your fingertips beneath your panties gathers your gossamer-like slick that interlaces your digits together in a web. You tear Bakugou off your bud to hover your glossy fingers in front of him. Right away, he begins diligently licking away at the slippery sheen, moans lewdly vibrating deep in his throat with each swipe of his tongue.

“How do I taste?”

“So fucking good. Shit, I want more,” he says. You grin, flattered by his enthusiasm to devour more of your essence. However, you’d have to put that on hold for another time.

“Hm, not tonight, I’m afraid. I need you inside me right this second.” Your words have pure anticipation sparking through his body. He stares attentively as you lift yourself over the head of his cock, aligning his length into your soaked hole, panties pushed to the side.

“Arghhh…” Bakugou hisses between gritted teeth when the first inch enters, fists clenched around nothing at how tightly you’re squeezing him. Your whimpers accompany him as you adjust to his well-endowed size, a pleasant burn seizing you. Heat sprouts in your abdomen the more you descend on Bakugou’s firm, aching cock, eventually bottoming out with a long sigh.

“Fucking hell, you’re so damn fucking tight—”

If your mouth feels good, then your pussy is practically heaven, inducing him in hot, tight bliss when you start bouncing up and down.

“Ah, Suki, your cock is so big… so hard…Mmph, I love how it fills me up!” you sing, arms wound around his neck, tits pressing against his chest. Having to sit back with nothing to leverage him amid your silky walls pressing around his cock, bursts of mini-explosions crackle in his palms. A musky scent of burnt caramel suddenly invades your senses, making your cunt clench tighter. Bakugou curses at how you hug his length.

“Fuck! Baby, I want you to ride my cock faster! Make me cum so damn hard that I feel it for weeks!”

Even when taking on a submissive role, Bakugou’s dirty talk never ceases to rile you up. You nod in reply, thighs flexed while your tempo on his cock increases to the point where it ensnares both of you in the throes of pleasure. Unable to do much except allow you to work yourself on and off him, he settles for leaning in and capturing your lips, which you respond to earnestly by parting your mouth to let your tongues dance again. A few particular hard drops later cause him to detach himself from you to groan out loudly.

The echo of your skins making firm contact against each other fogs his thoughts. His eyes are half-lidded when they gaze at you. You giggle at his expression—shrouded in pure bliss from his blanketed red eyes to his tongue peeking out of his lips. Caressing his jawline, you tilt his head up.

“Whose good boy are you?” you ask. It takes a second for him to answer.

“Y-Yours…”

You pry on, not letting up for even a second in your bouncing, “Who made you a pretty work of art tonight?”

“You! Fuck, you did!” he cries out, head tossed to the side that grants you access to the beautiful expanse of his neck. Your mouth finds his skin, kisses ascending until you reach the junction below his cut jawline as he continues reeling at the sensations building inside him.

“That’s right, Suki. So good, so obedient. I think it’s time I let you cum, yeah? Let you fill my little hole up with all your creamy white goodness…”

Your pace escalates quickly, not granting a relief of pause until you both begin arriving on the cusp of release.

“Fuckfuckfuck!! C-Cumming—!” Bakugou yells out, your grappling walls milking his twitching cock that surges into his climax. As promised, his cum coats your insides wholly white, stuffing you to the brim that has the heat inside you lurching. It’s right after the apex of his pleasure that your pussy spasms around him, body trembling, and toes curled as you peak into your high. He licks at your nipple arched in front of his face while your cries fill the space of the room.

By the time the two of you settle down in the aftermath of your euphorias, you’re both sweaty, panting messes. Bakugou more so as his head rests against your shoulder, allowing you to pet his hair between your fingers and comfort the tremors still racking through him.

“You did so so well, Katsuki. I’m very proud of you.” You lay a sweet kiss on his temple. Your praises manage to elicit a content hum from his lips while he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. Before you can get up and remove the tight ropes still lining his upper body, Bakugou suddenly lifts his head and meets your eyes, a tired yet devious expression painted on his face.

“Next time, we should tie you up in these things.”

[ivalatona]

The Curse of Providence

Saint Seiros has come to town! Yep, you heard right. While Garreg Mach’s seen its fair share of impostors in the past, none so far have had the gall to impersonate the church’s founder herself. Whoever this lady is, she at the very least looks and sounds the part - she bears a striking beauty beyond words, and a commanding presence to go along with it. Is she here to stage a coup? Or maybe she’s just after the church-sanctioned taxes… Whatever the case, you need to land this broad and her impressively large following in jail like right this second. [Grants Faith +1]

“--which is exactly why this wretched hoax cannot be allowed to stand! It goes against the holy principals of justice and truth! As a princess of the light, I intend to do all I that I must to bring this sinner to the fate they deserve!” Starting in medias res, L’Arachel and Letizia are walking-and-talking on their way to face the false Saint Seiros. Although, to say Letizia has done much of the talking is a great overstatement. For nearly the entire trip, L’Arachel had been blabbing her mouth about all sorts of menial things: divine law, noble quests, saintly duties, the inescapable torture that heretics are bound for, and all manner of ego-boosting proclamations. 

For a woman like Letizia, it might’ve been a lot to listen to.

But alas! She doesn’t have much of a choice. The two had been paired together long before L’Arachel began ranting. 

The only silver lining here is that the Rausten girl is so fired up she manages to maintain a quickened pace. Her academy boots make fast clacks! against the pavement of the town, each step sounding angrier than the last. If that, and the snappy tone of her voice aren’t enough to get her mood across, then the fire in her eyes and sharp pull of her brow convey her feelings perfectly.

Names mean a lot to her, and identities even more. For someone to rob the character of another like it’s some cheap loaf of bread in a market is outrageous! L’Arachel Alba Amadeus plans to write her name into history in much the same way as Saint Seiros. If someone were to imitate her later on in life, she’d stop at nothing to have them purged--using the might of Rausten’s Sacred Twins if need be. So it only makes sense that she’d do the same here. By having a self-centered worldview, L’Arachel manages to show to some empathy and personally involve herself with the issues surrounding her school.

“Oh when I get my hands on her! I’ll give her a beatdown to remember.” Without warning, she retrieves the Recover staff from her hilt, swinging it wildly through the air to act out physically hitting this imposter, “Like this! and that! and that, and that, and that!” Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh! Each exaggerated syllable is another crack L’Arachel takes at her imaginary foe. She’s so invested in this little bout of live-action roleplaying that she doesn’t even realize they’ve reached the gathering of people.  

It’s only when she looks up from her healing instrument does she notice the flock of misguided sheep before them. The crowd is thick, from the looks of things, so it looks like they’ll have to do some pushing through to get to phony. 

“Ah, we’re here.” She finally turns to Letizia, twisting her grip on her staff like it’s a bat. “Letizia, was it? I hope you’re prepared to deliver this evildoer to justice! As one who has the pleasure of being paired with The Beautiful Princess of Peerless Beauty, you are not only working with me, but for me.” Her thumb sticks out at her own chest in delusional confidence, believing wholeheartedly that the other woman will simply bend the knee, “As such, you’ll follow my lead, and keep me safe should anything unruly come of this mission.”

With the way she so matter-of-factly states this message, it’s clear that L’Arachel is leaving no room for debate on that subject. In fact, if she were more familiar with Letizia, she would’ve already charged right into the fray--knowing and trusting that director would follow. 

@diryrja

[trivalentlinks]

i think it doesn't work as well for mandarin chinese, because it's a much more compact language, so the sayings all fit neatly into four-syllable phrases, but in english it just sounds like a mouthful

(which sometimes adds to the humorous effect, like when you're clearly trying to say something snappy but end up with a mouthful. i don't know, it's kind of funny when you're with other ABCs and they know what you're trying to say)

that said, here are some mandarin chinese sayings i like (just imagine each of them being said with four one-syllable words, so it's nice and catchy, then imagine me saying this in english)

-- 拔苗助长 "pull up a plant shoot to help it grow taller", meaning to try to make something happen faster, but in a way that actually makes everything worse, or you try to force something to go faster and ruin everything instead

-- 对牛弹琴 "serenade a cow with a harp" meaning talking to the wrong audience (in particular, trying to convince someone who is not going to be convinced no matter what)/preaching to deaf ears

-- 画蛇添足 "adding feet to the picture of a snake", meaning doing something superfluous/unnecessary

-- 倾国倾城 "overthrows countries and overthrows cities", meaning someone is drop-dead gorgeous, a helen of troy, a beauty who can bring down civilizations

-- 瞒天过海 "deceive the heavens to cross the sea", meaning to act in secret/deceptively, usually in an audacious way, and get away with it. Like to tell a Really Big Lie and get away with it.

-- 抛砖引玉 "cast a brick to attract jade", meaning to toss an idea out there (the idea is you're saying something like "hey, this is a dumb idea (brick), but maybe saying it will inspire others to have better ideas (jade)", usually only used to describe your own ideas as the brick as a show of humility)

-- 破镜重圆 "a broken mirror made whole", meaning when two people who were separated are reunited (based on a story about two lovers who were separated by a war, each with half a broken mirror but eventually got back together)

-- 顺手牵羊 "steal a sheep at one's convenience" meaning to take advantage of a crisis for personal gain

-- 指桑骂槐 "point at the mulberry tree and insult the pagoda tree", meaning when you want to criticize Alice, but can't do that openly, so you criticize Bob instead, but in a way that makes it very clear that you're actually criticizing Alice.

For example, Alice borrowed money from you and hasn't returned it, but you don't want to directly tell her "hey give me back my money!" so you say to Alice, "I love my friend Bob, but he's so forgetful and careless, he keeps forgetting to give me back the money I loaned him", in hopes that Alice will take the hint

-- 借古讽今 "borrow the past to criticize the present", a particular case of the above one, but you where you want to make social commentary about the present, but to get past censors, you discuss some past regime, not-so-secretly you're clearly criticizing the present regime

-- 没吃过猪肉, 也看过 猪跑 (ok, this one's 10 syllables but) "haven't eaten pork, but have seen a pig run", meaning just because you don't have direct experience doesn't mean you can't give advice. Like for example, even if you've never had kids, maybe you can still give some parenting advice because you have been a child

Stage 1: using your native language's idioms in English out of habit/lack of knowledge

Stage 2: using English idioms as much as you can to prove that you're good at English

Stage 3: using your native language's idioms in English because they fuck actually

[limerickshere]

I found your blog and loved it, so sent it to a friend who said they didn’t know what a limerick was. This is how I replied:

A Limerick is a poem, see

The number of lines is key

A three rhyme set

One middle couplet

Like on “Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me”

What I can’t remember is, if there is a set number of syllables or meters per line? Thank you spreading poetic joy :)

I love it! Your poem’s just great :) The way you explain is top rate You hit all the things That matter. It seems Their questions you clearly abate. And thank you so much for your note - The thoughtful- and kind-ness you wrote! It makes me quite happy :) Now I’ll make this snappy And lim’ricks to answers devote! So each line should always have three Of it’s syllables stressed, let’s agree. It’s trimeter form And quite a strict norm For the first two and last line you see. The couplet meanwhile has two Of it’s syllables stressed, as you knew. But harder is matching And moving and patching The number of unstressed parts too. When you write a good lim’rick, it’s best To have syllable “feet” not be messed, But have unstressed parts match Like in this one you’ll catch I have two quiet ‘fore the ones stressed. While two unstressed each time Is common, I will chime Just one works too The goal’s that you Can match within each rhyme. I hope I answered your question! I’ve got to admit, in confession, I clearly don’t always Do all that in all these, But I hope it’s a helpful suggestion! :)

[pallasperilous]

Piledriver

Dean/Castiel 1815 words Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair Coda, Fix-It (sort of), Grief is a weird and protean beast, Second Person POV, but also Dean POV, I realize what a tall order that is y’all but I swear it’s mad judicious {AO3 version}

You’re not really sure when you started doing it.

That’s a fucking lie. 

You started doing it ten, maybe twenty minutes after. 

Not as a conscious thing, not like those snappy comebacks you think of the next day, or like those speeches you practice in your head and then never get the chance to deliver. (Although it seems like other people have better luck in that regard.) 

It’s more like a tic — like the way Sam used to pick at his hand, or your mom used to hum the same little bit of Stairway to Heaven offkey. (Which was kind of a trip since she’d come back from, you know. There.)

You think: I love you, too. 

 It’s just a drumbeat of syllables running in the back of your head. Might as well be shave and a haircut. Which you could use, incidentally.

It eases off a little, after the universe ticks over. You’re so fucking relieved that you basically revert to a lower life form for awhile — you’re like a jellyfish, or a fungus, or a Yankees fan. For a few minutes there, things are pretty sweet.  

Then the clock starts running again, and you and Sam are faced with the frankly fucked-up necessity of needing a hot meal and somewhere to pee. 

It kicks back in then — during the peeing, specifically, because goddamn did the dude never get over what a fucking nightmare it is to have a bladder. Like it actually made him mad. Even after he got his batteries back and was once more able to, like, effervesce fluids out of his body or teleport them to the surface of Mars or whatever, he never stopped giving you pitying looks whenever he got up to use the can. On the road he’d ask if anybody needed a bathroom break at every single freeway exit. You chewed him out once that you in fact were not a four year-old or an Alzheimer’s patient and could therefore hold it for more than twenty minutes at a time, and he looked at you with such bottomless patience and empathy that you could’ve thrown him out of the fucking car. I love you too.

Instead of a heartbeat, it’s like a piledriver hitting the ground ten feet away.  

I love you too. It rattles your fucking thighs as you wash your hands in the gas station bathroom. None of the other dudes do because dudes are fucking disgusting. This attitude was maybe part of the problem.

I love you too. You come out and the car’s moved and you have a hot second of freakout, then you see Sam’s just pulled it away from the pump and parked in the lot and honest to God (go team!) you almost burst into tears. What the fuck.

I love you, too. 

That night you do your absolute best to lobotomize yourself (not to obliterate yourself, which is a sign of progress and for which effort you absolutely deserve a round of applause from…somebody), but the piledriver just keeps on pounding away and you realize that it’s either piledrive or get piledriven. Sam’s asleep six feet away after his own inpatient procedure but you’re really fucking starting to panic so you say it out loud, anyway. 

I love you, too.

And something gives, eases off like a gas bubble turning a corner in your gut, and you pass out.

So you lean into it. You make it your thing. You figure you can either be losing your mind, or practicing, so you choose practicing. You’re showing the powers that be that you’re keeping the faith. You’re holding a torch.  You’re being the change you want to see in the world. You’ve talked to coma patients before and you’ve prayed to this asshole before and this isn’t any different. Isn’t it?

Washing the dishes: I love you, too.

Checking the oil: I love you, too.

Swinging a machete and hitting that sweet spot between vertebrae where the head just pops right off, like a Lego dude: I love you, too. 

Pulling on socks: I love you, too.

Burning that fucking jacket: I love you, too.

Not out loud, or at least, not where anybody can hear you. That would be weird.

And you know, you know, that he doesn’t hear you, either. You know that, worst of all, he didn’t even need to hear it. You’ve heard a lot of shit about unconditional love, but it’s never had any goddamn appeal to you because, what? Somebody loves you the same no matter what fucked up shit you do, no matter how you feel about them? 

That’s either (a) some seriously poisoned Kool-Aid or (b) so huge it’s useless, like giving somebody a galaxy for their birthday. You want unconditional love? Get a fucking dog. 

I love you, too.

Lately you’ve been swapping in phrases that have the same rhythm or meter or whatever, so you can say them out loud without worrying anybody more than usual. The rain in Spain does some heavy lifting for a couple weeks, then ba-DUMP-bump, tissshh! followed by the king of beers for about half a particularly shitty afternoon and then closing out with you bet your ass, which is a much better fit for your lifestyle. 

So fine, great. Life goes on. You were the subject of his unconditional cosmic love-boner whatever and getting that off his chest was all he needed to go happily fucking off into the abyss. And you’re still down here (up here? over here?), drinking coffee and hating Mondays. Awesome. I love you, too.

This is around when you discover the best match for both meter and tone yet, one so close that it doesn’t even feel like a placebo for the real phrase. It’s a whole different drug, actually. It makes you feel like a million bucks, it’s absolute rocket fuel. If the original is whiskey, this shit is meth. You turn a whole nest of ghouls into one big ghoul smoothie and then at the bar later somebody nervously informs you that you were yelling it out loud the whole damn time. 

The phrase is: go fuck yourself.

You imagine it at night, lying in the empty bed, your pulse hammering in time: him standing there, one big cow-eyed khaki rumple, and you yell: Go fuck yourself. You asshole. You bastard. You smug piece of shit. Go fuck yourself. How many times have we done this, and every fucking time you find a way to make it worse. Go fuck yourself.

I love you, too.

After a few weeks it loses its edge. You kinda knew it would, having some experience with the limits of amphetamines and your own rage-juice glands. It downgrades from a battle-cry to a slur. At some point you realize you’re not even saying it to him anymore. You’re saying it to you. Go fuck yourself.

You try to imagine him saying it instead. Go fuck yourself,  in that nutso Sam the Eagle voice that he must’ve gotten out of a box of Cracker Jacks, because it sure didn’t come complimentary with Jimmy Novak’s dry-ass mouth.  Go fuck yourself, Dean.

Somehow it’s still the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to you. 

So you go back to the OG version, and this time it feels like it settles in. You do whatever the psychological equivalent is of buying it a dog bed and a food dish and a leash, and you take it out for walkies whenever it starts to chew on the furniture. I love you, too. 

You get so used to its presence that sometimes you even forget it’s there. You’re joking around with Sam, eating sandwiches at some picnic grounds on the way to Sioux Falls for a social visit, and you say some dumb thing to him, who knows about what. Sam rolls his eyes and shakes his head in disgust as required by the kid brother certification board and snorts “I love you, man,” in the way that means how are you even allowed to exist, and you answer “I love you, too,” in the way that means I love you, too.

Sam has seen a lot of wild shit, but the look on his face after that is a brand new one to you. 

“Checkmate, asshole,” you say, in case he’s worried you’re gonna off yourself in the bathroom or something.

 You do get to say it, eventually. 

