#they all rolled up with purple characters with no prior discussion

[ev-fav]

Two warlocks and a ranger walk onto a pirate merchant ship. A merfolk child is accidentally adopted.

My D&D party! They called their ship Shark Bait

[harrys-titties]

Y/N adores books and her boyfriend and Harry falls in love.

17K+

Warnings: Hinting at an abusive relationship and smut smut 

(A/N this is based off a tiktok by @abbey.freeze, but in saying that, these characters are my own, I am in no way insinuating anything about her past or present relationship so please keep that in mind!! Idk bout this one, but I’m excited about my next piece, so take this as a crumb while I write the next one. Let me know what y’all think)

-masterlist-

9th December 2021 

It was the first time during the whole day that Y/N felt like she could truly breathe. All morning a weight had settled upon her lungs; each huff of air she attempted to fill her chest with was heavy and laboured. 

An ache had settled upon her chest as soon as she’d woken up to her alarm, blaring at her a whole hour after she had initially planned to wake up for work. The pressure on her ribs was immediate as she had flown out of bed, tugging on a top and a pair of jeans she’s sure should’ve been washed at least three days ago and pulled on her sneakers. 

Her head felt as if it had been filled with all the air her lungs were struggling to find, leaving her dizzy as Xander, her boyfriend, grouched at her for being too loud “at eight in the fucking morning,” undoubtedly still in a sleep-induced haze. Y/N threw an “I’m sorry, I’m late for work” over her shoulder, only hearing a groan and potential eye roll behind her in response as she slammed the door shut. 

Her fingertips started to feel numb as she fumbled around her dimly lit apartment for her pair of keys, usually easy to spot with the plush koala bear she’d bought from her trip to Australia three years prior dangling from the ring and the mix of brightly coloured keys, each coordinated to a different part of Y/N’s life jangling around.

(Red for home, blue for her car, yellow for work, purple for Xander’s car, and green for her parents home. The keys were painted with tacky nail polish she had brought from the convenience store on the corner block a few streets from her house, designed to help in moments precisely like this one, except obviously they weren’t helping enough.)

When she does finally find them and attempts to use the blue key to start her car, her heart rate begins to slow down with the lack of oxygen, because of course the key wouldn’t fucking work, the vehicle only emitting a choked cough before leaving her in silence once again. 

Y/N begins to feel on the verge of fainting as she hails a cab on the street, too concerned with the lack of energy firing in her nerve endings and finding one to realise she was definitely getting wet in the rain, only noticing when she sits on the leather seat of the yellow car with a befitting squelch. 

It’s only now, as she steps into the shop that had formed part of her personality through her teenage years, can she take a proper breath. Her screaming lungs are finally silenced at the rush of oxygen entering them, the smell of new books and pressed ink unknotting the tense muscles in her shoulders, allowing the pain to seep from her veins into a puddle at her feet.  

She catches the sympathetic gaze of Max, the old bookshop owner whose leathery hands and woodsy cologne had helped raise her as much as her own parents had. Motioning her behind the counter, he excuses himself from the lady he was currently discussing what looked to be one of Bukowski’s poetry books with to lead Y/N to the back room, his familiar hands rubbing her shoulder kindly and his eyebrows knitted in worry. 

“Are you okay, Y/N?” His tone is gentle and soft, just as it always was. In the seven years Y/N had known Max, she didn’t think she’d ever heard his voice rise above a whisper, his calming tone always one of reason against Y/N’s often chaotic thoughts. 

She works hard not to cry, looking up to the ceiling and pursing her lips gently. She knows by the way he squeezes her arm gently that he notices but doesn’t say anything, simply waits for Y/N to exhale a shaky puff of air and nod her head slowly, “yeh just been a bad morning, y’know?” 

He nods slowly, the movement sending more of his cedar wood perfume in her direction, “of course. I understand. Maybe make yourself a cup of tea and relax for a little bit, take your time. Are you still okay to close tonight, or did you want me to call Laura in to cover you?” 

She’s quick to shake her head, knowing that eight hours of work would probably do her good. She could use the distraction and comfort the old book store always provided her with. “Nah, I’ll be fine. Just let me catch my breath, and I’ll be out to help you.” 