Like most things in life, it happens after you’ve totally given up, and then totally given up giving up, and have achieved the spiritual equivalent of that shrug emoji Claire sends you sometimes. When the phrase is well past thinking about, when the words don’t even carry any meaning anymore; they’re like the thought version of blinking, or swallowing. A background process, until something flies into your eyeball or you try to breathe a tortilla chip.

So the tortilla chip shows up one day. Don’t worry too much about the details here, just take it for granted that it either required a heroic effort of years that nearly broke you, or that he just showed up unsolicited on the porch like a copy of The Watchtower. Or maybe you’re both dead; seriously, who cares, because regardless — he’s there, and you’re there, and for awhile other people are there too, but eventually they go away. 

And it’s him, and it’s you. And if you hadn’t absolutely digested this thing in advance, if you hadn’t broken each word down into its atomic particles and cut and pasted them into your DNA so that 45th century forensic anthropologists from Mars could extract it from a fragment of the the mummified marrow of your left ass-bone, you might’ve said something else. 

You said: “I love you, too.”

You realize, in the moment after you say it, that you have reached the limits of your preparations. You’re a samurai with a single move; you’re the cannon in the 1812 Overture; your photo’s in the dictionary under one-trick pony and you’ve got frosted tips and you’re blinking. 

You say it again, and then a third time, and a lot of times after that. You keep saying it, for years, in varying degrees of franticness and horniness and happiness and honestly still-fucking-angriness and whatever else is on special that week. You say it to his face and to his dick and to his back and to the mere concept of him well after he’s left the room, left the state, left the dimension. Eventually you stop bothering to say anything else to each other. There are maybe half a million words in your native language, according to Sam, who uses them all, and with everybody else you keep on using the two hundred or so you feel confident about. 

But with Castiel, you make do with just the four.

I love you.

I love you, too.

[siinclairs]

shiloh sinclair has made it a point not to date. to put it simply and crudely, he preferred fucking around, and if he was sneaky enough, he didn’t really have to give that up, even if by some act of witchcraft or voodoo he found himself in a relationship. he doesn’t know how morgan got him into a relationship with her -- he quite literally cannot remember ever asking her to be his girlfriend; his tongue didn’t even know how to form those syllables -- and he always assumed it was either a drunken agreement or something that was just assumed after the constant months they’d spent together, but shiloh was on his sixth month of being morgan’s boyfriend by the time he’d had enough. really, it was earlier than that, if he reflects on it. their first fight had been nasty and cutting and happened one month into dating. he cheated on her the following day, with some girl in one of his general classes that didn’t mean much more to him than a few sighs and curled toes, and kept it up with other girls throughout their relationship. he wouldn’t even be surprised if morgan was cheating on him, too -- after the honeymoon phase, they were constantly more cold than hot with each other, texts sometimes left unanswered for hours and eye rolls accompanying them alongside every late-night diner date or library study session. they fought often and meanly, he sometimes got tense seeing her in the crowd of his games, and a month ago she said she hated him.

his teammates always ask why they hadn’t broken up yet. reid constantly asks because he’s tired of morgan eating all their shit in the fridge. shiloh just shrugs and laughs out a pathetic ‘cause she’d fucking murder me if i tried to break up with her each time. truth was, for someone as big and bad as he was, he could never figure out how to go about it.

but he’d had enough when they got into a fight earlier that friday morning. morgan had been over just to chill -- they were literally just supposed to chill; shiloh had a paper he needed to write and morgan was always passive-aggressively retweeting emo shit about wanting a partner she could do nothing with. but three paragraphs in and she was nagging about something stupid, shiloh’s jaw tightened in the way it’d come accustomed to whenever he was around her, he snapped out a rude response, and five minutes later she’s yelling at him at the top of her lungs, and shiloh’s knocking his lamp on the ground in explosive anger.

imagine if she knew about alex.

shiloh knew, maybe rather lamely on his part, that his girlfriend and his best friend didn’t get along all that well. he’d thought they’d be able to mesh, considering that they were both on the same fucking cheerleading squad with each other ( ’cause if you can let a girl sink her dirty keds into your palms as you hold her up, then surely you can fucking handle some small talk, or so he thought ), but he’s known alex long enough to be able to pick up on even the most minuscule signs of how she was feeling. when morgan suddenly slid into shiloh’s booth when he and alex were in the dining hall together, the tip of alex’s mouth would always twitch twice. when he was hanging out with alex and morgan caught wind and yelled at him through the phone until shiloh was leaving with an eye roll and a snappy response into his receiver, alex bit at the inside of her cheek. 

morgan firmly believes shiloh’s trying to cheat on her with alex. she only got one part right of that equation. shiloh would always tell her that no, he wasn’t, because they were just friends, that’s all they ever were, but she’d insist that there was something going on between the two of them. he could never understand where she’d got that from.

and then he and alex almost kissed. for the second time. he was actively trying not to dwell on it.

point is, shiloh had broken up with morgan that evening, and he was still on edge and ticked off from the aftershocks of her earthquake. and maybe going to alex’s room to vent, to stay silent, to just see her wasn’t smart, and morgan would probably try and twist his arm and yell that she was right this entire time if she knew, but he didn’t care. he and alex had already been weird lately with their friendship, constant weeks spent together dwindled down to text messages and maybe one movie night here or there, so maybe this was a stilted time for him to seek alex out, but shiloh didn’t fucking care. best friends still or not, he’d already stewed enough and threw enough things in his room, and he just wanted to be around alex, to feel calm for the first time in half a year in the way only she could placate him. that’s how this night would go, right ?

shiloh knocked on alex’s door, tense stance from his day. when the door opened, he lifted a newly purchased dvd copy of disney’s penguin documentary. “ hey. wanna’ watch this ? ”

@littlcstwing​

[joonclouds]

Heat Packs | YoongixReader

You make a scrunchy face at the sandy-haired boy. “Not so bad? All I was, was concerned and he saw fit to make me feel as worthy as the dirt under your shoe.”

“I don’t wear shoes.”

When you raise an eyebrow pointedly at him, Taehyung holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, shoe police, calm down.”

-

Yoongi x Reader (and shoeless friend Taehyung)

Plot: Producer!Yoongi, fluff at the end, kind of enemies to lovers?? arguments to lovers? idk man Yoongi is bad at expressing feelings

Warnings:  It gets a bit hot and heavy at the end but nothing else unless you want to consider cringey fluff as a warning lol

Wordcount: 7.3k

Note: Quarantine is still very inspiring. I am still very bad at naming my fics. producer!Yoongi is *chefs kiss* Hope ya’ll are well x *kisses*

-

It is a Tuesday evening in mid November that you decide you hate Min Yoongi. Hate was a strong word for you. Most of the time you hovered between a state of neutrality to mild displeasure, and sure, you’d been harbouring a (maybe not so subtle) crush on your reclusive boss, but you decide today that it was time to Burn That Ship cause you hate Min Yoongi.

You stand there, heart pounding. From embarrassment or from anger, you can’t really tell at this point - but heck, it wasn’t even your fault. Indignant, that’s what you felt. You had heard a loud bang and crash from his recording studio, and in a moment of panic and concern you’d rushed in to check if everything was okay.

Turns out he was moving his large bass speakers and didn’t need (or deserve, you think huffily) any of your help. Maybe you should have knocked first, but -

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Never heard of knocking?”

See, you were a Badass Bitch™. Which is why now your face is flushing an angry red, mouth open, ready with a snappy comeback. But Badass Bitch™ is also paranoid and doesn’t like confrontations, so she takes a baton and whacks the retort right out of your mouth. So you close your mouth again, stand there silently and look down. And if it could get worse, it does - a prickling at the back of your eyes starts to grow.

“And you’re just going to stand there?” The black-haired boy cocks a brow at you.

“I.. I heard a crash so I just came in to make sure everything was okay and-“

“What is this, your house? Is your name on the outside of the door?”

You wring your hands behind your back and pinch the fleshy part of your palm to ease the growing lump in your throat. No, you refuse to cry in front of him. After three months of working here you’d thought you’d finally wormed your way into the category of “acceptable humans to Min Yoongi”, but clearly you had not. In fact, as of now, you probably didn’t even exist on the Venn diagram.

“I.. No, but… I…”

“Does it. Say your damn name. On. My. Studio. Door.”

You stand there, speechless, mouth opening and closing, looking for something to say. A fat tear starts to pool in your left eye and threatens to spill, but by some miracle you manage to hold it in. Barely.

Yoongi lets out a sharp breath and makes his way across the room, yanking the door wide open.

“The rule here is no one comes into my studio. Get the fuck out.”

-

You are still crying as you sharpen the twentieth coloured pencil on the living room floor you share with a pixie of a girl called Chungha, who sits opposite you with her chin propped on folded knees.

“You should do this for a living, you know. Given how many times you’ve done this already.” She comments

“What, the crying?” You stutter out confusedly between a hiccup and a sniff.

“I meant the pencil sharpening.”

You blow your nose wetly into a tissue. “I can’t help it, okay? I cry. When people. Shout at me.” You choke out the last few sentences in between sobs.

All your admission does is bring forth another wave of tears.

“So who made you cry this time?”

“Min Yoongi. Min. Fucking. Yoongi.” With each syllable you turn the pencil with a newfound gusto, taking some sort of vicarious pleasure in watching the wood getting shaved off in neat strips.

Chungha’s eyes widen. “As in, owner of the studio, Min Yoongi. Your ridiculously elusive, black-clothes-only, don’t-come-into-my-office, hot in a weird way, Min Yoongi?”

You nod aggresively. “I hate him. So much.”

“You don’t mean that.”

You consider locking Chungha in the storeroom.

“Maybe he just had a bad day?” She offers.

“What did I do to deserve this? All I did was check on him in his studio!” In your angst you stop sharpening. You imagine the little plastic sharpener is Yoongi’s stupid head and you hurl it across the carpet.

“I’m sorry he shouted at you.” She pulls a Kleenex out of the box and dabs gently at your face. “Even if he told you not to go in, but you didn’t deserve that. He’s an idiot. Men are idiots.”

“I was just trying to be nice!” You protest, voice rising a good four octaves. “I heard a loud thud so I got worried and I rushed in without thinking, but turns out he was just moving his speakers and he just got so mad and saying all those mean things - “ you trail off slowly as hiccups and sobs leave you incoherent.

“You know how he is, grumpy old man. I’m sure he’ll apologise.” Chungha offers you another tissue. “And honestly my love, there’s no point crying now you’ve already forgiven him so…”

“I. Havent.”

“Tell me that when you next speak to him and aren’t a puddle of mush.”

You fling your snot-stained tissue at her.

—

The next week when your shift comes around, you still show up for work. Even though you are half an hour late from pacing up and down the street outside, considering if you should just not show up to spite him. It took three existential crises, five tears, and many muttered curses about the offending human being, but eventually you find yourself in the lift up to the recording office. You didn’t like to admit it, but you were the type who was quick to anger, but quick to cool.

Though cooling didn’t mean forgiveness. You were good at compartmentalisation and that was exactly what you were going to do.

The idea of not landing yourself in crippling school fee debt was wholly enticing, and to do that you needed this job as an admin at the recording offices. It paid well, and was easy enough. Keep the place clean, stock the pantry, manage the room bookings, make sure no one breaks equipment. Make ramen for customers. Don’t go into Min Yoongi’s studio. Even if he suffered a heart attack and might be dead. Easy.

You steel yourself with a breath and push open the swinging door with gusto, making a beeline for the reception with your head down and eyes trained on your shoes. Just get behind that tall white counter and you’d be safe -

“Oof.”  - if you didn’t first collide with a broad, hoodie-clad chest.

Warm hands grip your shoulders to steady you. “Whoa, watch where you’re going, little pea.”

You smile as you step back to see a familiar face face that takes your breath away. “I didn’t know you were coming in today!”

Taehyung, or Tae, as you had come to know him, was one of the regulars at the studio. A music student with a voice deep and syrupy as honey, and a face just as sweet to match - he made hearts go ba-dump in chests. Even after six months of seeing him three times a week, and the knowledge that he was already (secretly) attached to his art school’s equally pretty-boy dance major, you as a normal human being were still not safe from Tae’s charms.

“Yeah, I had some free time - Jimin’s off putting in extra hours in the dance studio so I figured I’d come here.”

You’re glad for his presence as you go behind the reception and get ready for work.

Tae walks up on the other side of the counter and rests an elbow on it, chin propped in his palm. From behind his long bangs you can see he’s sporting a bit of a twinkle in his eyes. He looks at you expectantly and you’re confused for a moment but it all clicks into place.

You fall into the chair behind the reception and let your head loll back on the backrest, giving him the side-eye. “What is it, Tae?”

He grins mischeviously. “So Yoongi unleashed the kraken on you, huh.”

“If by kraken you mean Mr. Shouty Pants, then yes, the kraken.”

Tae lets out a barking laugh. “Let him off the hook, fisherman. He’s not so bad once you get to know him - he wasn’t always like this, you know.”

You guess is that if that stupid recluse had anything such as a friend, then Taehyung would probably be the closest thing to it. But then again your guess was as good as useless because it was near impossible to not like Tae - he was definintely overly-friendly, but not in a smothering way and boy, did it grow on you. Out of all the people who came and went in the studio, Taehyung and about four other people were the only ones you had ever seen Yoongi say more than three words to in a single sentence. Well, now you were included in that category too, but for very different reasons.

You make a scrunchy face at the sandy-haired boy. “Not so bad? All I was, was concerned and he saw fit to make me feel as worthy as the dirt under your shoe.”

“I don’t wear shoes.”

When you raise an eyebrow pointedly at him, Taehyung holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, shoe police, calm down.”

After a moment, he adds, “are you still angry?”

You sigh in resignation. “Honestly? Not really. I decided I need this job more than my dignity.”

Tae chuckles good-naturedly.

“Oh, by the way could I have the restroom key, Jungkook’s track got rejected again and the idiot’s gone and locked himself in there. Again.”

Bending to look under your table for the right set of keys, you cant help but feel the little worm of resentment wriggle in your heart. “If he were even half decent he’d apologise.” You grumble quietly.

“Looks like he already has.”

“What did you say?” You emerge from under the desk, a little red in the face, and hold the keys out to Tae.

“Thanks!” Tae grins widely at you as he takes the keys and makes in the direction of the hallway, calling out behind him, “Ramen at 9?”

“Choosing to have ramen with me over Jimin? I’m honoured.”  You tease.

Turning back to your desk you notice a little convenience store heat pack with a yellow sticky note that says ‘it’s getting colder’ messily scribbled on it. Tae must have put it there while you were searching for the keys - a right shame he batted for the other team, the boy was so sweet.

“Thank you for the heat pack!”

“Not my doing!” Is his muffled reply from inside the corridors, but you just leave it at that.

—

Taehyung trains his eyes on the mop of black hair sitting in front of him at the audio console. He slowly swings in the spinny chair he’s kneeling backwards in, arms and chin on the high backrest.

After a couple minutes of silence Yoongi turns around.

“Tae I swear. I tolerate you, but if you continue staring at me while spinning in that chair for one more second I will enforce a shoes-on policy on this studio.”

The spinning continues, a playful gleam in the younger boy’s eyes. I call bluff. “When I’m gone, who else will you spill all your admin staff related problems to?”

Yoongi lets out a resigned sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Why he chose to let this shoeless, pajama-clad hooligan into his life he would never know.

“This is about ____, isn’t it?”

Taehyung nods. “What you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing.”

He stops spinning in the chair. “Hyung. You didn’t misplace her printing, spill coffee on her notes, make her give out flyers in the rain, put in her pay three days late, or even ask her to make ramen for Jungkook.” (The boy eats four packets in one go.) He lists them all out on his fingers, much to Yoongi’s further annoyance.

“Heck, maybe even collectively doing all of those things might have been better.” He wags an accusing finger in his face, but Yoongi chooses not to acknowledge it. Just like he’s trying not to acknowledge the huge clusterfuck that was this situation with you.

“You made _____ cry. The _____ who waters the stupid plant outside your door and replenishes the bottled water in your personal fridge after you run out because you’re too damn lazy to do it yourself. You’d both die of dehydration if not for her.”

“You both?”

“You and the plant outside, you fucking dumbass, since both of you have so much in common.”

Yoongi slumps deeper into his chair, twiddling with the rings on his fingers uncomfortably. He’s looking at his three computer screens filled with music arrangements but all he can see is your face, hurt and angry. There was a particular point where he saw a tear threaten to escape and he can’t remember feeling like more of an asshole. He’s frustrated that you make him frustrated with your stupid pretty face all crumpled up like that and the fact that he’d been the one to -

“So?” Taehyung asks expectantly.

Yoongi has a defeated look on his face. “I already apologised!”

Taehyung gives him a stare that was equal parts appalled and in disbelief. “With a two dollar heat pack you bought from the convenience store? Which you left on her desk, along with some random post-it and no name. She thinks it’s from me, by the way.”

“She should have been able to tell? ... From the handwriting?”

Taehyung just looks at him.

“I didn’t mean what I said, Tae.” He adds huffily after a short silence. You know why I get so prickly when people come into my studio without permission.”

“Hyung, but ____ doesn’t know that.” He reasons with a softer tone. “I know you like her. If you didn't you’d have fired her on the spot. She’s the best one yet, and pretty, too. I bet if you explained yourself she’d forgive you.”

He hates it, but Taehyung was right when it came to things like this. Your feelings had been hurt and insulted (unjustly so by him) and he didn’t know how to fix it, so he’d just avoided coming out of his room or being at the studio when you were working your shifts. Which had turned out to be an unexpected inconvenience because you were there, manning the reception and running the room bookings more often than he had thought.

“Knew she was trouble from the moment I hired her.” Yoongi grumbles.

“Stop it, old man. You’re just saying that because you like her.”

And indeed you were, all doe-eyed and warm smiles in a floral print dress catching him off guard the day you tentatively pushed the doors of the studio open, asking about the position opening for a receptionist.

Yoongi soon discovered, over the three months you’d been here so far, that you were also a college student struggling to pay her bills, and your shy disposition hid a sharp tongue and intelligent dry wit that had left him chuckling below his breath before he could stop himself. You were definitely trouble, and just his kind.

“After you apologise you should just ask her out already,” tae adds, “she’s totally got a thing going for you."