Max squeezes her shoulder one last time, giving her a friendly smile, wrinkles forming around his eyes and mouth, the movement clearly familiar and well-practised. “Of course, Y/N. I’m here if you ever need anything.” 

With one final squeeze of her shoulder, he disappears out the front, leaving Y/N to calm her breathing and sip on her tea.  

----

The rest of the day goes by relatively smoothly, a lady comes in looking for a children’s book for a baby shower present, a teenager asks about books on romance (specifically any enemies to lovers stories. Y/N quickly recommends ‘The Unhoneymooners’ by Christina Lauren) and an old man asking for any books Trump had written, which Y/N has to force herself not to sneer at and politely explain they didn’t stock those by choice. 

While the day seemed dreary, with grey clouds constantly making it feel as if it were late afternoon and the rain pattering against the window panes of the homey old store, Y/N didn’t mind. She had always loved the feeling of being inside, reading and tucked away from the stormy weather, and work proved no different. The smell of earthy covers filled with thousands of pages pressed with ink served as a source of comfort for Y/N, and half the time, if there was no one in the store, she would make herself a cup of tea and continue reading one of the many books their shelves stocked. 

While the day initially looked as if it would be one of those where she could relax and try to finish the book she was currently reading, it proved to be slightly different. A shipment of books they’d just received (almost double what they usually would due to Christmas being just around the corner) meant she had spent most of the day unpacking boxes, adding them to the system before stacking them on shelves, only pausing to serve customers and to eat a sad turkey sandwich she had purchased from the corner shop at lunchtime. 

By the time ten to six had rolled around, Y/N had successfully put all the books away, tired from her efforts and definitely looking forward to a warm bath and dinner. However, the aching resistance in her muscles reminded her of the good job she had done, and she revels in the hard work that had effectively distracted her from her stressful morning.

Usually, Y/N used the last ten minutes of her shift to wash the numerous cups she had used for her tea during the day, which now sat stacked neatly next to the sink in the back room. Still, her plan is somewhat ruined when she hears the telltale ring of the bell attached to the front door just as she reaches her hands into the soapy water. She quickly wipes her wet hands on the front of her jeans and checks the time on her way, noting the 5:55pm blinking at her on the computer screen.  

She notices a man walking towards one of the shelves to her left and greets him cheerfully, “hi there! Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with today.” And while it felt like she had finally caught her breath nearly eight hours ago, when his piercing green eyes met hers, it felt as if she had lost it once again. 

He was extremely handsome, with a mop of brown curls flopped over his forehead, beautiful eyes and tan skin, all accompanied by a charming smile adorned with slight bunny teeth and a deep dimple. His voice is deep and melodic as he answers, “will do, thanks.” He gives her a gentle smile, looking away towards one of the shelves of books before glancing back at her again, making awkward eye contact with Y/N, who was very much still staring at him. 

She quickly looks away and coughs slightly into her hand, turning onto the computer and clicking aimlessly around, almost sure that at this point her face was aflame with a cherry red colour. 

It’s only when she hears his footsteps steadily approaching the counter a few minutes later does she brave looking up once more. 

He’s standing in front of the desk, the same coy smile he had when he walked in filling the bottom half of his face, and Y/N does her best to tear her eyes away from his lips, meeting his intense eyes instead. She does her best to give him a genuine smile despite her heartbeat pounding away through her ears. 

“Uh, I was just wondering if you sold used books here? Or d’you just sell new ones?” Y/N takes a moment to reply, still surprised at how his honeyed timbre feels falling against her ears. Eventually, she shakes her head lightly, “no, sorry, we just sell new books, unfortunately.” 

He tuts, nodding in acknowledgement, “was scared you were gonna say that.” Laughing, she steps away from the computer, giving him her full attention. “Sorry to disappoint. What book were you looking for in particular?” 

Y/N watches as tiny crows feet form at the corners of his eyes as he smiles at her, the expression bringing a sense of warmth to the girl’s face. “Can’t be a real bookseller if you don’t sell second-hand books… but I guess I’ll let it slide.” Y/N scoffs, recognising his teasing tone, before rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. The man in front of her rolls onto his toes lightly, moving his arms to mirror her current position, giving her the same goading smile and eyes, trying to prompt her into teasing him back. 

He continues when he notices her silence, “I’m looking for ‘Love is a Mixtape’ by..” 