Yoongi scoffs. “Yes, _____ totally has a thing for me and my winning personality.” He puts his hand on his chin in mock contemplation. “Now I know why she ran off crying. She’s in love with me.”

“I said, after you apologise. Properly. She’ll forgive you.”

“Maybe I can just fire her. Then I don’t have to see her again.” He groans.

“Then I’d never forgive you.”

The words were sharp, but that was just Taehyung. There was somehow always a kindness to everything he did or said, even if it was an unpleasant thing; it had made Yoongi see the error of his ways more than once. The kid was more mature than anyone gave him credit for.  

Tae pushes off the chair and claps an encouraging hand on the older boy’s shoulder before turning to leave the room.

“Just say sorry, Yoongi. It’s not that hard.”

—

The way Dongwon looks at you as he leans on the reception counter makes you uncomfortable. In the kind of way that you can feel his eyes on your face, your throat, your shoulders. It makes you want to take a shower. Not that you were wearing anything revealing. In fact, you are the antithesis of sexy right now in what Chungha liked to call The Nun Outfit - a  white turtleneck knit and a plain black midi skirt that fell to your shins.

Nevertheless, you force a smile out, respecting that this was one of Yoongi's previous work partners. “I’m sorry, but Yoongi specifically told me not to allow any unscheduled reservations today.”

“Come on babe. I left shortly after you arrived, but you know who I am. I just gotta pick something up, and use studio B for a while.”

His usage of the affectionate term on you makes your skin prickle but you shake it off. “Maybe you could leave a message?”

Fumbling at your desk, you reach for a pen and a notepad, pointedly ignoring the way Dongwon is leaning in closer, not sparing you an inch of his scrutiny. “Here, you can use this -"

“Are you fucking him?”

You freeze. “What?"

Dongwon gives you a once over and runs his tongue on the inside of his cheek. You think you’re going to throw up.

“Are you two fucking? Is that why you’re listening to him like a good little - ”

Yoongi is nothing if not a possessive man. So when he catches the tail end of your conversation with Dongwon on his way out to get this third Americano of the day, and sees Dongwon looming over you like you're his next meal, he feels a sharp, intense anger pressing against his chest.

“The heck do you want?” Yoongi is seething as he enters the reception area, but he tames the flames quickly. His tone is deceptively level.

Dongwon looks away from you and a weird expression crosses his face, but it’s schooled quickly. “Yoongi, my man.” He greets emptily.

“I’m just visiting. Seeing how you’re doing.”

“Great.” is Yoongi's clipped reply as he sets his empty cup on the counter and tosses a couple of bills in front of you.

“Im sorry, sajangnim, I told him you said no unscheduled -”

“Iced americano, triple shot.” Yoongi cuts you off. 

He looks at you pointedly, the first time he’s acknowledged you since he had shouted at you a week ago. Under normal circumstances you’d have snapped back about how ‘so we’re only speaking if you need me to be the coffee lady’ but today you just take the money and leave the office, glad to be out of there. You drag your feet, walking as slow as possible to the cafe downstairs and pray the barista takes longer, but there’s only so much time you can kill before you have to go back up. Coming to the end of the corridor you just hope they’re both gone by the time you get back so it saves you the confrontation but -

You stop just before they can see you through the glass door.

"You don't talk to my people that way."

"Your people?" You don't need to see Dongwon's face to know he's sporting a twisted mocking expression.

"What’s the matter, she’s free game if you guys aren’t sleeping together." His leering tone makes you blanch. "With a face like that? She's way out of your league, man, and even if you were fucking, it doesn't mean you can't share - “

Dongwon is cut off when you hear the loud, telling smack of a fist connecting with a face. It is all you can do to not drop the coffee in your hand, the other coming to cover your mouth to muffle a gasp.

“God, what the fuck is wrong with you, Yoongi? Who shoved a cactus up your ass?”

There is a brief scuffling noise, and the sound of some pushing and shoving, but quickly, it is quiet again.

“You know I could end your career in one phonecall, right?” You can barely hear Yoongi from where you are, but one thing’s for sure. You’ve never heard him like this before. Angry and menacing.

“I know what you’re here for. I’m not going to fall for it again. I kept quiet to protect the people in Namjoon’s company, but don’t you for one damn moment think I don’t know you’re the stealing bastard who took my demos and used them as your own.”

"And when Namjoon realises what your work is like - ha!" Yoongi snorts. "I was gonna watch you die a slow and public death but I guess that can be sped up."

Suddenly, things click into place with a shrill clarity. You don’t hear Dongwon say anything.

“You. Owe. Me. So you be a good little bitch and apologise to _____ when she comes back, and if you even so much as breathe on the corner of my block again, I’m going to fucking end you.”

“Yoongi you -“

If there was a good time for Badass Bitch™ to make an appearance it would probably be now. So you squeeze your eyes shut and with a deep breath, push open the office door.

“Coffee’s here!” You say a little too brightly, like you didn’t just walk in on an altercation.

Dongwon is trapped against the counter, collar gripped in Yoongi’s fist. He’s sporting a shiner on his cheekbone. Your lip trembles, but you manage to hold it in place. After a tense moment, Yoongi releases his grip with a disgusted exhale. Dongwon brushes himself off, turning away to straighten his shirt.

You place the coffee cup on the counter, turning to Yoongi and holding out a small fist. When he just looks at you, you grab his wrist and deposit some coins in his hand. You notice his knuckles are definitely pink.

“Your change.”

Yoongi ignores you, looking over your head at Dongwon. He opens his mouth like he’s about about to throw a nasty remark, but then closes it again with fire burning in his eyes and turns to leave.

“Oi. You forgot something. ” Yoongi’s tone is dangerous, warning.

Dongwon looks back, eyes still blazing, gaze shifting to you when Yoongi tilts his head in your direction.

He scoffs before pushing the door open, but then as he leaves he spits out begrudgingly, “Sorry, or whatever.”

You stand there in shocked silence for a good full minute before your senses come back to you. You turn to Yoongi again, grabbing his wrist to examine his hand.

“Yoongi, your hand -“ you start, but he’s already yanking it back from your grasp and muttering an angry “I’m fine”, before grabbing his coffee off the counter and heading back into his studio with a slam of his door.

-

If Yoongi’s day could have gotten any worse, it just did. There is a knocking on his door, for the third time in a row now and -

Knock knock knock.

He groans, yanking the door open. If he could get any more pissed off, he does, when he comes face to face with Taehyung.

“The fuck do you want, Tae, I swear if it’s nonsense again -"

"Stop taking your problems out on other people, hyung. Getting real tired of your shit here."

Yoongi groans internally. Tae was right. Again.

"Sorry. Its been a day. Dongwon was here earlier." He explains wearily, and the younger boy softens a little with understanding.

"S'okay. He's gone now?"

"Yeah, left him with a present too." Taehyung eyes Yoongi's hand that rested on the doorframe. He nods a few times, and then shoves a plastic bag into Yoongi’s hands.

“I have a present for you. It’s from ____.”

Your name stuns him for a moment. “Wait. Who?”

“____. She asked me to give it to you. I think she’s too afraid to give it to you herself.”

“What? Why?”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything, just rolls his eyes before walking away. Yoongi shuts the door and slumps back in his chair, hand coming to massage his temples but he winces when he tries to make a fist. His knuckles are an angry, painful red. He definitely hit Dongwon harder than he’d intended.

Sighing, he empties the contents of the little bag onto the table and finds a tube of anti-inflammatory ointment, a roll of bandages, and a little pink post it note. It’s from you. You’ve doodled a smiling caricature of yourself with a tiny speech bubble that says ‘thank you!’.

He picks it up, running a finger over the smiley face and plasters in the top right hand corner.

-

Huddling deeper into your coat as you trudge miserably back down the street in the direction of the studio, you silently thank Tae for the heat packs he’s been leaving you - though he always denies it and you wonder why. Of course it’s just your luck that you left your house keys at the office on the coldest night of the month.

It’s not that Yoongi was avoiding you, you reason to yourself, as you walk, he was always like that. Aside from the first interview, you didn’t get a second glimpse of him till the third week into your new job. And even then you didnt really know what he actually looked like, because his face was always covered with a mask or a black cap pulled low. You heard more about your boss than how much you actually saw him.  

Maybe he just felt embarrassed by the whole two situations? You reason to yourself. Frankly you were over the whole shouting fest. Maybe he just had an off day, so what? (Chungha was right, you were just a little miffed that he didn’t apologise to you, but you guessed he’d redeemed himself). As you round the corner you kick a stray pebble that bounces down the street -

Oh.

You remember the first time you had a Good Look at Yoongi. Not just glimpses of eyes under a cap pulled low, or a flash of his profile as he tugs his hood up over his head. Like, a real proper stare. It was about a month and a half in, when you were heading to water the plants outside his studio before you ended your shift, and caught him working late with the door open.

You had imagined him to have coarse, unrefined features, what with his reclusive, gruff personality. And so you were caught by surprise, when you're greeted with a delicate side profile, strong brows slightly furrowed in concentration as he experiments with different chords on the keyboard with long, elegant fingers. A plush lower lip is worried between a row of clean, straight teeth. It was an unconventional kind of handsomeness, a kind that made you want to look, and look again.

But it's like he knows you're there and looks up. Before you can apologise out of habit, he closes the door in your face, your gaze meeting his for a split second. His eyes are angled with an almost feline quality under long lashes, sharp and guarded. You didn’t know what they guarded, but you felt a curiosity take bud in your chest and it was in that moment you knew you were very much in trouble.

But it is not clear how much trouble you are in. And you thought you were clear of that trouble, given the happenings of the past weeks. But now you realise any chance of being clear of it is now shot to shit when you round the corner of the street and see him crouching at the curb outside the building near a small ball of fur.

He’s playing with a cat.

Softly, the three-coloured cat he’s watching purrs, abandoning the can of tuna in favour of rubbing itself against Yoongi’s shin. He pulls a hand out of his hoodie pocket and reaches down to scratch between its ears. A gentle, endearing smile finds its way onto his face. You feel your heart squeeze.

But like the last time, before you can make your presence known, he looks up. He knows. There’s an expression on his face like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.

Yoongi quickly stands up and shoves his hand back into his hoodie pocket as you approach. It is at this point a small logical part of his mind registers that it would be a good time to apologise to you, but for the most part it is a mental re-enactment of a keyboard smash when you give him an unsure smile and a tiny wave. All swaddled in your coat and scarf, you were so cute, and holy shit you were walking over and he had no clue what he was going to say.

“So you’re the one spoiling him.” You murmur as the cat leaves Yoongi to pad over to you.

“Him?” He replies dumbly.

You nod to the meowing ball of fur curling around your ankles. “Him. I named him Jimin.”

“Jimin.” He repeats slowly. “A very human name?”

Yoongi watches you, as you watch the cat, a small smile gracing your face. “He reminds me of a friend of a friend. Small and cute. But has claws. And very clingy once he gets close to you.”

You look up to catch him staring, and he quickly redirects his attention to a streetlamp in the distance. “Yeah, I’ve been feeding him for a couple of weeks now. You’re definitely right about him being clingy.” Yoongi admits sheepishly as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

Crouching to give Jimin a head scratch, you can sense Yoongi wants to say something. But you reckon he doesn’t know how. You think about giving him a hard time, but you don’t. You figure getting caught feeding a little cat is enough punishment for him.

“Don’t worry, sajangnim. I won’t tell anyone." You say with a little smile. "I’ll keep your image intact.”

Your smile makes his brain short circuit. "What?"

You let out a laugh because this was the most flustered you’d ever seen Yoongi, over a cat, no less! (you were wrong about this) And boy, was it amusing.

It's a light, happy noise and it's so pretty, Yoongi thinks. A pretty laugh for a pretty girl.

"Y'know, your whole brooding, all black, don't talk to me, mysterious guy image." You make a mask gesture over your face and then to him in mock disbelief.

"Playing with cats isn't very on brand of you, but I'll keep that information to myself."

Yoongi laughs then, and he dips his head to try and hide it, but from where you're crouching with Jimin you're treated to a glimpse of the cutest gummy smile that makes your heart turn into mush. You mentally note to prepare yourself for the next time he does that.

Putting your hands on your knees you push yourself back up and you both stand in companionable silence for a little while, watching the little cat go back to his bowl of tuna.

“I’m gonna -“

“Yeah so - “

The expression of mild surprise quickly turns into amusement on Yoongi’s face, and it makes you laugh softly into your palm like a shy fifteen year old. You quirk your head at him. Yoongi feels like it is really unfair for someone to be this cute.

“You first.”

Yoongi rubs the back of his neck with his hand and looks up at you from behind the hair falling in his eyes.

“I’m. Uh.” He stutters. “Realised I never apologised for that day.”

“It’s okay,” you smile reassuringly. “I’m over it.”

“You are?”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I mean, granted you were a Top Notch Asshole, but I guess it was just a bad day for you.”

“I deserve that. Taehyung told me I should stop taking my anger out on others. Its true.”

“I accept your apology. Everyone has their own… thing.” You say stupidly after not being able to find better words.

“I just have issues sometimes. With... intellectual property.” He gestures vaguely in the air, trying to explain the best he can and you understand that he doesn’t really want to say more.

“I know.”

Yoongi’s brow knits in confusion for a moment before realisation dawns upon him.

“You heard us.”

You nod with a tight smile. “I didn’t mean to.”

Yoongi nods. “You’re not curious?”

“I am.” You consider this for a while, before adding: “but I don’t want to hear it if you don’t want to tell me.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, just continues staring at you. He likes that you are perceptive, and that you don’t feel like you’re automatically owed a lengthy explanation (even though he feels like you were). He likes your humour and the way you say things, and how every emotion is displayed so clearly on your face. He used to hate it because he thought it was a lack of tact, but honesty like yours is something he’s recently come to treasure a lot.

His staring makes your skin prickle all over and your cheeks flush, so you look for something to say.

“So all the receptionists who've worked for you become your punching bag, or was it just me?”

“Only the pretty ones.” He's sporting that cheeky gummy smile again.

He thought you were pretty?

It was so cliche, but it made you giggle. "Okay, casanova."

Your laugh dies down and you do this little shrug smile thing at him. In the muted yellow of the lamplight, and the snow starting to fall around you, Yoongi feels his heart stutter.

“Thanks, for the... stuff.” He pulls his other hand out of his hoodie to show you that it’s bandaged.

“Ah, you got them. I’m glad Tae got them to you. I didn’t know if you um.” You pause. “... wanted my company or not.” Yoongi blanches apologetically. “I’m working on it.”

After a moment of silence, you point up at the building. “I gotta get going. I left my house keys in the office. I came back to get them.”

“I think I’ll stay here a little longer.” He looks down at his furry friend working steadily at finishing whatever's in the bowl. “With Jimin.”

A sudden gust of cold, sharp wind cuts by, and you shove your hands deeper into your pockets kept warm by the heat pack Taehyung had given you. You see Yoongi shiver in his hoodie, and in the spur of the moment you fish out the heat pack in your pocket and hold it out to him.

“Take this, if you're gonna be out here. It’s getting colder these days.”

There is an odd expression on Yoongi’s face and he stares weirdly at you for a moment before you go into panic mode.

“Oh no, do you mind that I’ve been holding it before? Oh no I’m sorry. It’s okay, my hands are clean, I wash them often, twice actually with soap and water. I don’t like germs. If you want I also have hand sanitiser - “ you begin digging around hastily in your little sling bag, but freeze when Yoongi’s hands settles over your own.

They are big and warm, and the rough callouse on his palm brushes gently over your knuckles. You can’t help but imagine what they’d feel like on other places of your body. He accepts the heat pack from you, fingers lingering just a little too long - you’re sure of it, you hadn’t imagined that.

“Thank you, ____.” He offers you a half-smile and you can feel your heart flip flop like a fish in your chest.

All of a sudden, self-consciousness hits you in waves, and you school your features, clearing your throat. “I… I’d better get going, sajangnim.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“Call me Yoongi.”

Yoongi finds himself biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling too wide as he watches you, all flustered as you stutter a mumbled agreement and goodbye, trudging off abruptly in the direction you came. Only to turn back around because you’d gone in the wrong direction instead of going to get your keys. Cute, he thinks to himself. Very cute.

—

The first time you say his name is two weeks later and you’re not used to calling him that, so he really has to drag it out of you. (Not that he didn’t enjoy it, but you best believe he won’t ever let you live it down that you couldn’t bring yourself to drop the honorifics.)

It’s after hours, and he’s leaning against the audio console in his studio, with you standing between his legs. A random demo track of his plays in the background - a simple piano melody, but you don't recognise it. Must be one of the new things he's been working on - there were a lot of them lately. One of them being working up the sexual tension between you two, which had reached a head today, given the position you were in. You were about to burst. Into tears, or flames you didn't know which but you sure as hell were about to find out.

You are eye to eye with Yoongi. An arm around your waist presses you against his chest with nowhere to run, the other hand gently cupping the side of your face. He is terribly close, so warm and smells of soap and the leather jacket he’s wearing.

“Say it properly.”

A little bubble of annoyance rises in your throat at the smug expression on his face. You’re rather cute when you’re frustrated.

“This is blackmail. It’s illegal, you know?” You say huffily. “It’s just a name, why do you have to make life so hard for me? I’m sure you’d know - “

You ramble on, and Yoongi watches you fondly - you weren't much of a talker, but put you in a spot and suddenly you couldn’t stop talking. He’s rather excited to discover more of this side of you. Even your coping mechanisms were cute, and he thinks to himself that he’s pretty much done for.

Yoongi places his index finger under your chin, tipping your head up to meet his gaze and runs the pad of his thumb slowly over your bottom lip. You shut up, and watch him as he watches his finger press into the soft flesh. The guy knew exactly what he was doing, and you were going to let him.

“Kiss me.”

Yoongi tilts his face even nearer, lips hovering dangerously close.

“Not good enough.” He whispers. His breath fans gently across your cheek; it smells like the mint gum he likes to chew on when he’s working on a particularly difficult track.

Yoongi feels your small hands tighten around the lapels of his jacket, and he’s met with a glare that is pleading and dare he say… petulant? He’s wanted to kiss you for a long time, and he’s thought about it a lot. More than is healthy for him, he thinks, but oh, does he want to tease you just a little bit longer.