“Rob Sheffield,” Y/N interrupts him, blushing when she realises what she’d done. His widened grin encourages her to continue. “I’ve heard that one is an interesting read. We definitely have it in stock, but can I ask why it has to be used?” 

The man distracts himself by playing with the ‘I heart NY’ mug filled with pens that Y/N had collected a few years ago, pulling at a particular blue ballpoint and clicking it in his hand. 

“You’ve never read it?” He looks shocked, his fiddling briefly stopping as he looks at her in disbelief, before he smirks, “now you really can’t convince me you’re a real bookseller.” Y/N raises her eyebrows and smirks back at him, refusing to play into his baiting. 

When she doesn’t respond again, he only continues unphased, still as confident as the moment he walked through the door, “interesting is one way to put it,” he briefly smiles and looks up at her, blinking as a chunk of his hair falls into his eyes. “I don’t know, don’t you think it’s more fascinating that way? When the book is second-hand, I mean.” 

Y/N ignores the flutter in her chest at the direct eye contact and shrugs, “how so?” 

He doesn’t drop her eye, and Y/N begins to feel slightly intimidated by the direct gaze as it almost becomes too much to handle, the temptation to look down at her feet like a lovesick middle schooler proving difficult to ignore. “It’s as if you get to see someone else realise the profound intricacies of love and loss while you discover them yourself. Don’t you think?” 

A laugh spills from her mouth, “how could you experience someone else reading the book like that?” 

He shrugs “the dog eared pages, underlined words, notes they’ve written. All homages to the epiphanies they’ve made along the way, no?”

She nods, deeply intrigued with how much thought he’d put into something so trivial; it was almost endearing. “I guess I’ve never thought of it that way, very…” she pauses to think, “philosophical. Well, like I said, we only sell new books here, but there’s a second-hand bookstore a few blocks down on Perry Street. I think it’s open till six-thirty.” 

Humming in acknowledgment, he looks back up at her, standing straight and dropping the pen back into the mug. “Hm, thanks. And what time do you close?” 

Turning back towards the computer, Y/N checks the time on the screen, “about five minutes ago, actually.” 

For the first time since he had walked in, Y/N sees an indication that the man before her was slightly frazzled. His cheeks flush with a gentle pink, and his hand comes to rub at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.” 

Y/N laughs, immediately allowing a sense of relief to flush into the man in front of her, “it’s fine, don’t stress!” 

“I’m Harry, by the way.” 

It was so befitting, boyish and charming but somehow timely, perfectly matching the handsome face in front of her, and if it wasn’t for Xander, Y/N is sure she would be infatuated. 

Harry takes the hand she outreaches, his touch warm and soothing. “I’m Y/N.” 

“That’s a pretty name.” Y/N feels her face heat up, but before she can craft an appropriate response, Harry speaks again, “so what’s the plan for after work, Y/N?” 

“Um, nothing planned yet. I’m working tomorrow, so I’ll probably just order some pizza or something and have an early night.” 

Harry nods along as she speaks, “well, that does sound fun. There’s- um, there’s a really good pizza shop just down the street. Did you wanna go get some together?” For the first time since he’d walked through the door, the speed in which he spoke increased, his words no longer dripping out of his mouth like honey but spilling from it, erratic and unrehearsed. “Just so, you know, y’don’t have to eat alone.” 

All at once, Y/N felt her heart fall. She wanted to say yes so badly, wanted to drop everything and have dinner with him. She wanted to hear more about his philosophical way of thinking and probe into his obsession with used books. She wanted to watch his mouth form around her name again and again, and she wanted to see his eyes light up again when he realised she was looking at his lips rather than catching his gaze. 

But she was with Xander, and it wouldn’t feel right to go out for dinner with another man, even if that man was Harry, so she shakes her head and watches as the hope in his eyes dims like a flickering lightbulb. “I’m really sorry; I just don’t think it would be appropriate.” She looks down at her hands clasped together on the counter as she continues, unable to see how her admittance would affect him, “I have a boyfriend.” 

To Harry’s credit, he takes it well, smiling reassuringly and nodding in a way that told Y/N he didn’t take it all that personally. “Oh, that’s fine, not surprising at all! I’m sure he’s a lucky guy.” 