“Not. Good. Enough.”

“Yoongi, kiss me.”

When Yoongi first kisses you, he does so chastely. He nips delicately at your lips. His own are soft, unhurried and teasing - a tender shadow of a kiss. You can tell he's relaxing, savoring the moment, and like a fog settling in, your world grows hazy with the smell, taste and touch of him.

"There's my girl." Yoongi whispers as he pulls away, his breath mixing with yours. Unintentionally you shift, moving forward for another kiss because he's kissing you but not really kissing you. And unsurprisingly, he stays where he is, just out of reach.

"Kiss me. Properly ", you repeat.

He moves his lips slowly to your jaw and lower; you can feel his laugh through his chest. You crane your neck and let out a breathy "oh god" when Yoongi takes his own sweet time to suck a deep pink bruise into the creamy expanse of skin there. He appraises, with satisfaction, the way his mark looks on you before soothing it with his warm lips and tongue.

"Come on princess," he murmurs against your skin in between licks. "Try again."

The term of endearment he uses on you is your undoing, and he makes a mental note with emphatic exclamation points to revisit this tidbit of information at a later date.

"Yoongi. Kiss me. Please."

And just like that he continues where you two left off, this time with no ounce of teasing or flirting. It's hot and shameless and wanton. Yoongi is no longer gentle. The hand around your waist drops to the curve of your ass, gripping hard and pulling you onto your tiptoes. He slips a thigh between your legs, your hips now flush against his - a delicious pressure you can't get enough of. The other hand palms your breast, rubbing a pebbling nipple through your clothes and the sudden friction makes you gasp. He takes the chance parting of your lips to lick into your mouth, swallowing your soft moans eagerly. You run one of your hands up to the nape of his neck. Carding your fingers through the hair there earns you a low groan, and a heavy, languid swipe of his tongue against yours.

You don’t know how long you spend memorising the taste of him, his hands claiming every possible inch of your skin, but eventually the kiss slows. Yoongi takes your bottom lip between his teeth, biting gently as he pulls away. For a moment all you can hear is the the blood roaring in your ears.

As the both of you catch your breath, Yoongi is just watching you now. The hand that rests on your waist moves up your belly, up your chest. It comes to rest at the base of your throat, thumb one one side and four fingers on the other. Silently, you revel in its weight. The feeling of his rings on your skin makes you shiver a little. Unable to help himself, he squeezes ever so slightly. Like this, he can feel your hummingbird pulse under the pad of his thumb.

Your eyes flutter shut momentarily, but not before you see his eyes light with desire.

You look up at him, and he decides he likes you like this. He really, really likes you like this - soft, pliant, all pressed up against him with your moans and kiss-swollen lips, and for the love of god, begging.  

It’s a bit pathetic how you’ve got him all wrapped around your little finger but he's had enough of teasing and he gets to kiss you now, so he doesn’t care. He smiles widely, closing the distance between his lips and yours again.

-

Six months down the road is the first time he lets you listen to that piano track when it’s finished. You don’t remember it at first, but he’s quick to jolt your memory with a very in depth and very realistic re-enactment.

When you finally get down to listening to it, he plays it off as cool and nonchalant, but you’re attuned to his little mannerisms by now, and the way he’s picking at the skin on his thumb told you this was important. He’s nervous to let you listen to it.

It’s beautiful - a soft piano backing track compliments his husky rap in an unexpected but flawless manner, and the way it builds into a crescendo fills you with raw emotion. Your eyes are wet by the time the last few notes play.

“Yoongi, it’s beautiful.”

He smiles at you, but continues picking at his thumb.

“You don’t think it’s too… different?” He frowns a little. “From my other stuff? Will people like it?”

You walk over to take his face between two of your small hands.  You’re looking at him like he’s your entire world and his heart is going to burst. “ Don’t worry. It’s going to be amazing. It is amazing. You’re amazing.”

In that moment, Yoongi feels invincible. He presses a long, sweet kiss to your lips.

“Some day, I’m going to write a song about you.” he breathes when he pulls away. You beam quietly.

“Music is my first love but you - “ there is a pause as he takes a moment to run a finger across your cheek, so gentle, as if he might break you if he wasn’t careful enough.“ - you are my forever love.”

- 

[evergreen-dryad]

old bnha wip #2 (todobakudeku)

Sirens screamed over the city lights as the reporter picked up the pace. "And right here on the scene we have — oh!" Her voice picked up in pitch, excitement making her tremble. "The Burning Duo's on the way, everyone! Freshly debuted just earlier this spring, straight out of the No.1 hero's agency — look sharp! It's Temperance and Detonation!"

Right on cue, the blasts of the explosive hero heralded the arrival of the noisier, and more hotheaded of the two. The villain was suddenly on the ground. Any other partners-in-crime still walking paled, and not just from fear and the sweet, toxic smell of nitroglycerin — it was the icy snap of cold, freezing their skin to any surfaces they happened to touch.

"Annnd there we have it! All cleaned up, all in one swoop! And a very good job to our heroes!" The reporter scuttled her way over to where the two young heroes were binding up the petty criminals, ready to hand over to the police as soon as they caught up. “Temperance! Detonation!” She thrust the mic into their faces. “Mind telling us the secret behind your smooth teamwork? Our viewers would be very interested to know how you two work behind the scenes!” One eyed her coolly, looking absent-minded. The other had not even bothered to look over.

“Hm… we’re good friends,” Todoroki Shouto finally contributed. A waft of cool air drifted about his hair.

A loud ‘Tchk!’ sounded from behind them. Bakugou Katsuki finally deigned to look over sourly. “…We’re barely friends.” Any UA classmate of theirs may have gaped at the magnitude of Bakugou admitting such a thing. Todoroki glanced over at him, almost bewildered.

A beat passed where they looked at each other and the reporter awkwardly stood by, still holding up the mic, afraid to move it.

Todoroki was the first to move. “We work together Mondays to Saturdays, train together, and spend almost any free time together, I’d say that makes us very good friends.” He finally appeared to take notice of the mic mostly pointing at him and gingerly took it from the reporter, resigned that they would have to stay there to entertain the media while they waited.

Bakugou made another snappy sound in his throat. “And I’ve told you this before: time doesn’t equal friendship dumbass.” He marched up to Todoroki, snatching the mic from him while aggressively elbowing him away. “Tell this to the public.” He glared into the black eye of the camera. “We worked freakin’ hard to get here.”

* Temperance & Detonation: Are They Friends? 734,541 views

We tried to get an interview but they couldn’t stay longer than a few minutes, so this is what we got :)

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COMMENTS fridakohl hmmm we’re good friends he said 👀

ranranherotime temperance: *friendzones detonation* dtonation: no f you

zimmerrr but look at temeprance insisting they’re friends tho??? Precious

yeetcityhours 1:31 where they stare into each others’ eyes like wrow??? i feel myself melting from the sparks flying in the air. two heroes arguing over their bromance?? heronews gimme more

goddessxgirl more like Temperance & Detonation: are they soulmates ^ Hide 34 replies

flyonstraight right?? look how fast they move together engineman333 they don’t even have to look at each other Froggo uh i think all heroes esp duos need to have this level of teamwork

.

#heroes

I’d just like to say I think Detonation firmly denying they’re friends means he thinks of them as something more and for those who think their success is just getting along well 6 days in a week? nAh, we worked our asses off. Just who do you think you’re fooling 2,456 notes

The real question is is Detonation just pissed Temperance won’t let them out they’re soulmates 1,566 notes

* “I could tell you were trying really hard not to yell there,” Todoroki said, faint amusement glinting in his eyes.

“Shut up.” He was not staring.

“Good job on not blasting press equipment this time,” he continued, ignoring him. Last time, he’d yelled so loud that his decibel level overshot the limit. Present Mic had half-jokingly tweeted him about stealing his spotlight.

Katsuki turned away from him, walking ahead into their office. Their, their, them. Everywhere they went, they were a unit. Together.

He wanted to spit at the thought of it.

He could tolerate it. It was nothing.

Yet what was this itchy feeling that kept nagging at the back of his head these days?

The PR officer looked up from where she’d been consulting their notes. “There you are. Good job out there.” She got up, receiving a greeting from Todoroki. “I wanted to talk about today. So far the image you two have presented is as capable fighters, but today’s on-scene news have proved the public is hungry for more, especially of the relationship between you two.”

“What’s new,” Katsuki grumbled, tugging off his gauntlets.

She smiled. “Everyone seems to like seeing you two argue. It does give them hope that the two of you may be not just paired heroes.” She coughed diplomatically. “Soulmates.”

“Just come right out and say it,” he groaned. He pointed a finger at the frigid bastard who was carefully considering everything the damn PR was saying. “Bicker with him? Easiest thing in the world. What else have you lot come up with?”

“Nothing much, just act as naturally as you do and try to be actual friends.” She had the gall to wink at him. “Todoroki-kun here is always trying his best to be actual friends with you after all. Wouldn’t hurt to hang out more often, have fun together.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Todoroki said, thumb on his chin. Was he brightening at the idea? Was that a hint of interest on the non-emotive bastard’s face? Ugh.

“We’ll leave you to it then,” the PR woman waved her file as she dismissed herself.

And then they were alone in the office and Katsuki did not appreciate it, not with the Half-n-half’s attention fully on him like that.

He tugged his mask out of the way, heading to his desk. Todoroki’s gaze was still solely fixated on him. “What.” He twitched, irritated.

Todoroki appeared to shake himself out of whatever fugue he’d fallen into. “I was trying to remember if you’ve ever done anything for fun. Do you?”

Katsuki stared at him. “Sure I do. Whenever I get to be alone.”

Todoroki’s gaze prodded him to say further. “And? That can’t be it?”

He growled, chafing. “Train. Walk. Jog. Parks. Mountains. What else do you want, huh?”

Todoroki’s face loomed out of the right corner of his eye as he came over to stand over Katsuki’s desk. “What about animals?”

Katsuki scrunched his nose in distaste. “What about them?”

“No allergies?” Todoroki kept pressing. He was distractingly close and Katsuki did not appreciate anyone leaning in too far his personal space.

He let Todoroki stay there anyway. There’s something wrong with him.

His pulse is not in the palms of his hands. If he’s sweaty, then maybe that’s why he’s letting the Thermostat venture nearer. He’s useful like that.

“No,” he snaps reluctantly.

He looks up at Todoroki sliding his phone towards him. There’s an image on it, a colourful flyer for… a cat cafe.

“Oh hell no-”

“Shinsou recommended it. So did Sero,” Todoroki says, tone as flat as ever, but there’s that note of question in it.

“I’m not going into a cutesy place like that, all they’ll serve is sweet food.” He says with a tone of finality, slamming down his paperwork for the day.

A beat of silence. But you’re not trying — how about the cats?

Katsuki looks up at the thought, because evidently the Thermostat hasn’t left. And he’s just opened his mouth to say the exact thought that popped into Katsuki’s head.

Oh gods help him, Todoroki is looking at him wih those slightly pleading eyes, that’s the most this emotionally-constipated bastard can manage, but Katsuki is just, suddenly weak.

It’s unbelievable. He’s nothing but stubborn as heck but this is what gets him weak?

“It better have good chow,” he threatens weakly.

Todoroki lights up.

Ugh, all this just to see that light curve to his lips.

“See you, Bakugou.” He says, finally leaving and taking his phone and his damn small smile with him.

Katsuki thinks again to all those times he’d caught himself staring at this too-good-looking-for-his-sanity bastard and locks it all away firmly. No. Just no. They can be friends, he tells himself.

(He’s not hoping what everyone says they must be.)

He could almost swear there had been that ghostly afterthought people swore up and down and all over the internet, that apparently, were the signs. Signs they had started to sync in thought.

Katsuki clenched his fist, where his pulse had been skittering like crazy earlier.

The pen shook in his hand.

Wasn’t he happy it might be him? It’s someone like Todoroki, a pro hero just like him. Someone who’s been by his side since the UA days. Someone who can keep up with him, someone who’s strong, and can give him a good fight anytime.

He could scrounge his head all he liked, but he knew he wouldn’t find the answer.

Why did it feel like he had forgotten something?

*

A laugh fills the air of the dimly lit room. A lightbulb flickers. “Are you for real… they couldn’t be more different from each other!”

Another voice joins in chirpily. It is the nonchalent drawl of a high-school girl eager for gossip. “Right~? They’re exactly like a prince and a beast!”

“Right… the fans are actually comparing them to that lovingly.” A chuckle follows the speaker as he leans his elbow further on the gilded surface of the wood.

A hum. Congratulations, Kacchan. And that Todoroki as well. He has been keeping track of them after all. Hard not to want to document the progress of the first quirk he’d ever studied. Feeling the eyes of others on him, he draws up a piqued eyebrow as well.

"You want to meet them, don't you?" Toga's leaning in now with that curious gleam in feline eyes, wide grin not too far from slitting her entire face. It is the look of someone who has scented blood.

"Ehhh," He plays along coquettishly, draws out the syllable. "I couldn't! They'd kick me out of the building, not like you who can sneak in anytime!"

"You totally could!" Toga refutes, sitting up. "You're sooooo good at acting after all! Go!"

"Not so much if you can see through me," He demurs with a laugh.

She pouts and drapes herself over the table, head bending to squint at him.

“You’re a liar, Deku-kun.”

Ah, that’s true. “I do my best,” he singsongs. A glance up and down her body. Good, no suction needles anywhere. Though, knowing her, there is at least one hidden blade on her person.

(As much as Toga makes it hard for him to truly sleep soundly at night, she’s still useful.

One of the sharpest blades in his disposal.

He’d be a fool if he couldn’t retain her loyalty. Loyal, loyal Toga, as long as he could keep her entertained, dancing on a blade’s edge from becoming her next victim.)

Toga picks up the topic again, prodding at him. “Don’t we have Manami-chan already through their records? You could totally mess them up anytime.”

This is when Dabi saunters over, light on his feet. He’s probably had enough of their high school girl-type talk. Though, Izuku supposes he is kind of one. A tenseness in his gait though. He can feel the restless energy roiling off him like a caged panther pacing. “Under Endeavour, huh,” he says, his words smouldering with that particular hatred he’s held for the Flame Hero all these years.

Toga sidles up next to him. “Hey, when are we going to kill another hero again, Deku-kun? I’m bored~”

They had been quiet for a while after all.

Dabi’s stare bores through him like the blue flames he manipulates. Yes, yes he knows.

He smiles.

Time to put that plan into action then.

* Shouto sighs a long breath, watching it form white in the night air. It’s been a long day — of patrolling, emergency response, PR response — and he’d finally wrangled Bakugou into going out. For fun. It’s like Bakugou doesn’t know what that concept is, overachiever that he is. Not that Shouto has a much better idea himself, growing up like he had.

He’s looking forward to getting into his apartment. And sinking into a long bath. He’s not going to look at his phone for a good long while.

Shadows crisscross the path before him from lampposts. And then he sees a stutter in the image.

He hears the thud before he feels it. Someone's tripped into him.

“Ah, I’m sorry!” Vibrant green eyes look up at him, panicked. He sees the flash of them in the night and is momentarily sidetracked.

What was that feeling? A thrum, like a line cast into the night.

A flutter of pages. He dropped his files, just coming from behind him. So there was another office worker that had worked till this late at night.

He bends down to help the stooped figure. "It's alright." He picks up a paper and sees the headline on it. "Ah, so you also work here."

"Y-yes!" The young man squeaks, appearing too taken aback to make eye contact with him. "I'm just one of the many paper pushers in there, ahaha. So sorry, ah, thank you," he says meekly upon taking Shouto's handful.

They stand, and Shouto watches with a tad resignation as the young man starts, the glint of recognition in his eyes turning into full panic. “T-todoroki—! Temperance! I’m honoured.” His hands fumble, unsure whether to go for a handshake, and he looks like he’s about to drop his folders again so Shouto reaches in to steady the grip for him.

Their fingers brush against one another’s, and the young man looks fit to faint.

There is a flush on his face that Shouto is convinced only appears on fever patients.

“Are you alright?” He asks, concerned. Freckles dot pale cheeks, and he feels compelled to observe this person further.

“Thank you,” the young man says shyly. A small smile forms as he finally makes eye contact with him. “I’ll be good after a good night’s sleep.”

He looks like he needs it. There are shadows underneath his eyes. “Rest well then.” A tug in his throat. Shouto follows, curious. “Your name?”

“Oh! I’m… Midoriya Izuku.” A blink, and Shouto could have sworn there was an amused look in his eyes just now.

“Then, see you, Midoriya.” Shouto begins to walk again, expecting Midoriya to also be going the same way as him. It is the main road after all.

He does not. He turns back to see Midoriya tip his head at him, smiling genially. The electric light catches the top of his hair, giving it a green shine. “See you soon, Todoroki Shouto.”

He turns on his heel, and melts into the shadows.

* Stark midday. Clocks strike twelve, digital figures switch to 12:00, and then the screens of Tokyo freeze into black. It’s everywhere — live feeds, main TV channels, ads milling by — all superseded by a strange blackness.

Within the metropolis, citizens wonder if it’s a blackout.

All is still for a moment.

But then, a warped voice speaks. A masked face steps out, bowing to the camera. “Greetings, everyone.” Green subtitles scroll underneath.

When they straighten up, only the lower part of their face is visible. It is a bandanna wrapped around their chin, with a feral, toothy grin on it. “We apologise for the rude interruption, but we doubt your current system would let you listen to us without some… drastic measures.” The figure puts up a hand, waving it in the air lightly.

“Let me ask you, citizens… what is justice to you? What is a true hero? Is it what we have now? Where our top heroes are picked based on popularity stats?

We will be revealing our next operation in 24 hours. Stay tuned.”

And with that, the black screen zaps out with a flash, and all broadcasts are back to normal.

What was that? The media ask, shaken.

* Tsukauchi calls them in , grim-faced. "How much do you know of the villain Deku?"

Silence. Todoroki is clearly confused.

It is as if a vice had slammed down in his throat. "Deku?" He hears himself echo, almost hoarse. A name he had not heard in years. A name he had pushed out of his mind, only just able to open a door to childhood memory.  Yes, he'd wondered what'd happened to the nerd at times, especially whenever he passed by the neighbourhood.