A sinking feeling seeps into Y/N’s gut, and she works seriously hard to ignore it, swallowing again and again, trying to force the idea of going with Harry down and away from her brain. She wouldn’t entertain the idea of this mysterious man, and she wouldn’t entertain the idea of betraying Xander. Their relationship may not have been perfect, but she would never stoop that low; she knew how much that would hurt him. 

“I’m sorry. You seem really sweet, I just… yeh I love him.” 

Harry’s not sure if she’s trying to convince him or herself. Reaching across the counter, he squeezes her wrist once before quickly retreating, the touch zapping Y/N’s skin, “please stop apologising; there’s nothin’ to be sorry for. Now it was lovely meeting you. I hope you have a lovely night while I go find this book.” She nods, thanking him quickly before watching him pick up the bag he had dropped while talking to her and heading out the door. Stopping in the doorway, he looks back at her, sending a cheeky wink her way, “enjoy your pizza.” 

She can’t help but feel a sense of loss as his mop of curls disappear down the street as if she’d just thrown away the first thing that had brought butterflies to her belly in years. Once again, she swallows, attempting to down the feeling, grappling around her throat. Grabbing her handbag from behind the desk, she heads out the door, locking it on the way out. 

On her way home, Y/N replays the brief conversation they had over and over, thinking about how his thoughts had spilt over his tongue so simply and confidently. He had an aura about him, a quiet, self-assured presence that immediately allowed Y/N herself to feel comfortable. 

A song playing on the radio snaps her out of her stupor, the familiar beat bringing her back to the first time Xander had kissed her. It was the night of her eighteenth birthday, and she was drunk, having spent the night around a bonfire with too much vodka and orange juice swirling in her belly. 

This song was playing as Xander had kissed her, tasting of cheap bourbon and Coke, with just a little too much tongue and not enough feeling. She guesses it was a fond memory, a marker of the many years she and Xander would spend together, during which his kissing ability had definitely improved. 

She starts to wonder how the years had gone by so quickly, feeling as if one year she was graduating high school and getting drunk with her friends and the next she was working full time at a bookstore, living with her boyfriend and only calling her mother once a week. 

She’d never felt a specific attachment to music, but this particular, shitty upbeat pop song, brought her to a place of feeling she had never experienced before. A sense of nostalgia and longing for a life she had never had but clearly wished she could achieve. She can hardly even remember what her dreams or aspirations had been at eighteen. She’d wanted to travel around Europe and get married on the beach, open her own bookstore, live in a flat with three of her best friends and fall in love with someone she couldn’t have even imagined would be so perfect for her. 

It wasn’t like she hadn’t achieved some of these things. She had gone on a few road trips and met Xander, who she imagines she’ll marry eventually. It just wasn’t quite what she’d expected from adulthood, but she guesses most people her age felt the same way. 

Was adulthood always accompanied by the sinking feeling Y/N felt in her gut? 

But just like that, the song was over, the last notes of the guitar fading into silence, the same air conditioner she always turned higher was still blasting on her flushed face, and she was still driving down the same roads she’d been driving for the last few years, as lost and confused as she’d always been, no closer to her adolescent self’s idea of a perfect life and no closer to her current self’s idea of that either. 

—— 

How Y/N’s day had ended worse than it had begun, she had no idea. She really didn’t think it could get worse, genuinely believing that sitting on a damp leather seat in the back of a taxi, late for work and on the verge of tears was the lowest someone could get, that was until she’d walked into her apartment to be met with a disgruntled Xander looking through her MacBook. 

“Xander? What are you doing on my laptop?” The slam of the computer closing scares her more than it should, and she lets out a sigh as she catches the irate look on Xander’s face. “Maybe you should tell me why I need to be.” 

Y/N would be confused, and she really wishes this was a scenario she was inexperienced and shocked by; however it was not. At the start of their relationship, Xander and Y/N had struggled with Xanders insecurities, constantly battling with fears of Y/N leaving or cheating on him. While they’d never actively discussed it, Y/N believed it came from his previous ex-girlfriend always being a bit shady, but she’d tried really hard to ensure these irrational fears were put to rest. 

However, these insecurities had caused a strain on their relationship, so much so they’d almost broken up on multiple occasions. Y/N stupidly always thought they had finally gotten over it, but it seemed every few months they reappeared, always causing as much havoc as the first time. 

 Y/N didn’t know if she could handle this today. She loved him, she really did, but there were some days when the emotional toll of convincing someone she wasn’t sneaking around behind their back became exhausting. 

“Xander, come on, we’ve spoken about this. I’m not cheating on you.” 

He scoffs, and the noise brings her blood to a boil, “I didn’t even mention cheating. Why would you bring that up?” 

It’s Y/N’s turn to scoff, “because it’s what you accuse me of all the time. I understand that this must be frustrating for you, but it’s just not true.” 

She can see the tension rolling off of his shoulders, and if this routine hadn’t become so frustrating for her as well, she would empathise with him. “I just… I can’t trust you.” 

Around this time in their fucked up regimen, either Y/N or Xander usually began to cry, but Y/N thinks she’s too angry to even entertain the thought of shedding a tear. “Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?” The words come out strained and slightly harsher than she had intended. 

“How do I know if you’ve never told me?” Just as Y/N suspected, Xander’s tone matches her own, clipped and short. Clearly, anger was brimming under the surface, just waiting to explode out in a slew of criticisms and nasty names. She sighs and shakes her head, walking past the couch into the kitchen to turn on the kettle. “Y/N! Don’t walk away from me!” 

Grabbing a mug from the cupboard, Y/N takes a few deep breaths in and counts to five, willing herself to relax and diffuse the icy fury travelling through her veins. “Xander, I can’t do this today. I had a horrible morning and really just want to relax and eat dinner. I know this is upsetting for you, but there’s only so many times I can tell you I never have and will never cheat on you. If you don’t believe me, so be it; there’s nothing I can do.”  

Xander’s voice is poisonous when he speaks, and the words even take Y/N by surprise. 

“Fuck you.” With that, he leaves, swiping the keys off the kitchen bench and slamming the door behind him, and it’s only then that Y/N allows her tears to fall. 

She had never felt further from the person her eighteen-year-old self wanted her to be. 

----

6th January 2022

Y/N had always believed in new beginnings and always loved the idea of renewal and change. Luckily, the new year of 2022 provided that for her. While Y/N didn’t necessarily believe in the concept of new year’s resolutions, choosing to believe she could change at any time in the year, the new year happened to bring a multitude of improvements. 

She had become the manager at the bookstore, having been offered the position a few times over the years she’d been working there but constantly rejecting it. She didn’t want the added pressure or stress and feeling like someone else had always been more qualified and responsible. Plus, she was younger, still busy with parties and unrealistic dreams for travel and change. But when Max had offered her the position for the fourth time, she thought it through and eventually accepted it. 

It came with a slight pay rise, and hell, she wasn’t doing anything else with her time. If she wanted to have her own bookstore one day, she supposed this was the first step towards it. 

She’d moved out of her old apartment, opting for a place only a five-minute walk from the store, allowing her to walk to work in the mornings, grabbing a steaming cup of green tea and a chocolate croissant from the corner store on the way. 

She’d seen Harry a few times, once when he had come into the bookstore with a friend, quickly explaining that “they insisted on buying a new book, can you believe it?” To which Y/N had responded with a laugh, jesting about how insane they were to read anything that wasn’t second hand while holding her own, fresh off the press novel she had been reading before he entered the store. His familiar smirk and wink had left her with a pit in her stomach for days, something, not even romance novels could fix. 

She’d also seen him at the grocery store, which led her to wonder if they’d ever walked past each other before, and she had never noticed. She finds it hard to believe she wouldn’t have paid attention to his rogue curls and boyish charm, hard to ignore even if you weren’t the one having a conversation with him. He clearly hadn’t seen her, busy chatting with a girl by his side and pointing animatedly at the cereals. Y/N had torn her gaze away from him, quickly grabbing the carrots and potatoes she was planning to add to the soup she was making for dinner. 

And she’d finally broken up with Xander. The night that he’d stormed out had been a breaking point for both of them, it seemed. He’d come back the next day, waking Y/N, who had fallen asleep on the couch after eating the pizza she’d ordered, with a less than gentle shake. Claiming he was “over his own girlfriend not giving a shit”, he began to collect his belongings from the house, seeming to have woken her for no other purpose than a dramatic exit. 

“Xander, I do give a shit. Of course, I do. It’s just really hard when you don’t trust me, I don’t know what to do anymore or what you even want me to do.” He wouldn’t even look at her, standing with his arms crossed and gaze set on the floor like a petulant toddler. 