(No, it can't be him.

(Not Shitty Deku who dreamed bigger than anyone. Whose dreams would have gotten him killed.)

He'd never once dropped in. Sometimes his mum mentioned bumping into her at some sales or such, and asked him about Deku, but he'd always end up snapping that he had no word.

"Pity, you two used to be such good friends," she'd sigh after she'd boxed his ears. "Inko does look like she's getting... " She hesitated, unsure how to put it. "Tireder."

He's snapped back into the present by Tsukauchi's look of sympathy at him.

"We've recently gotten a source that the real identity of Deku may be Midoriya Izuku. And through investigation it appears you were once well acquainted with him."

"From witness observations, Midoriya does not appear to live with his mother despite his name being registered under the residence. Not for a few years, in fact." 

// *yeets out a dusty old BNHA WIP once more* wrote all this in 2019 for the todobakudeku exchange! (yes it was for normalcryptid) I couldn’t finish it, decided I didn’t like it (looking back, I really overthought accuracy too much), so I scrapped it. I highly doubt I will revisit this first draft of a future AU. So feel free to adopt.

Concept notes: 1. Villain/hero au

2. any variation of soulmate au   -maybe if they're soulmates they'll catch themselves in sync, hearing the other's thoughts? Little by little, depending on the bond between them

3. partner pro heroes

It's a lovely day in the city for the debut of two new heroes — and Midoriya Izuku, villain understudy, is in a very nasty mood.

aka

the AU where Midoriya Izuku becomes a villain instead, and Bakugou and Todoroki are the pro heroes who have to catch him. Also, and they were soulmates.

-And oh, add to the fact it’s also, hmm. A certain asshole hero’s birthday. Will wonders never cease, he actually made it this far.

bonus: the outline of the fic I submitted that never was:

-operation: track him down

-more villain stuff - their current op? kill Endeavour -when you forgot what dabi's in for 'he did take out much of re-destro and some of the lov," he mused, both a positive and a negative. less pesky competition to get a propaganda out, but also potentially less skilled people/mercenaries they drew. oh well, perhaps it was best they could draw fanboys for now. They promised loyalty at the very least.

-shit falls out on all media

-todo is in shock. all the todos are.

-'we'll be broadcasting why we've selected him this time. Usually, public, we have not touched your top 10 heroes, not even the top 50 if we could help it'

-'however, old sins must be answered for.' we will broadcast the details of these as we go along the acts to Endeavour's execution.'

-baku finally goes to talk to midoriya inko (todo tags along)

-deku's perspective: stain's not convinced of their plan as dabi was the main motivator, but deku shrugs: "even if we fail, we're destroying his reputation" he turns to dabi "with witness and what la brava has found as well"-todo's very concerned, ends up going with his father more on patrol -enji is soft is his son finally talking to him-(toga ofc exploits this to transform into todo and stab him on the day)- they'd infiltrated the agency for quite a while-toga, la brava, spinner, mido-thus know the schedules of everyone

-mido gets todo out of the way while toga steps in -knockout drops

-dabi, gentle and la brava out in wait in an alleyway

-baku finds midotodo, gets angry af

'why kacchan, nice to see you-'

'BASTARD!" he howled

-stain's broadcasting the stuff: dabi strikes while the damning facts are being broadcasted

-reunion conversation while mido throws an extinguisher bomb at him before escaping

-spinner is the getaway driver

-endeavour is not faring well he's reeling from both the stab and the fire and the emotional shock

-mido holds up todo's unconscious body, endeavour surrenders 'don't kill him, touya'

-baku blasts in very angry and snatches todo back, slaps him back to life

-back-up arrives, baku growls at them to stay out of this (bakudeku fight while others slink off one by one)

-'now you admit it? then you should know how i feel'

-'we can't be on the same side sadly'

'bye' a sinister smile - reverse of that scene -todobaku doing their best to arrest him

[saiilorstars]

It Had To Be You

Ch.17: Big Little Lies // Story Masterlist

Fandom: The Flash

Pairings: Barry Allen x Original Female Character

Pronunciation of OC’s name: Bell-en. The last syllable has an emphasis so it’s not pronounced like ‘Helen’ would be.

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

Chapter Summary: Barry tries his best to move on from his failed attempt of getting a date with Belén but it turns out to be nearly impossible. Belén feels terrible about the whole thing but she insists that she's doing the right and best thing for him. Who could ever want to date someone like her when she had...those genes?

Usually fighting evil metahumans and saving people made Barry feel good about himself - it reminded him that anyone, at one point, could use some help. He was no stranger to needing help himself, but usually it was always over the case of his parents. Very few times it was about anything else, much less about someone else. This time he felt like there was nobody that could help, or perhaps there wasn't even any help that could be of use to him in the dilemma he cursed himself for getting into.

He barely registered an irritated Caitlin striding into the cortex talking in an upset tone to both him and Cisco. "I have been trying to reach Bells all day and she either sends me directly to voicemail or gives me some an excuse that she's really busy at the moment."

"Why do you need her?" Barry quietly asked, thinking that perhaps at the moment it would be best not to see her. He couldn't figure out how to act around her just yet.

"Because Dr. Wells needs her in," Caitlin gently let her phone land on the desk with a light thud. "Cisco finished Nina's suit and he wanted all three of you to practice out in the field to help her."

"And make that snappy," Cisco came in holding a bright red lollipop in hand. "I'm itching to see how well it's going to work." He acquired a dream-like face as he said, "All three of my suits working together...how marvelous."

Caitlin shot him a look. "Did you just say marvelous?"

Cisco ignored her and went to take a seat. "I even came up with a name for Nina now! Don't worry, it'll be good," he reassured as if Caitlin and Barry were on the edge of their seats waiting to hear the name. Caitlin shook her head at Cisco and moved around the desk to get some of their work cleared up. It was then that Cisco noticed the unusual somber face of Barry. "What's with you?"

Caitlin looked up from the pile of papers in her arms and realized what Cisco was referring to. "Barry, are you fine?"

Barry knew he could easily brush it off and just lie but seeing as they had been in on his plan, it would only be a matter time until they figured it out. Better to get it over with, he thought. "I did what I said I'd do about Belén last night. I asked her out, but...she said no."

Caitlin's and Cisco's faces were stunned. They had been absolutely sure Belén was going to say yes to Barry, they had encouraged him on to ask and now...they hear she said no?

"That...can't be right," Caitlin was the first to speak. She had been more than sure that, with Barry's push, Belén would accept her feelings. She still stood by her stance that Barry and Belén each other's counterparts so Belén would need a confession from Barry that their feelings were not unrequited. Something was way off.

"I understand the word 'No' and trust me, she said no," Barry said, feeling ridiculous for how much this was affecting him. It wasn't like this was the first time a girl had turned him down. Then again, the last time that happened was when he still in college and even that was around freshman year...

Caitlin just couldn't buy it. She shook her head, telling him to repeat exactly what happened in his lab. Barry told them how Belén had come into his lab incredibly happy that her co-workers were giving her another chance. He told them then how he asked her twice, the first time being misinterpreted, but the second time more than clear. Belén had gone silent for a couple of seconds before she uttered a 'no'. With a long sigh, Barry finished with Belén's apology while she backtracked out of his lab.

"Cold," Cisco whispered before popping his lollipop back into his mouth. Barry rolled his eyes.

Caitlin cleared her throat, much more careful with her response. "That...just sounds odd to me, honestly." With the look Barry gave her she quickly explained. "It just sounds, to me, that there's something missing in all this."

"I doubt it," Barry mumbled. "She said no, and it looked like she meant it. I was stupid for even trying this-"

"No!" Caitlin exclaimed. "Something is off, I'm telling you. When Cisco asked-"

Cisco loudly cleared his throat and stopped her from talking. Caitlin realized her mistake and said no more.

Barry straightened up and looked from one to another, waiting to hear an explanation. "What?" he asked.

Cisco pulled his lollipop out of his mouth, "She was talking about the time I asked this, um, girl and she turned me down. But, I asked and asked - very politely and respectfully- until she said yes. Point here is, sometimes a girl is just scared." He hoped that was enough to drive Barry away from further questioning. He did not think Barry learning that he and Belén once went out on a date would help the case.

"That's nice and all, but sometimes a 'no really just means 'no'," Barry shrugged. He was too delved in his own turmoil to see it pick up on anything else.

~ 0 ~

Iris was carrying another pile of papers some to some rude, senior reporters had given to her to take God knew where. She hated them, to be honest. But she was sticking it out because that is what needed to be done. She was going to pass Belén's desk when she noticed how distant her friend looked. Belén held a newspaper in hand and was intently staring at its cover.

"You still mad about me taking that picture?" Iris momentarily set down her pile of papers on Belén's desk, leaning forwards to see the Flash on the cover page. She'd been able to sneak a picture on her phone when he had appeared to Belén, her and Linda.

Belén gently lowered the newspaper and looked up, her eyes tired for some reason. "No," she truthfully said.

Iris tilted her head, now getting a real look at Belén. "Hey...what's wrong?"

"You don't know?" Belén asked, a bit surprised the news had yet to hit Iris considering how close she was with...well…

The answer was easily seen on Iris' face. "Know what?" she raised an eyebrow, suddenly forgetting the task she was supposed to be doing at the moment.

Belén sighed and faced Iris with all the little courage she had. "I'm gonna tell you because I know, either way, you'll end up hearing about it."

"Hear about what?" Iris taped her fingers along the desk, growing impatient with this thing she apparently had yet to hear about.

"Barry sort of asked me out...well, not sort of, he did."

Iris gasped excitedly. "Yes!"

"But I said no."

And then Iris' face fell. "Nooooo!" she gestured in a very upset tone. "Why?" she began her questions, repeating her "why" as she moved around the desk. "Why would you say that?"

Belén got up and began pulling the papers Iris no longer cared about. "Look, I don't have to explain, I just...wanted you to know before the story got distorted - not that I think Barry would do that." She stopped moving her hands after mentioning his name, and felt the overwhelming crush of guilt all over again. "If you see him...and he's a little upset-"

"Of course he's gonna be upset!" Iris exclaimed, in a mixture of confusion and irritation. "You turned him down! What, is he not good enough?"

"I never said that," Belén quickly clarified.

Iris took in a deep breath, pushing away those nasty thoughts. Belén was not that kind of woman and she knew it. "He's like my brother-"

"I know," Belén said with the utmost understanding. "And it's okay if you want to defend him."

"I don't get it. I'm sorry. I was sure - I still am - that there was a little something-" Iris dragged her finger in front of Belén, "-between you two. I just...why did you say no? He's a really great guy-"

"I know…"

"I mean, he's really, really sweet-"

Belén smiled. "I know. Overly, if I should add."

Iris nodded. "And he's funny, I mean some of his jokes are nerdy jokes but they're kinda funny-"

A light chuckle escaped Belén's mouth as she agreed. "They are."

"And he's a dork, but he's one of those sweet dorks-"

"Also true," Belén agreed, returning to gathering the papers in a neater pile. "There is nothing wrong with Barry. Actually, between you and me, sometimes I've wondered why he doesn't already have a girlfriend. I mean," she stopped abruptly as she thought out loud. Each of those thoughts widened her smile. "It's quite a sight to see when he gets really passionate about something, something so remote that no one in their right mind would ever think about, like-" she laughed, "-something like disproportionate zombies." She shook her head and tried suppressing her laughter.

Iris mouthed 'Disproportionate zombies?' to the side, dead confused about that one but she didn't really want to ask. It was just one more dorky thing between them she supposed.

Belén didn't even notice Iris. She was too busy thinking about the speedster she knew very well she'd love to go on a date with. "He suddenly has all these facts that my little brain would never, ever think about, and he's not even trying to show off he's just...explaining it like...like you just have to know about it. I guess in his mind he's just trying to help. It's amazing…he's...amazing," she swallowed hard as she made the realization. Her heart actually ached. That was a new feeling...

Iris intently stared at Belén, the ombre-blonde once again losing herself to her thoughts. Iris became more certain this situation should not be the end of something that hadn't even started yet. "The right person just hasn't shown up. Right now she's refusing to go on a simple date with him when it's so obvious she wants to. Bells, help me out here, what's going on?"

Belén turned to face her, politely smiling as she clutched the papers to her chest. "It's not him, alright? This time it's actually me that's the problem. And, I'm sorry, but that's all you're getting from me."

She left Iris with those words and made her way as far as possible before Iris could make any other response. She, least of all people, would be able to understand. For a moment, Belén wished there could be someone just like her.

~ 0 ~

Upon receiving a rather odd call from Joe asking to meet him in a street he certainly didn't know, Cisco left his friends with a lie for an excuse. By the time he got to the location, Joe was already waiting for him.

"Thanks for meeting me," Joe said as soon as Cisco got out of the STAR Labs van. He carried with him a box of tools Joe instructed him to bring along.

"Sure," Cisco looked around as he shut the door. "What exactly are we doing here?"

Joe turned to face a dark blue house across the street. "That's Barry's old house," he told Cisco.

"Where his mother was murdered?"

"I have a theory about who might have been involved in Barry's mother's death," Joe began a very brief explanation as they crossed the road. "I thought you and I could reexamine the crime scene, you could apply your technical expertise and help me prove who really did it."

Cisco nodded. "For sure, we should get Dr. Wells and Caitlin in on this."

"No," Joe quickly said before he got any ideas, "We should keep this between us for the time being. If too many people know, Barry will find out, and I don't want to involve him until we know something definitive." Cisco could see that in a logical way and so agreed. Joe knocked on the front door and waited until a petite, blonde woman in a morning gown answered the door. "Hello, ma'am. I'm Detective West. This is Cisco Ramon."

The woman immediately smiled. "Oh, please, it's Sherry, like the drink," she laughed at her own joke. "What can I do for you, Detective?"

"I don't know if you were aware, but there was a homicide in this residence approximately 15 years ago-"

"Oh, I know."

"We've reopened the investigation. Do you mind if we come in and take another look around?"

Sherry shook her head and stepped aside to let both in. "Oh, not at all."

Joe motioned Cisco to go ahead. "Thank you." He took observation of the familiar interior. "Do you live alone?"

"Yes, I'm divorced," Sherry answered with a widened smile as she closed the door and promptly followed the two inside.

~ 0 ~

"Caitlin, I just saw the news…" Belén had hurried into the cortex, mildly breathless but overall concerned. "It's Ronnie isn't it? He's back…"

She abruptly stopped when she saw Barry near Caitlin and Dr. Wells, and briefly met gazes. He didn't look the least bit angry, and it just made her feel worse because if he wasn't angry then he was upset...and she didn't want him to be upset. Caitlin looked up from a computer with a grim face, confirming Belén's supposition. They had also heard the news of an old professor being attacked by a 'Burning Man'.

Dr. Wells, who sat behind her, had pulled up far too many tabs about the Burning Man to be able to focus on just one. "Yes, and we were just discussing what to do. It appears letting Ronnie roam free is no longer an option."

Belén discreetly went around the other side of the desk, near Wells, and placed down her bag. "But, I mean, this...this isn't actually Ronnie anymore, right? It's more like a…" she tilted her head, "...Professor Stein walking around in Ronnie's body like a vampire." She straightened up then, figuring that comparison was awful. "Scratch that. Please."

"Is there a reason that Stein's brain is in control of Ronnie's body, not the other way around?" Barry asked, directly placing his gaze on Dr. Wells until he was answered.

"Simple Darwinism, I suspect. A brand-new organism will select the strongest parts of itself in order to survive…"

Belén seemed like she was thinking about it until she excitedly cut in, "Survival of the fittest?"

"Exactly," Wells nodded, amused with her.

"In this case, Ronnie's body, Stein's mind. In any event, he badly hurt an innocent man, and we have hunted meta-humans for less. Caitlin, we need to know that you're on board with what needs to be done here."

Caitlin looked at the computer determinedly. "How do we find him?"

"Quentin Quale, the scientist that Ronnie attacked, is a former colleague of Martin Stein. If Martin is indeed in control of Ronnie's body, he may be trying to figure out exactly what's happening to him."

"What do we know about him? I don't even know what Stein looks like," Barry confessed, getting the same looks from Caitlin and Belén.

Wells typed on the computer a moment and pulled up a profile of Martin Stein on the wall computer.

Barry's eyes widened at the sight of the elder man with white hair and glasses."That's Stein? I've seen him before."

Caitlin looked up, curious. "When?"

"On the train, the day the accelerator exploded. I was coming back from Starling and he was on the train. We talked, actually," he smiled, if that really had been Stein then Barry was sure this was not an evil man controlling Ronnie's body.

"How do we even begin to look for Ronnie and Stein?" Belén wondered. "In every case, they've found us."

"We start with the basics," Wells declared, and Belén silently admitted she still did not understand.

It wasn't until he said they should go meet with Martin Stein's wife, Clarissa, who had been searching for her missing husband, did Belén fully understand. The group, save Cisco which for some reason was oddly tricky to contact, headed over to Stein's old home. There they met with Clarissa, who indeed said she was still searching for Stein. They began making small talk with her, while discreetly observing the impeccable neat house.

"Of course I've heard of STAR Labs," she said to Barry, almost chuckling. "Martin was always vocal about the competition."

"STAR Labs is actually helping the CCPD looking into your husband's disappearance, Mrs. Stein," Barry explained.

"Oh, please. Call me Clarissa."

Wells was looking at a table consisting of various glass awards all belonging to Professor Stein. "The Conway Prize for Scientific Advancement," he said, making Clarissa look over.

"Martin was very proud of that one," she smiled.

"I'd always hoped to win one of these myself," Wells shared and looked at them with a sarcastic smile. "Oh, and look at that. He won it three times."

"Takes a special kind of person to make Dr. Wells jealous," Barry told Clarissa, both equally smiling of amusement.

"Well, Martin had a talent for making people jealous. Even me. I sometimes think Martin loved his theorems and experiments more than he did me."

"That's not true, I'm sure," Belén said, she and Caitlin coming from the living room. "My dad and brother were full science guys and…" she chuckled, "...at the end of the day they both needed me. Couldn't get on without me, they used to say. I'm sure that's what Professor Stein thought of you."