“Our relationship has always been rocky because you refused to commit fully.” 

Y/N had taken a deep breath and counted to ten at this. He was referring to her not wanting to move in with him when he had first asked her. She had been twenty at the time and felt like she was too young to be moving out, still comfortable living off her parents’ backs for the time being. He had insisted she move to his dingy apartment shared with two of his mates, and they’d almost broken up when Y/N had refused, claiming his apartment at the time was too far from work and her own home. 

It was only a year later when they compromised, Y/N picking an apartment close to the bookstore and her parents’ house that Xander could also move into, but he was never happy about it, claiming she wasn’t as serious about their relationship as he was, which looking back may have been true.

“We’ve had this fight a million times, Xander. I’m not entertaining it anymore. I love you, and I want you to feel happy and comfortable in our relationship, but if you can’t do that, no matter how many hoops I jump through, then I can’t help you anymore.” 

Xander screwed his nose up, “hoops? What,” he mimics quotation marks in the air, “hoops are you jumping though.” 

Anger began to froth through Y/N’s veins, desperate to explode from her mouth, and she swallows, tasting the blood from her lip, broken from biting down so hard on it. “You’ve got to be fucking joking.” She seethed.

“I stopped going out for dinner with my girlfriends on Friday nights because you thought I was seeing another man. I’ve allowed you to view my location on our phones and even read through the messages with Mel’s boyfriend when he asked me what to get her for her birthday! Worst of all, I have this stupid fucking discussion at least once a month and constantly work to convince you I’m not going behind your back when I’ve never fucking done anything for you to lose any semblance of trust in me.” 

After her outburst, she found herself gulping air in like fury had taken up all the space in her lungs that air would usually occupy. Xander did nothing but watch her, his beady and squinted eyes reminding her of a lion about to attack. 

It was then his facial expression had changed, his eyebrows furrowing in grief, not in anger, his eyes slightly watering and his mouth pouting in a stiff display. “Go on, break up with me then.”

It would be around this time when Y/N would usually hug Xander and whisper in his ear how much she loved him and would never break up with him, but instead, she takes a deep breath and stands with her arms crossed, beginning to nod slowly. “I think that would probably be best, don’t you?” 

Xanders face switches once more, the anger returning to his features, “what?” he spits. 

“I think it would be best for us to break up,” she repeats calmly as if talking to a rabid dog about to bite her out of fear. 

It was then that Xander had lost it, cursing and screaming as he gathered his phone and keys, spitting an “I’ll pick up my things tomorrow morning,” as he’d left. Y/n had immediately texted her parents asking if they could come over tomorrow while Xander collected his things, as she had work and fully knew that her mother scared Xander more than anyone else could. 

They’d agreed, of course, and Y/N had spent the day working, feeling a lot more weightless than she had in a long time. She was sad of course; Xander was a huge part of her life. But she just couldn’t help but feel like he was a massive part of her life that had also been dragging her down. 

For the first time in almost five years, Y/N was humming while working and smiling at every person she walked by, even if she’d come home and cry in the shower while looking at photos of her and her ex-boyfriend. 

She guesses it was therapeutic, her own version of mourning a relationship she’d always wished was akin to novels. She supposed there were only so many ways to shove someone into a version you’d painted as ideal. 

---- 

The bookstore had been quiet all day, so slow it felt like Y/N was getting paid to sit at the counter and read her favourite book rather than actually serve customers. Max had gone home an hour before, prompting her to “just close early if it stayed so quiet,” and Y/N was planning on doing just that. 

She had only served two customers, one woman around her age, with striking red hair who was looking for a book by Murakami, and a man, with the most soulful and deep brown eyes she’d ever seen, who was interested in purchasing a novel from the ’50 Shades of Grey’ series. 

Other than that, the store had remained quiet and still, a peaceful escape from Y/N’s busy life, allowing her to sit quietly with her own thoughts. These thoughts are only interrupted when a package arrives at the store. Boxes came quite frequently to the bookstore, it was nothing unusual, but the oddity with which this package was delivered garnered Y/N’s attention. 

A delivery man walked through the front door, package in hand, not struggling to lift the weight of hundreds of books, instead carrying it easily in one gloved hand. The parcel was not taped and beaten up but wrapped carefully, with brown wrapping paper and rope looking string. 

It smelled faintly of eucalyptus and lemon myrtle, and the strangest part of it all, it was addressed to her, not the shop or Max. Her name and the store’s address were scribbled on the front in scratchy and messy writing, faint lines running through most letters as if the author was in such a hurry they could barely manage time to lift their pen off the paper. 

Y/N sits back down behind the desk, grabbing a pair of scissors slightly too small for her hand to be comfortable, and cutting the ribbon as well as along the seams of the box where tape holds it together. 

Upon opening the box, she sees a book, not just any book, but ‘Love is a Mixtape by Rob Sheffield, and as she picks it up, she notices the edges are frayed, the pages slightly yellowed and the fresh book smell no longer present. When she opens the pages to get a closer look at the fading printed letters, a piece of paper folded in half falls out the bottom. 

Opening up the letter, she sees it is written in the same hand as the address written on the box; however, the note is longer and personalised to her this time. 

If a bookseller has not read this book, she’s not a real bookseller, but just in case.

I know you said you were taken, but I’d be kicking myself for the rest of my life if I didn’t at least leave my details with you. You don’t have to use them, but feel free to contact me if you ever need anything, even if it’s just for a chat. 

-H xx 

She moves her thumb, noticing it was covering more writing, and her heart stops when she realises at the bottom of the page are a set of contact details. His phone and email to be more accurate. 

Butterflies immediately erupt from her stomach, the feeling of her tummy churning making her feel sick as she realises who this is from. Harry. 

She wouldn’t lie and say she hadn’t thought about him since their few odd meetings. In truth, he had continuously been popping up in her head over the last few months at the most random of times, but she’d always push it back down, clearing her throat and trying to focus on herself and whatever she was doing at that moment. Honestly, she didn’t want to give herself the false hope of imagining him as a romantic interest. She genuinely believed the night he’d come into the store would be the last time she’d ever see him, and the few other times she’d run into him, mere coincidences, bubble wrapped with Y/N’s own fear of getting attached to him and she supposes Harry’s own knowledge and respect of her partner. 

But for this package to come after she’d broken up with her ex and was feeling so comfortable, it felt a little bit like fate. She rereads the note again and tries to tamp down the rising excitement forming, doing so easily with her own anxious thoughts. 

What could she even say if she did message him? 

Did she want this practical stranger to have her number or email? 

Was she moving on too quickly from her ex-boyfriend? 

Did she even want to start something new at the moment? 

Y/N was overthinking; she knew she was. Instead, she takes a deep breath and counts to ten before grabbing the box with the book and note inside and putting it behind the counter with her bag. 

It’s only an hour later when she makes up her mind, deciding she would be stupid not to message him. This surety came from a man walking in with the same curly hair and lanky but muscular build that Harry sported, her eyes briefly being tricked. She had laughed at herself, playing off the way her stomach dropped and her heart had begun pounding, before realising exactly what that meant. 

Y/N took that as a sign.

She was clearly interested in Harry if the mere sight, scrap that, the potential sight of him was enough to send her into a frenzy. She quickly serves the Harry look-alike (who, upon further inspection, had hair that was a little shorter and lighter in colour than Harry’s, and whose face was nowhere near as handsome either, his nose a little smaller and his eyes not equipped with the same shine.) 

Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she attempts to craft a message to send to the handsome man, but nothing seems to come to her. Everything was either too formal or not formal enough, and she’s briefly brought back to how easy her ex-boyfriend had come to be her partner. He had messaged her the night after they had kissed at the bonfire, asking her if she’d like to go out for dinner at the diner near her house. 

Thinking back, she can’t recall the feeling of ants crawling through her tummy at his message, not the way she feels them now. Currently, she feels as if she were to let her thoughts run wild; the ants would crawl up her throat and into her mouth, leaving a trail of fire and tingling through her veins. 

“Hello Harry, it’s Y/N.” She erases that almost immediately. 

“Harry… it’s the best bookseller you’ve ever known, Y/N.” Doesn’t quite feel right either. 

She slowly but surely crafts a message, humming and ahhing at each punctuation mark and wording choice. Nothing feels right, but she honestly doesn’t know if anything she writes ever will. What would that even feel like when Harry was involved? She honestly wouldn’t know. 