Clarissa smiled at the kind words. "Thank you…"

"And you haven't heard from your husband since he disappeared…?" Caitlin wondered, and tried to act like this wasn't important as it truly was.

"No."

Barry reached inside his jacket's pocket, explaining to Clarissa, "Mrs. Stein, could I show you a photograph?" As Clarissa nodded, he pulled out a picture of Ronnie and showed it to her. "Have you seen this person before?"

Clarissa automatically shifted, her eyes widening. "Yes, I have. Who is he?"

Barry hadn't expected the question and faltered. "Um…"

Wells stepped in before he said something wrong. "He's just a person of interest in your husband's case."

Caitlin sighed as she asked. "When did you see him?"

"I started getting the feeling that someone was watching me, and sometimes I still do. And about a month after Martin disappeared, that young man showed up here. He was...saying nonsense, and so I called the cops on him but he bolted. Why?"

There was an awkward silence that could be cut through with a knife. Eventually, she was given a lie for an answer and they left her with that.

"So it appears Martin Stein and Ronnie Raymond have something in common besides sharing a body. They both feel the need to protect the women they love," Wells said as they walked away from the house, towards the STAR Labs van. "Clarissa said she feels like she's being watched. Well, then, this has all the makings of a stakeout."

"What? Tonight?" Belén moved slightly ahead to turn and face them. "I can't...I'm sorry. Mark - my old aerial dance team - told me to come in tonight to practice."

"Oh, that's okay," Caitlin tried to be supportive. She knew how much this re-introduction to aerial dance meant to Belén. It was Belén's last way of connecting with her father. Caitlin glanced at Barry beside her, hopeful. "We got things with Barry…?"

Barry nodded. "Of course," he coughed. "You...you go. We'll be fine."

Now she wasn't so sure, and Belén sighed. "No, I'm being selfish. I'll- I'll stay. This...this is important, it's Ronnie-" she gestured to Caitlin, but the brunette shook her head.

"Everything will be fine," Caitlin said, looking down at Dr. Wells for some more support.

"Go on," he motioned.

Belén still looked a little unsure and as she made to leave. Caitlin and Dr. Wells moved towards the van, and for a minute Barry seemed indecisive. Caitlin noticed midway and called to him, gesturing what he was doing.

Rubbing the side of his neck, he glanced in the direction where Belén was walking in.

"Barry?" Caitlin called again, still not understanding.

"Just...you guys go on," he decided, dropping his arm to his side. "I'll see you guys in a bit."

"O-okay," Caitlin nodded and finally made her way away.

Taking a deep breath, Barry started after Belén who was nearing her own car. Originally, she intended on coming with them separately and then leave for the community theater where Mark was waiting to begin their training session.

"Bells?" Wow, even saying her nickname felt odd when they weren't exactly on good speaking terms.

Belén stopped and turned around, clearly surprised she was being spoken to. "Y-yeah?"

Barry had to take another breath before he spoke again. "Uh, see…" he rubbed his neck again, looking as awkward as ever. "About the, um, the uh...incident…"

A light chuckle escaped Belén's mouth. "That's what we're calling it now?" The face on Barry made her laugh a little more. "I would rather we didn't address it that way, because if we did it would make you feel bad and...I don't want you to feel bad-"

"Oh I don't-" Barry had tried cutting in but she waved him to stop and quickly continued.

"Because, because this really has nothing to do with you. If it had been anyone else, I would have said the same answer. This is a personal problem, and I don't want you to think that there was something wrong with what you did." Belén swallowed hard, getting more shaky as she went on. "I just...don't see myself dating anymore."

"Because of your past relationship…?" Barry began to assume, and wrongly. But Belén took a chance.

"Yeah...something like that," she nodded. "And...I-I don't really feel that way...about you..." She hated herself, she really did. It was a lie, such a horrible lie but it was probably the only thing that would get him to forget about her. She could tell she'd hurt him and yet he was just nodding, keeping whatever he had to say bottled inside. "I'm so sorry, but...my answer stays the same."

"Okay," Barry cleared his throat. Despite his feelings, he didn't want to push - he didn't want to risk their friendship altogether. He'd taken the gamble and he'd lost; time to accept it. With a brave face, he looked at her. "But about you and I, as...friends, partners…"

Belén's smile widened, and softened. "I don't think I could ever find another singing scientist like you. If you're not mad-"

"No," Barry began to smile, somewhat relaxed she was still open to remaining friends. He just wished he could look and feel as sure as she did right now. She looked as uninterested as ever, which...did, admittedly, kinda hurt. But if this was what it took, then he had to take it. Who knew, perhaps with time this would all blow over and these feelings would just go away.

~ 0 ~

"You made it," Mark gave a mock clap as Belén walked into the training room. She laughed, pushing some silks out of her way as she came forwards. "I was beginning to think once you returned to all this you would back off."

"I'm not doing this for myself anymore, Mark. It's for my Dad now," Belén clarified, letting her duffel bag drop to the floor beside her. "And stop clapping!"

Mark set loose a final laugh before his hands dropped to his sides. "Well first, I wanna congratulate you."

"For what?" Belén asked, momentarily stumped. "Not falling on my ass yet?"

"No, no," Mark hid a smile as he turned to the nearest pair of silks dropping from the ceiling. "I meant for that article you helped write - the one of Clay Parker's escape from Iron Heights."

"...oh," Belén bent down by her duffel bag and unzipped it to reach for a water bottle inside.

"It was really good. I can see why you would leave the team to pursue journalism."

"We both know that's not what happened," Belén looked up at him, now unamused. "My mom made me leave and I was too much of a coward to stand up for myself."

Mark nodded. "But, I mean, all in all, it wasn't as horrible as you thought it would be right?"

"No, I discovered I had a knack for it." Belén rose up as she capped her water bottle again. "Finally a place where my big mouth has a use."

Mark chuckled. "Right-"

"You're not supposed to agree!" Belén quickly said, but only made him laugh again. Shaking her head, she put down her water bottle and walked towards the silks he was preparing for her. "Let's just get to work, okay?"

~ 0 ~

The stakeout had been successful in that after a couple hours, Stein/Ronnie had been sighted landing close to the Stein residence. Barry wasted no time and got into his suit to go confront the man - men?

"Professor Stein," he called, cautiously stepping towards Stein/Ronnie. "Hey, I'm not here to hurt you, and I know you don't want to hurt anyone else, so if you could just not…" his words were interrupted by Stein/Ronnie bursting into flames, "...flame on."

Barry quickly dodged thrusts of flames coming his way, and sped up to Stein/Ronnie. He slammed the metahuman against a wall, but Stein/Ronnie grabbed him by the arms and suddenly flew up into the sky. As they crossed through the sky, going higher by the second, Caitlin drove after them. When he felt it was an appropriate time, Stein/Ronnie promptly let go of Barry who fell down without anyway to survive. A couple feet before the ground, Stein/Ronnie came flying down only to grab Barry again and drop him over the van Caitlin had been driving after them. Caitlin screamed when Barry crashed the front window and was forced to stop in a swerve. Barry rolled into the ground and barely rose his head to see Stein/Ronnie coming his way ready to cover him in flames for real.

Caitlin came running out of the car, really not having a clue how she was supposed to be helping, but nonetheless she felt she needed to be out there. "No!" Her single word of help made Stein/Ronnie stop in his tracks. Seconds later, he burst into flames and flew away.

Barry groaned as Caitlin helped him sit up right. "Well, that was terrifying."

~ 0 ~

Belén left the pair of silks for a moment to go get another drink of water. Seeing she was nearly out of water, she made to go for the water fountain in the hallway. Mark had gone out already, and promising him that she wouldn't go beyond what he taught her earlier he left her alone to continue training. She filled up her water bottle up to the top and started back for the room.

"I didn't know you danced," a familiar voice stopped her.

She flared and glanced over her shoulder. "And here I thought I would at least get rid of you in all this," she spat.

"Ouch," Azul feigned offense with a hand over his chest. Belén rolled his eyes and continued walking away. "Hey, wait," Azul called for her, but she didn't stop, "Don't you want to know what I want?"

"Not in the least."

"Wow, so I guess you're really on a mission to push away your family."

Belén stopped, now offended herself. She didn't want to look at him, to start a full argument when she was already more miserable than possible. "You don't know anything about me except for what my brother has told you. And he still thinks that I'm the same as I used to before he left - the stupid one."

"He didn't leave, he was kidnapped-"

"Yes but in the end, when I'm sure he did something awful, he had the chance to come home and he didn't. Whatever you have to say, keep it to yourself. I'm not interested."

Azul was frowning, frustrated his words were making no impact on her. "This is your brother-" Belén slowly came to a stop, biting her tongue to not say anything. Of course that didn't stop Azul from saying what he wanted. "You've chosen some strangers over him! Your family! And you turned your back on him-"

That was the last straw. Belén whirled around, revealing teary eyes. "No, he turned his back on me first!" The sudden shout made Azul stop for a moment, allowing her a perfect opportunity to continue. "Where was he when my sister lost her husband? Where was he when I had to leave town to get a better control of my powers? Where was he when our father was murdered? When I could barely hold myself together, where was he? I needed him and he. Wasn't. There."

For the first time, Azul could understand her pain. How it felt being practically alone, losing parents and other family. "I don't...I don't think he realized how much you've needed-"

"Of course he hasn't," snapped Belén, determined to get it all out once and for all, "Because he's been hiding. Lately, my friends have acted more like a family to me than my supposed brother and my sister. And you know, I can let my sister slide because she has her own problems with her kid, but Rayan? That's not my brother anymore."

"How can you say that? I know you feel like things have-"

"I don't 'feel' I saw it," Belén corrected. "The brother that I knew would have never given me such an awful, selfish ultimatum."

"He made a mistake-"

"I get the feeling he was very serious in that he would rather let someone die as long as it didn't directly affect him. And now he's a coward who can't even face me. He has to send his messengers to talk to me. That man is not my brother from before." Belén paused to take in a deep breath and recollect herself for her final words. "I can see that my brother will never be the same, and that the chances of him meeting me face to face are very slim, so I'm going to use you to send back another message. Tell him that I am done looking for him. I'm throwing everything out and moving on. But if I find out that he is up to something bad...then…" It became a struggle to finish her words but she needed to say them, to give Rayan a warning and hopefully ward him off the wrong path, "...I will do everything in my power...to lock him up like the other metahumans the Flash and I have imprisoned."

Now this severely shocked Azul. Through his mask Belén could see wide eyes blinking at her, slowly turning into accusing anger. "You would lock up your own brother?"

"If he became a threat to innocent people, yes."

Azul straightened up, his anger far more clear than earlier. "Then...I guess there is nothing left to say."

"Except the warning extends to you, Plasticine and Pixel as well," Belén stopped him from turning away. She had regained herself, added on a layer of boldness; her teary eyes were no more. "I truly hope that I am wrong but if I'm not, then you better hope I don't find out."

Azul scoffed coldly; the lines of division were really appearing now. "You? Aren't you always getting kidnapped and needing saving?"

Belén's anger flourished in that side of her powers, and before she knew it her right hand thrust forwards and slammed Azul on the ground like he was nothing. "I am much more than what you give me credit for." Her hand was growing green blotches over her skin and so she quickly lowered it down. She took a breath to calm down, hoping that side would leave her alone. It felt a creepy darkness that warned an indefinite stay if she didn't learn how to control it. "And you shouldn't talk so high, after all you are the messenger boy." Vines crept over Azul's body, threatening to crush down on him and probably end his oxygen supply. Azul balled his fists to form icicles that he then threatened to shoot her with. "Go ahead," she taunted, raising her head, "Hurt me. Or...is that against my brother's rules?"

Her suspicions were confirmed as Azul slowly lowered his hands, the icicles melting into nothing. "What's on your face?" he pushed himself up, though kept a careful watch on the vines still over him.

Belén gasped and slapped a hand to her face. "Go," she ordered through gritted teeth, but Azul would never know if it had been for him or for those patches of green on her face. Either way, he ran.

Belén thanked to God there were no cameras in the hallway, because once Azul was gone she made her own escape before anyone could see her.

~ 0 ~

With the help of everyone in the team, and Clarissa Stein, Ronnie and Stein - merged as one - had been taken to STAR Labs. Dr. Wells had given the men medication that would, hopefully, allow for a better civilized conversation with Professor Stein who was in control at the moment.

"I don't suppose any of you have thought what to do after you got Professor Stein to come back?" Belén looked from Caitlin to Barry while Dr. Wells worked on one of the computers. Stein had been given a change of clothes in the meantime.

"More or less," Barry did a weak gesture with a hand, proving her point.

"Well, Stein clearly thinks he can separate himself from Ronnie's body using nuclear fission," shared Dr. Wells, raising his eyes from the screen before him.

Caitlin gave him a sharp look. "What do you think?"

"What do I think? Is it possible? Theoretically. But splitting an atom and splitting a man are two very different things."

"Oh!" they heard Belén gasp and looked over to see her gazing at Ronnie who was coming out of a side room. He had cut his hair and, overall, looked far more put together.

However, there was something off about the young man looking about, so rigid and proper, even his voice had an older tinge in it, clearly from Stein. "I don't suppose it's necessary to point out you're all staring?"

While everyone shamefully looked away, Belén slowly raised her hand. "I think I made it overly obvious...and for that I'm sorry." She lowered her hand and began to smile. "My name's Belén Palayta, I don't suppose you know me yet, but don't worry cos I don't know you either-" she covered her mouth once she realized how rude that could've sounded. "I mean…" she looked for better words while flapping a hand to gesture, "...what I meant is, I've heard so much about you - the both of you! You know, the older one and the younger one-"

"Young lady you speak remarkably quick, has anyone told you that?" Clearly Professor Stein, he asked.

Belén shyly smiled, and nodded her head. "I'm a journalist…"

"Well you keep that job." Stein gave a nod before taking a quick examination of the room. "It is remarkable. I feel clearer than I have since the accident. What did you give me?" he asked Wells.

"A cocktail of anti-psychotics, depressants, and mood stabilizers."

Stein raised eyebrows. "The same formula used to treat dissociative identity disorders." He glanced at Caitlin. "I assume this was your idea? Very clever, Cait."

Caitlin, shaken, shook her head. "Don't call me that. Please."

"I apologize."

Caitlin took a small steps towards him. "We'd like to run some tests on you, if you don't mind."

"Of course, Dr. Snow." Stein gestured Caitlin to lead the way, and while she was mortified to be near him and technically not be near her fiancee, she walked ahead.

Belén watched poor Caitlin walk away with the saddest of expressions. "Poor Cait." She glanced at Wells curiously. "Is there an actual way to separate Professor Stein and Ronnie?"

"We have to let Caitlin run the tests we need," Dr. Wells said. "That could take a couple of hours."

"Oh, well, I guess I have time for a quick run back home," Belén released a breath and made way for the desk where she left her purse. "By the way, someone might want to check up on Cisco."

"Why?" Barry questioned.

"He's up to something," Belén slung her purse strap over her shoulder. "And very secretly. He kicked me out of his workroom. He never does that."

"Can I walk you out?" Barry then thought to ask. He could see her genuinely having to think about it. It...did pain him a little. In the end, she gave a little smile of encouragement.

"I was very serious about Cisco, you know," she said once they were out in the hallway.

"Yeah…" Barry said, half dragging it out because he was very uninterested.

Belén stopped by the elevator and faces him, sensing his lack of attention. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Of course I have to say that, he thought. "Do you want a lift home?"

Although she answered quicker than the last time, Barry still witnessed her thinking about it. Time was she used to say a quick 'Yes' and they would be on their way.

"I think I'll just take the car," she answered very politely and pressed the button of the elevator. "It's not easy explaining to Maritza why I take the car and come back without it."

"She hasn't found work yet?" Barry opted for a chance of subject seeing things were failing again.

"Um, she said she was going to the local elementary school a couple streets from us but I've yet to hear how it went."

"And she teaches…?"

"Kindergarten - she's a kindergarten teacher. But she's been having a difficult time trying to find a job. Hopefully this one works out fine." The elevator dinged open and with a sheepish smile to Barry, she stepped inside. "I'll see you later, then?"

With nothing to say, Barry nodded and watched the doors slide closed. Almost immediately, he heard his phone ringing from his pocket. The moment he answered Iris West said very loud and clearly: "We need to talk now."

Deciding it was better to see her now than later to avoid bigger problems, Barry agreed to meet her at Jitters where she would be working on a couple articles anyways. She sat alone on a table with her laptop opened and a journal beside it. She was drinking from a mug when she saw Barry coming in.

"Barry! Over here!" she waved a hand to grab his attention. She looked pretty calm and content, giving Barry a false illusion this would just be another casual talk with her.

"What's up, Iris?" he took a seat across the table. Iris smiled widely for a second more before abruptly leaning over to smack him on the arm. "OW!"

Iris was no longer smiling at him. "Please tell me you've fixed this mess with Bells."

Barry rolled his eyes, this time blaming himself for not seeing this coming sooner. "You know, I had actual things to do-"

"Don't change the topic with me, Barry Allen. What are you doing?"

"Nothing...what am I-"

"You're damn right you're doing nothing," snapped Iris, who, with all her irritation coming out, remained at first glance calm and collected. "Why are you doing nothing?"

Barry sighed. "Look, Iris, I already had this talk with Caitlin and Cisco but-"

"You're not gonna have the same conversation with me, I promise." Iris closed her laptop down and placed her hands over it. "I just...don't understand you, honestly."

"Understand what?" Barry asked.

"You, I don't understand you," Iris clarified. "You never give up. I mean, isn't that why you became a CSI? Because no one else believed your story about the man in the yellow suit?"

"This...this is a different thing…" Barry said, shifting on his chair. "It's not about believing or not. Belén said no and I don't intend on hassling her."

"But that's just it! You're not doing anything -" Iris abruptly stopped and thought of a different manner to get him to understand. "Okay," she began anew, "Do you remember that girl you used to have a crush on in high school? Senior year? What was her name?" she looked to the side and tried recalling the name. Kara? No. Kiara? No that wasn't it either…"

Glum with the reminder of the girl, Barry said in, "Clara."

Iris snapped her fingers. "Clara! There you go! Clara Connors, head cheerleader and President of the debate club." She pretended to shiver. "What a bitch."

"Hey," frowned Barry.

"What? She was! I hated her!" Iris shook her head. "Anyways, my point here is, you pined after her for the entire school year but you never did anything to ask her out."

"She was way out of my league!" Barry argued.

"There is no such thing as 'leagues' Barry, we just create them," Iris said with a light smile.

"Deep."

"I've been reading."

"That's nice…"

"What I'm trying to say is that you didn't try to go after Clara and now you're doing it again with Belén. You're brave and you're a fighter, what's going on now?"

"Iris," Barry thought himself a broken record as he said, "She said no. She said she wasn't interested, alright? Now it's hard enough to hear it the first time...please don't make me hear it a second time."

Iris stared at him, appearing to be thinking. That girl so lied to him, she thought. Well, Iris thought she would just have to set the record straight. "You know, Barry," she started innocently, "Sometimes I wonder why you don't already have a girlfriend. I mean, it's quite a sight to see when you gets really passionate about something so remote that no one in their right mind would ever think about like disproportionate zombies-" Barry was beginning to look at her oddly. "You know all these facts that no one would ever think about and you don't trying to show off. You just try to explain things because we have to know about it. You're just trying to help. You're amazing."

Barry stared at her in alarm, his eyes widened. "Iris…"

Iris innocently smiled, swaying her head. "Sounds like I'm into you huh?" Barry nodded, still looking afraid. "Well, rest assure I am not. Those weren't my words. They were Belén's."

His heart did a sort of jolt. His whole body leaned forwards on the table. "Really…?"

Iris nodded, watching as her plan finally begin to work. "Mhm. She told me every word I just said. Kinda ironic considering she was trying to tell me how she wasn't interested in you. But you could tell in her eyes it was such a lie."

"Then why would she...I don't..." Barry rubbed his temples, "Why are women so difficult?" Iris playfully hit him on the arm again. "It was a legitimate question!"

Iris shook her head at him then pointed directly at him. "Don't give up because I know she likes you, I knew it from the start-"

"No, you really didn't-"

"Yes, I did, now go and get that date!"

Barry couldn't help but smiling at her. "If I get turned down again-"

"You won't," she said with the utmost certainty, hands together over the table like she was giving the news of the day. "And when you come back home, you can tell me all about how I was right."

"Thanks Iris," Barry said genuinely before rushing off to go find Belén.

~ 0 ~

"Yes, Maritza, I'll stay home, I promise," Belén grumbled as she agreed to her sister's terms. She was this close to hanging up but she knew better than that. Maritza would have her head! As Belén made way for her front porch, Axel stayed behind in the front yard, waving his Toy Story Woody doll in the air. He had more series of Toy Story toys all around him.

Maritza had roped in Belén for a last minute babysitting gig. It appeared she was on a sudden trial for the elementary school and had no one to look after Axel because his babysitter had other commitments.

"Axel, don't throw your Woody!" Belén called as she sat down on the porch steps. As soon as she did, a strong wind hit her in the face. "Barry, what are you doing here? Is something wrong with Professor Stein and Ronnie?"

"No - well, yes, but we already know that. No, um…" Barry failed to come up with a straight sentence on the first try. He took a breath and began again. "I need to have a word with you."

"I can't, I have Axel," Belén pointed back to the young boy now sat on the grass. "Maritza is on a trial at school and I have to look after him."

"On the porch is fine, anywhere."

"O-okay," Belén nodded, sensing this was going to be important. "What's going on?"

"That's what I want to know, honestly," Barry said, receiving a confused look from her. "You said things like you weren't interested in me but now I'm hearing the opposite from Iris-"

"Excuse me? You're not taking my word here," Belén frowned, although it was hard to be upset when she was being called out on her own lies. "That's frankly disrespectful, Barry."

"You lied, Bells, and that's not fair." Barry thought that was a rather childish move but he was not going to desist.

"You can't take Iris' word, you know how she is!" Belén exclaimed, believing her face to be reddening.

"Iris does not lie, especially about something so important to me," Barry nearly snapped and Belén paused at the explanation. "Because this is important to me, Bells, can't you see? You are important."

Belén felt awful as she saw the truth in his desperation. "Barry, I'm so sorry," she sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I thought...I thought we were done with this-"

"I can't," Barry shook his head. "Not after what Iris told me."

"And what exactly did she say?"

"The things you said about me, the things you liked about me," Barry moved closer to her till they were nearly face-to-face. "Did you really mean those things?"

Belén's mouth opened and closed several times, wanting to continue to lie in hopes of driving him away like the first time. It was better - it was the best for him. But, maybe she was selfish because...she really wanted to tell him the truth, tell him how he made her feel...

"Did you mean those things, Belén?" Barry asked again, louder. "Please?"

"Yes," she whispered. "You are amazing, Barry, and that is why I can't do this to you."

"Can't do what? What are you talking about!?"

"It's my problem, not yours. Just...just go and find someone else, okay? It shouldn't be that hard considering who you are. You and I are better as friends."

"I politely disagree," Barry said firmly. He stepped back, looking as if he were accepting some sort of challenge. "And I'm not leaving until I have a date with you. If I have to get every neighbor on this block to help me persuade you, I'll do it.

Arching one eyebrow up, Belén crossed her arms. "What do you mean?"

"You've lived here for years, someone's got to be able to help me." Barry put his hands behind his back as he began rocking back and forth on his shoes. "I guess I'll just have to knock."

"You wouldn't," Belén playfully rolled her eyes.

"Are you doubting my boldness right now? I'll start shouting."

"No you won't. Because this is ridiculous and you've got better things to do."

"I'm giving you my full attention, and I'm not giving up when I know you are just as interested in me as I am with you."

"Barry, you're not gonna do anything except go back to S.T.A.R Labs and-"

"SCUSE ME!" Barry had turned around and sped into the sidewalk where he promptly began to shout at passersby. "Someone's gotta help me around here, I beg you!'

"Barry, get back here!" she ran up to the sidewalk but couldn't go any further because she had Axel. She was bright red in the face as Barry continued to speak high and loud. He is actually doing this, she didn't know whether or not to be embarrassed or...feel just a tad special...

No one had ever gone this far just to get her to go on a date.

Right across the street a blonde haired elderly woman stepped out of her home to see he commotion. It was Mrs. Andrews, Belén's closest neighbor. She spotted the omber-blonde across the street. "Belén? What's happening? Is everything fine?" she called.

"Everything's fine Mrs. Andrews-" Belén had begun to say when Barry cut in.

"No it's not!" he shook his head. "I'm in a bit of a struggle, you see, Mrs. Andrews?" the woman nodded her head. "See, I'm desperately trying to get a date with Belén here but she keeps turning me down even when she knows she wants to say 'Yes'. And I have witnesses too so don't think I'm trying to force her."

"Barry, cut this out!" Belén practically pleased but he was having nothing of it.

"I don't understand and frankly I'm going a little crazy-"

"Barry, come back here!"

He was crossing the street towards Mrs. Andrews who was keenly listening. "Because I really, really like her. I didn't quite know it but thankfully I came to my senses. She's sweet and she's passionate about what she likes. She doesn't understand much science-" Barry smiled to himself, lightly chuckling, "-but she's incredibly cute when she tries to make sense out of it. And, really, if she just paid more attention she would get it because she's incredibly smart. Did I mention I like her fast talking?"

"That was the first thing you ever complimented me on..." Belén said quietly from her spot. Her face had softened, yet was still flushed, but she couldn't find it in her to continue being so 'upset'.

Barry turned around and nodded at her, recalling the first thought he ever had after meeting her the night the Particle Accelerator was to go off. He thanked God Iris had put him up to the task of helping with some article Belén had to write despite not knowing her. And even if he hadn't actually helped her in the end, it led to their friendship.

Belén took in a breath and motioned Barry to come back which he thankfully did. "Barry Allen, why do you have to make it so hard for me to say 'no'?" Standing in front of him, Barry could only respond with a shrug of genuine confusion.

"Wait a minute," Mrs. Andrews suddenly called out to them, making them both glance her way. She was coming out to her front porch, eyes keen on Barry. "What was your name, young man?"

Belén whispered to Barry as they moved to face Mrs. Andrews, "But just because I kinda like you too does not mean I won't kill you for this."

At which point, Barry felt completely calm because all he had heard was that she liked him too. "It's Barry, ma'am," he finally answered the waiting elder woman. "And I'm sorry for causing commotion. I was desperate."

It didn't appear Mrs. Andrews listened to his additional response. She was smiling, for some reason. "David spoke about you. He mentioned your Christmas present idea. I thought it was lovely."

"Thank you," Barry cleared his throat. "I, uh...that was my goal."

"Thank you, Mrs. Andrews. We won't be making more noise I promise," Belén grabbed Barry's arm and forced him to turn back for her house.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" Barry's voice was quiet but he still stood by what he'd done and what he said.

Belén let go of his arm once they were near her front porch. Her eyes briefly flickered to Axel who had played in the yard this whole time like nothing had happened. She re-directed her eyes back to Barry, and when they met gazes she just couldn't do it anymore. "I have thought about you as more than a friend. Of course I have."

"So then why did you lie?"

"Because...because I'm not the girl you want to date, trust me," she sighed. "Everything I told Iris was true. You're incredible, and I...I don't think I could take it if I said 'yes' to that date only for you to cancel it later."

"I wouldn't do that," Barry's reassurance didn't exactly make a difference for her. "Bells, why would you think that?"

Belén had realized there was nothing but to show him what was the problem was. "Come tonight to my room, like you do sometimes, and then I can show you what the problem is. Because maybe after that, you won't want that date anymore."

"I don't...understand…"

"Just come, okay?"

Barry gave in with a nod, figuring he had nothing left to lose. "Okay."

"Thank you. Now I can't really leave Axel and I promised Maritza I wouldn't take him out," Belén sighed but added in a quieter tone, "Plus I don't feel comfortable putting him near a man who radically bursts into flames."

"Don't worry about it, I'll take care of it." Barry said quick, debating how to leave after everything. He was just now realizing how stupid he'd been shouting about just to get his 'yes'. Yup, she was definitely doing something to him because he never imagined he would've done something like this in a million years.

Belén rocked back and forth on her feet, biting her lower lip as she too waited for someone to speak and cut through the awkwardness. Thankfully, someone's phone went off.

"Mine," Barry waved it as he got it out of his pocket. "It's Caitlin…"

"You should go then," Belén said. "I'll...be here…" she awkwardly pointed back to her house, "...waiting…"

"I'm not changing my mind," Barry warned before he left.

"I think you should save your words until after."

"I won't," Barry smiled, cheerful as ever before speeding away.

Belén couldn't feel that assured as she turned to walk back to her house. The pit in her stomach had her worrying for the rest of the afternoon until Barry would return. After all, only Felicity Smoak knew her secret and that alone was terrifying to reveal to a stranger. How would she do it with Barry? Someone she came to be so close to, someone she kind of, may have, learned to really like?

Even when Maritza finally returned, and announced she had made such a good impression that she was offered a job at the elementary school, she noticed straight off something was bothering Belén. After putting Axel to sleep, Maritza came down the staircase, to where Belén was busy writing on her laptop.

"If you keep up the speed you'll break that poor computer," she decided to open with a joke. Apparently, it was not funny.

Belén shook her head and shut her lap top. "I'm going to bed early," she declared, rising from the couch with her laptop tucked under her arm.

"I was only joking, Belén, calm down," Maritza walked around the couch and plopped down. "Sit down and we can talk if you need to."

"No offense but I just don't think you could actually help," Belén sighed, looking absolutely stressed.

"Ouch," Maritza laughed. "I guess I need to be more like your scientist friends huh?"

"It's not that…" Belén bit her lip and reconsidered on a way to talk to her sister without actually revealing anything.

"C'mon Belén, I know we don't have the strongest sister relationship but I actually want to change that," Maritza smiled kindly, changing her sitting position to face her. "What's bothering you?"

Belén could only think of one way to put it that wouldn't make it seem out of the ordinary. "It's this guy, and, um...he asked me out-"

"Ooh," Maritza made a face, "Tell me more!"

"At first I said 'No'-"

"Because you didn't like him?"

"No, because...because I didn't think he would want to date someone like me."

Maritza made a face. "Why wouldn't anyone want to date you? You're fantastic! You're-" she stopped when she remembered that Belén was a metahuman and that perhaps this guy didn't yet know it and this was the reason for Belén's answer.

"I was sure that he would move on, but he didn't," Belén sighed. "And, it sucks, because I actually do like him but I'm scared of what he's gonna think of me when...when he gets to know me."

Maritza assumed Belén would be revealing she was a metahuman. A little alarmed, she discreetly said, "Maybe you should wait a little until you let him see the real you."

"How so?" Belén tilted her head.

"Well, you say you like this guy but you've never dated him? Like, nothing at all"

"Right..."

"Who's to say that after a date you won't like him anymore? Maybe you'll realize that...there's nothing there."

Belén shrugged, genuinely considering Maritza's words as she started for the stairs. Could it be that after one date she would realize she didn't really like Barry?

"Where are you going?" called Maritza.

Stopping by the stairs, Belén glanced back. "Sleep…" she said quietly, "Good night," she added then hurried up the stairs.

Maritza watched after Belén with mild concern. It was much more difficult than she thought it would be to get Belén to be open and talk to her. At the very least Maritza thought Belén would have the audacity to share with her the fact she was a metahuman. But, it appeared, Belén preferred to keep that secret among her friends. Once again, she chose strangers over her family.

~ 0 ~

The light tap on the balcony door made Belén flinch on her bed. She rushed to go lock her bedroom door - right after peering outside the hallway to see if her sister had gone to sleep as well - and then ran to go open the the blinds. She unlocked the glass door and slide it open.

"Hi, Barry," she said sheepishly and allowed him inside. "How'd it go with Cait and…?"

"Professor Stein and Ronnie are both going to be fine," Barry turned around, wearing a light smile on his face. "We were able to separate them using a quantum splicer-"

"You lost me," Belén shrugged innocently, shaking her head.

Barry chuckled and made her blush. "So, you want to tell me why I'm here?"

Belén drew the blinds across the glass doors of her balcony then turned to face him. "This has a point, Barry, I promise. But please, no matter what happens, you have to promise me you won't tell anyone about this."

"What is it?" Barry asked, beginning to feel a little concerned. She seemed so serious about this, like it was life threatening...

Belén shut her eyes, gathering every ounce of courage inside her to speak. "Do you remember before when, um...when you woke up from your coma and...everything was so new? Like, like you couldn't control your powers basically?"

"Yes, but then I got help from STAR Labs - something you could've done too if you would've told us," Barry reminded gently, not wanting to dig up that past argument.

"I couldn't at that time because I didn't know you guys completely. But there was one person I did get help from, remember?"

"Oliver," Barry said, not too pleased.

"And Felicity Smoak - she was the first person to know," Belén sucked in a breath. "I had to prove to her that I needed help, and at that time I only knew how to do one thing."

"Which was…?"

Belén sighed and walked past him, double checking to see if her bedroom door was actually locked.

"Bells? What is it?" Barry turned after her, seeing her become more and more scared.

"You can't tell anyone!" pointed Belén, suddenly frantic. "You can't!"

"I won't, I promise!" Barry raised both his hands to solemnly swear.

Belén shook her head. She took in a breath and raised her head. At first, Barry couldn't tell what exactly he was supposed to be looking at...until he saw something green spreading from down her hands...wrists...arms…

It was incredible sight to see someone change skin colors, and even more-so when the skin changed into a beautiful shade of emerald green. There appeared to be a light scaly pattern, but it was an astounding sight.

"I turn into this-" Belén raised her arms, "-and it's awful. It's ugly."

"This isn't...this isn't bad," Barry breathed in, really unable to configure words to express his shock. "This is...extraordinary! You're truly one-of-a-kind. Do you realize this means you could have other powers you're not fully aware of!?"

"Don't sell me that crap, Barry. This is ugly, and it's why I never use it. I push it away," Belén lowered her arms but remained in her greenish state. "I only showed it once to Felicity and then once to Oliver to prove my story. I don't like, it's ugly and no one should ever have to see it." She didn't feel completely ready to disclose how the power even came involuntarily to her. She figured Barry wouldn't even question it after making him re-think that whole 'date' thing.

"Belén this is crazy. You can't actually think this would bother me enough to call off our date," Barry chuckled, but Belén didn't find it funny.

"You laugh now but you have to think about it like I am. Right now, yeah it's just a date and it might not mean anything but what happens if this actually works out between us, hmm?" Belén arched an eyebrow. "What if everything goes so fine but then in the future...you would want kids...do you really want that mother to pass on to them these horrible genes?"

"Bells-"

"Think about it please," she begged. "Because I would rather call things off right now before anymore feelings develop. You are wonderful, Barry, and you deserve someone just as wonderful. Don't blow it."

Barry nodded, acknowledging her words. He saw this was important to her, and for that he wouldn't dismiss it so easily like before. But, he knew what he wanted even after hearing everything, so he supposed he would just have to show it little by little. "So, Miss Bells - I like that actually," he said to himself but saw Belén smiling from the corner of his eyes, "Are you free this Saturday night?"

Belén's eyebrows rose, and slowly her skin lost the scales and emerald green tinge. A little smile again graced her lips. "...I don't like Chinese food."

[quarterfromcanon]

Huzzah!

for @imunbreakabledude

Thank you for the wonderful idea generators you listed in your request; every single one served to spark some element of this piece and I had such a great time putting it together. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 Happy Valentine’s Day!

Word count: 3,820

Rating/content warnings: G. Mild swearing. No violence and nothing really sexual. Unless you count #archeryarms. They are quite powerful.

Relationships: Mostly general Gurl Group and co. in nature, but there may or may not be a little Rethaniel kernel planted here somewhere... ;)

Summary: Our beloved residents of West Covina take a trip north to engage in some Renaissance merriment.

Rebecca stood before the wall-length mirror and ran her fingers along the feather tucked above the brim of her hat. She adjusted the small tambourine tied to her waist and planted both hands on her hips. 

"Well, fair ladies... or, should I say, RenFaire ladies, are we ready?"

A row of restroom stall latches slid aside and their doors swung wide to reveal the rest of the Gurl Group, all clad in their carefully selected costumes for the day. Rebecca bounced in place and clasped her hands under her chin.

A net beaded snood held all of Paula's beautiful red hair. An ornamental ruby brooch was fastened to the bodice of her ornate raspberry gown. She smoothed the fabric and held her head high, striking a pose.

Valencia repurposed the faux leather portion of her Bride of the Pirate King costume and fashioned it to be part of her falconer garb, complete with a Velcro wrist attachment featuring a tiny plush merlin fitted with a hood. A simple plait kept her field of vision clear with the added bonus of helping combat overheating. She twisted sideways and nodded approval at her reflection, pleased with the silhouette.

Heather had happily seized the opportunity to go as an archer, a set of garments she'd been assembling piece by piece ever since she started her continuing education class. Her hair was braided and bound together to reduce the risk of distracting strays. Many of her beloved camo greens were present in this ensemble, albeit separated into individual components of her attire. She moved to tuck her hands into her pockets, remembered that there weren't any, and instead hooked both thumbs through the belt.

The bridge of Rebecca's nose scrunched as she grinned. "Crushin' it. Fresno, here we come." 

"Play us out, Cookie," Paula urged.

Rebecca scooped her lute - easily the most expensive item for her look since she had been adamant about carrying a functional instrument rather than a prop - off the countertop and strummed. Her gaze turned skyward as she left the rest stop bathroom attempting to generate lyrics on the spot. 

"The countess doth my song request, I go at her courtly behest, and now I introduce four: there were none quite so resplendent, connected yet independent, trust me I'm the troubadour..."

Scott and Tommy were already waiting outside dressed as an earl and a squire, respectively. Tommy gave them all an appreciative thumbs up and Scott applauded. The latter strode over to Paula when she emerged. Scott bowed and then held out his hand. "My lady?" He gestured in the direction of their waiting minivan in an unspoken offer to escort her.

Paula smiled and accepted his outstretched palm. "Milord."

While they walked, Scott called over his shoulder. "I like the new ditty, Rebecca. Lotta info in a little time. Nice and snappy."

Rebecca waved an 'oh, stop' gesture, but she was unable to hide her delight in receiving positive feedback. "Thank you. I couldn't resist a little Danny Kaye tribute. I think it could work better if I ramp up the speed of my delivery, now that I've worked out the words."

Valencia flanked Paula on her other side and leaned in close to whisper, "What musical was she talking about?"

"No idea. It must've been before my time."

They loaded back into the vehicle, though with considerably greater difficulty given the added layers of their new outfits. Paula now had to sit in the middle with Rebecca to have room for her voluminous skirts. Scott took the driver seat in her stead, and Tommy sat beside him. Valencia detached the falcon from its perch and buckled it into the rear middle seat to keep it from sliding around on the drive. Heather observed this with quiet amusement. She patted the fake bird on the head. "Safety first." 

The wardrobe-swapping pit stop in Tulare was only about forty minutes away from their final destination, a span of time which seemed to fly by after the previous three hours on the road. Eagerness for the festivities ahead reached a renewed high as the park finally came into view. Scott pulled up to the waiting staff member and exchanged pleasantries. He passed the young worker a bag of canned goods they'd brought to contribute to the faire's donation drive and then fished out his wallet to pay the parking and admission fee. 

As soon as they exited the van, all the sights and sounds swept them into the action. There were myriad tents on either side of the path that wove through the trees. Bakers, potters, and weavers sold their wares; blacksmiths hammered hot metal atop anvils, and a cheerful tune drifted from a shelter housing a trio of professional musicians. The food court beckoned with the scent of cakes, pies, meats, and sandwiches. Their first quarter of an hour passed simply drifting from one table of offerings to the next, admiring everything and strategizing how they would spend their money later. 

Once they'd gotten a general sense of the lay of the land, Rebecca began walking backward to face the group at large and clapped her hands together. "Okay, time to get the party started. Where to first? Birthday girls' choice. Heather? Paula?"

Heather pulled a face. "That's not gonna be how you introduce us all day, is it? You're gonna confuse everybody since it's not, like, actually either of our birthdays. Not even close."

"Okay, true," Rebecca conceded, "but 'a November day that happens to fall almost squarely in the middle between the two and on a weekend we could all ask off work' is a mouthful to explain to strangers."

"Or we could just try, y'know, not sharing any details of our personal life with the RenFaire performers?" Heather suggested with a sarcastic shrug.

"But then none of them will sing you a period-appropriate song or raise a celebratory cheer." Rebecca pouted. 

Heather nodded with satisfaction. "Exactly."

"Verily, thou art a most obstinate addle-plot," Rebecca remarked with a sigh.

"Oooh, are we doing the olde timey talk now?" Paula brightened. "I've been practicing for this."

"Aye, good lady," Rebecca confirmed and linked their arms. "I believe the hour is upon us!"

Just like that, all lighthearted squabbling was forgotten. Rebecca and Paula joyfully riffed off one another using every medieval and Renaissance vocab word they could recall. They even dusted off their questionable English accents for an added layer of "authenticity." Tommy and Heather exchanged glances at some of the inventive word choices, having acquired a passing familiarity with the correct terms on their individual visits to similar faires, but they let the giggling duo indulge in their antics.

A short while later, they stumbled upon another tent of interest, which appeared to be dedicated to wood carving. There were wall hangings, placards, canes, birdhouses, and countless other novelty handcrafted objects. One rather simple looking cube with hinges on the corner of a table caught Rebecca's attention. She plucked it up for closer inspection. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips when she saw the lion rampant carved into the surface of the lid. She pried the box open with her thumb and gasped. 

"Aww, there's a little compass inside! I wonder how much this would cost to send to Na--" Rebecca dragged out the first syllable of the name, realizing too late that she'd spoken the thought aloud. "--antucket. I've got a cousin out there who might enjoy it for... scout hikes."

She nodded perhaps a little too emphatically at the end of this improvised statement. Her eyes flicked from one companion's face to the next to see if they bought the cover story. The reactions were unanimously not in her favor. 

"You were about to say Nathaniel." Paula gave Rebecca a reassuring nudge. "Sweetheart, you don't have to hide it from us. We've known for weeks that you two have been writing back and forth to each other. I accidentally used one of his envelopes as a coaster when you invited me over to hear a few works in progress."

"Yeah, and you stowed another letter behind Estrella's tank," Heather added. "Which is literally transparent so..."

"Having a pen pal is actually kind of perfect for you," Valencia said. "You're the only person I've ever known who bought stationery as a souvenir."

"It has been nice, keeping in touch," Rebecca admitted. "We're in different countries, both staying introspective and working on ourselves, but I think we've gotten to a place where we can check in on each other without undoing all the positive growth." She turned the compass over between her fingers and then held it out for the other women to inspect. "Do you think he'd like it?"

Heather's head tilted to the side. "Exclusive product ... a little pretentious but still practical... prominently features an animal you could find in a zoo... Sounds like a match from what I remember about him." 

"Plus, it's kinda symbolic, y'know? Like he can use it because he's surrounded by wilderness but he's also finding his way," Rebecca explained. "This could be a memento to commemorate that."  

She removed the wad of bills from the change purse on her belt and separated the necessary amount listed on the sticker. Once the compass was officially in her possession, Rebecca swung the bag back and forth, considering what a nuisance it would be to have that hanging from her wrist for the rest of the day. She nonchalantly turned a sharp corner as they left the tent. There, she discretely tucked the remaining dollars into her bra and stashed Nathaniel's gift in her former cash pouch.

The others were gathered around the pamphlet guide now open in Paula's hands when she returned.

"Looks like a lot of the big events are in the afternoon," Heather noticed.

"Count me in for the show where the guy swallows fire." Tommy tapped the corresponding spot on the park map.

"And we're getting funnel cake later, right?" Rebecca pointed to Paula and then back at herself. 

"Oh, of course," Paula readily agreed. "It's quintessential fairground food." 

"Don't forget the giant turkey legs!" Scott added, already scanning the large painted menus in the distance so he could make a beeline to that station once they were ready to eat. 

Valencia looked ill at the mention and returned her attention to the accessory booth she'd drifted toward while the others spoke. She held up two pieces she might purchase and frowned thoughtfully. Heather plucked a small standing mirror off the display table and held it for her while she considered each necklace in the sunlight.

A faint buzz sounded from Valencia's satchel. She angled her body so the jewelry could rest against her chest without sliding off and then rummaged for her phone. "Ah, crap." 

"Who is it?" Heather prompted. 

"Darryl with the five thousandth Pinterest idea for his Blended Family Unity Ceremony. I thought the point was to do something simple and sentimental, once they decided they didn't want all the hassle and planning of another wedding in their lifetime. April seemed in favor of that. But Darryl's gone down an Internet-ing rabbit hole and can't be stopped. I thought the ceremony itself might clock in at twenty minutes at most, when they first brought it to me."

"Oh, my sweet summer child." Rebecca shook her head as she tuned in to the conversation.

Valencia’s shoulders sagged and she grimaced. "I know. Joke's on me. At this point, I'd recommend the guests just clear their schedule for the whole day. This latest concept involved a giant canvas and finger painting so... wear something you don't care about."

A collective groan rippled through the group. It was confessed, however, that they all expected at least one genuinely tear-jerking moment, given Darryl's fierce and unwavering attachment to each person who would be in attendance. 

The six of them then followed the map to briefly observe a staged sword fight and a live joust. Paula and Rebecca reminisced over A Knight's Tale and lamented the fact that more stories depicting the era did not include extended dance and/or musical numbers. 

"With the obvious exception of The Court Jester, of course," Rebecca said.

Paula gave a vague nod, smile locked in place but eyes blinking rapidly. "Right. Sure bet it does." 

"You've never seen it, have you?" 

"I'm not even sure if it's a play or a movie." Paula offered an apologetic wince. "You're sorta my primary go-to when I need to understand these kinds of references. I don't have the head space for it."

"I mean, a first watch is definitely something we need to remedy on a weekend soon but, given that I have three decades of passionate devotion to the art form, I get what you mean." Rebecca patted her lute fondly.

They stopped by the wooden ship stationed on the grass where actors dressed as pirates interacted with the crowd and set off small cannons. Then the group advanced toward the last thing on their list of pre-meal activities, which was to watch one of the live shows. The uproarious energy there sparked a sudden idea. Rebecca took extensive notes on her phone, deciding to flesh out her earlier improvised song into a full number to capture the vibe of the faire.

Afterward, they all left the seating in front of the stage and headed toward the food court. The sound of drums diverted their attention along the way and they searched for its source. A small gathering of belly dancers circled on a stretch of open lawn. Rebecca began nodding her head in time with the drum beat, but the motion stilled as she studied the trained and toned muscles undulating beneath the nearest dancer's skin. The woman stood out among her peers as not only being adept at the style but possessing a kind of theatrical charisma. She noticed her new audience and winked. 

Rebecca tugged off her troubadour's hat and fanned herself. "Damn, that level of confidence is sexy."

Eventually, watching half a dozen stomachs reminded them of their rumbling own. With some reluctance, they finally moved along. At last, it was time for their much-anticipated lunch. Scott immediately purchased his coveted turkey leg and ale, both of which he enjoyed while the others mulled over their dining options. As they scanned the stands, the girls spied a large kiln not far away and recognized a familiar dish in the shadows. 

Rebecca pressed a hand to her middle. "Okay, I know it's not the kind of thing you can only get at the faire, but I need that pizza in me."

"Seconded." Tommy joined his honorary sister in staring at the melting cheese.

Once everyone had a plate, they found a place to sit at one of the wooden tables. Paula dusted some of the powdered sugar from the funnel cake off her fingers with a napkin and leaned toward Heather, who was stationed diagonally across from her.

"So, I haven't seen you much since fall break ended. How's grad school going?"

"The marine biology coursework combined with the kind of work that gives me money is kicking my ass but, like, in a good way. Especially since so much of it involves trips to the beach."

"I really admire you for going back, and for finding an area of study that would let you take so many fun field trips," Paula praised. 

Valencia caught Heather's eye and beamed. "Well-played, professor."

While everyone ate, they unfolded the map again atop their table. They scanned the times for where each person wanted to go between noon and dusk when the event would close. A second-half schedule was established and they prepared to seek out the first stop. Before doing so, however, Paula opened her phone's camera for a picture. Rebecca rounded everyone else up for the photo. 

"Prithee, gather ye round the magic picture box. Lady Proctor wouldst appreciate the opportunity to capture our likeness and preserve the memory."

They wrapped their arms around each other and leaned into frame, looking respectably at home before a backdrop of other costumed faire-goers. Paula showed them all the end result before turning it back to herself and grinning at the image. "Perfect."

First on the listed activities was the archery contest. Heather rarely had an occasion to utilize her champion level skills as a bowman, so this chance was too good to skip. The competitors formed a line before their targets.

"Make ye ready!" the announcer cried. "Draw! Aim! Loose!"

Heather's shot found its mark and embedded in the bullseye. Her companions clapped and whooped. 

Rebecca watched her nock the following arrow and line it up for release. "She's got a whole Keira Knightley in Princess of Thieves look going for her today."

The second arrowhead pierced a hair's breadth from the first.

"I think it's kinda doing it for me."

Valencia nodded. Her eyelids crinkled at the corners while she regarded Rebecca with curiosity. "Are you having some sort of Renaissance awakening?" 

"TBD. Check back in with me later. Kinsey scale rating may need an update."

Heather’s final arrow was dead center. The announcer declared her the winner and the visitors from West Covina alarmed everyone nearby with the shouts that erupted from them. They surged forward to embrace and congratulate her. Heather awkwardly allowed herself to be jostled by her circle of friends. She exuded discomfort but, when they all formed a group hug, she did not squirm away. 

After that landslide victory, next up was a demonstration with a trebuchet. The impressively tall apparatus cut through the air and launched pumpkins at a makeshift castle wall. Tommy was ecstatic. He fished out his phone to record a video. "Brendan would love this. I've gotta send it to him."

At the mention of her eldest son, Paula's lower lip protruded sympathetically. "Do you miss your big brother knight, squire?"

Tommy tried to feign indifference, but the shift of his shoulders couldn't hide the expression that flickered across his face. "A little, I guess."

"Aww, pumpkin," Paula cooed. She hooked him toward her with one arm and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Me, too."

"Hey, careful with the mom smooches," Tommy cautioned. "Girls might not talk to me if they see I've already got a lipstick mark on my face."

Paula licked her finger and wiped off the traces. The boy allowed the assistance with resignation. "Okay, yeah, I did sorta set myself up for that one," Tommy muttered. 

Somewhere in the crowd, a recognizable voice caught their attention. 

"Just a minute, Amari. It's Agila's turn. Baba can't hold both of you on his shoulders at the same time. Somebody might fall... most likely me."

Paula stood on tiptoe and waved. "Sunil! Sunil, over here!"

Rebecca heard the name and slumped. "Great. This guy."

Sunil wove his way toward them, holding one of his daughters’ hands on each side. "Why, hello! Fancy meeting you here!"

He drew up short when he spotted Rebecca. "Bunch."

Rebecca arched her eyebrows. "Odhav."

"So, how are you liking the RenFaire so far?" Paula asked, interrupting the showdown.

"We're having a blast. The girls rode the giant unicorn. They said it would've been better if it were a pegasus but, hey, next best thing, right? We've caught three shows already. Really resurrects the old acting bug. And I'm still on a shopper's hunt for a crystal chalice with a palace. As we all know, it 'holds the brew that is true,' and I could really use the pick-me-up after four hours of bickering toddlers." Sunil chuckled at his own humor. Paula weakly attempted to do the same, lost.

Rebecca snapped to attention at the reference. Unable to help herself, she interjected, "Yeah, those can be pretty fragile. You might be better off getting a vessel with a pestle."

Surprised, but pleasantly so, Sunil's expression warmed. "You've seen The Court Jester."

"Oh my gosh, yes!" Rebecca's eyes went comically wide with fervor. "I've been talking about it all day. I must've watched that at least twenty times as a kid."

"How could you not? It's a classic."

Sunil gleefully launched into another quote. "'What are you loo-loo-looing about?’”

Rebecca was ready with the rejoinder. "'Oh, I'm not loo-loo-looing, sire, I'm willow-willow-wailing.'"

Sunil responded with a kingly wave of dismissal. "'All right, all right. Willow away, willow away.'"

They cackled.  

"Dear God," Paula murmured, but she was visibly grateful her usually adversarial friends were getting along.

"There are two of them," Valencia joked affectionately.

Sunil rubbed his hands together. "Listen, we were about to track down that lesson on how to do a courtly dance. Would all of you like to join us?"

This proposal was met with general agreement (although Heather required a little additional convincing to accept the prospect of participation). They reached the designated area just as instructions began. Most of the dance took part in a large group but, for the small section where those involved were expected to break off into pairs, they planned ahead for who would dance with whom. The combinations ultimately turned out to be Paula and Scott, Heather and Valencia, Tommy with both Amari and Agila, and - in a truce that would've been inconceivable prior to that instant - Rebecca and Sunil. 

As all the gathered dancers moved in a great circle, Rebecca took the opportunity to look at each of her loved ones in turn. The chances to enjoy hours with everyone like this sometimes proved rare and difficult to orchestrate, but shared moments of laughter and fun such as these made it infinitely worth the effort.

She turned to Heather on her left and gave the other woman's hand a teasing squeeze. "Having a good time after all?"

"I'll live," Heather answered simply, but Rebecca knew her well enough to detect the truth beneath her nonchalance. "What about you? You've been sending us a pre-trip countdown for, like, a full month leading up to this. Is it holding up to the hype?"

"Hundo P," Rebecca replied. "Ugh, it works when Maya says it but I think there might be too much of a generational divide for me to pull that off. In other news, I might be bi?"

Heather's laugh huffed out on an exhale. "Congrats on figuring that out. Welcome to the club. Darryl will make you a t-shirt."

"Thanks. I'm gonna need your out-and-proud advice later to sift through this brand new information, but it feels like I'm onto something."

"Anytime." 

"So, calendar date notwithstanding, has this been a good birthday?" Rebecca asked hopefully.  

Heather's lips twitched. "I'd let you talk me into it again."

In time with the music, Rebecca twirled in a circle and her friends all blurred together in her vision. A soft smile spread across her face. She thought she could safely declare this day a win.