Eventually, she has a small paragraph written out that she supposes will do. 

“Hey Harry, it’s Y/N from the bookstore. I’m not sure if you remember me. I just wanted to thank you for sending the book; I hope you enjoyed it. I can’t wait to read it! Maybe I’m not a real bookseller... but I’m working on it! Got promoted a few weeks ago and am now managing the store, so fingers crossed, I’m on my way up there. Hope you’re doing well x” 

Her painted thumbnail hovers over the send button before she backspaces slightly, changing the kiss at the end to a smiley face instead. She didn’t want to come on too forward. God knows what he was expecting her to send to him. 

She counts down from 10 before pressing send, immediately locking her phone and tucking it into her bag, hoping if she pretends she hasn’t sent it, the anxiety from doing so wouldn’t eat her alive while she works. 

Although, it doesn’t quite work. She spent the rest of her shift thinking of the reply she would get if she even would receive one and then what she would say back. She thinks of every negative possibility while she sweeps, having to calm the blush from her nonexistent embarrassment as she imagines he types back, “sorry, who is this?” 

While she organises the new shipment of cooking books they just got in, she imagines how fast her heart would beat if he were to reply and admit his love to her in his first message. 

A customer chatting her ear off lends her to get lost in a daze of what she’d reply if he asked if she had any other recommendations for him to read. 

She spends the rest of her shift like this, losing her own mind in swirls of her imagination, each one a little scarier and more daring than the rest. On her drive home, she briefly wonders if she’d rather he didn’t reply at all to save her the anxiety of forming a reply back to him. 

It’s only when she’s getting out of the shower that night, does she hear her phone vibrate with the telltale sound of her text tone. While the shower had allowed her to relish in a state of complete and utter relaxation while she stood under the steaming jets of water, her phone’s ringtone immediately spikes her anxiety, the calming effects that had allowed her heart to slow and breathing to even, completely reversed. 

Standing in front of her bed in just a towel, Y/N checks her phone. 

“Of course I remember you, Y/N. You’re tough to forget.” Y/N briefly pauses, taking time to roll her eyes at the corny gesture that somehow still forces butterflies to run riot within her stomach. 

“I do apologise for the note; I know you’re dating someone. I just wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I never tried one more time. 

Look at you! I’m proud of you; it sounds like things are going well for you. I’m glad to hear it. x I am doing well thanks, have just changed schools (I’m a lecturer at a uni, don’t know if I ever mentioned it) and am loving it. Teachers are a lot nicer, and students tend to listen to me more, could be a coincidence, though…” 

Thinking about it, the job fit Harry perfectly. From their brief interaction, Y/N could tell he was intelligent, particularly around books- she wonders if he was an English lecturer? 

He had the type of tone and draw to garner attention from a whole room, and she could imagine he would be the lecturer everyone was secretly pining over during class. She laughs slightly at his noting of students paying more attention to him, thinking that if she were a student in his class, she’d be all ears (and eyes, for that matter.) 

She continues reading, “please, let me know what you think of the book, and if you love it as much as I do. I look forward to hearing from you again. x” Y/N can’t help but let her eye linger on the kiss he’d left after his message, notably when she’d specifically omitted the same thing from her own one. Allowing herself a brief moment to think about what that meant, Y/N shuns it from her mind. She wouldn’t allow herself to get caught up in such trivial things if it really meant nothing. 

Quickly getting dressed, Y/N begins writing a reply. 

“You’re cheesy. But wow, honestly, I could’ve guessed that the job suits you perfectly. What do you teach?” Biting on her thumb, Y/N thinks of how she could tell him she had already read the book, second hand and all after he’d come in asking for it, too intrigued in his wonderment of this specific book in its used state, to not. She supposes she could reread his version. What did he say about being able to experience someone else who had read the same book or summat? She decides not to tell him, choosing instead to take on board his philosophy. Maybe it would be different reading it after he, specifically, had.

“I can’t wait to read it. Thank you again for sending it. You really didn’t have to! I guess I should also tell you, I don’t have a partner anymore.” Preparing to hit send, she pauses. She hadn’t been without a partner in a long time, and she wasn’t all that comfortable being single just yet. 

While she felt ready to jump into something with Harry, she’s aware this may be her squashing the grief of her past relationship and trying to move on, which she also knows isn’t the healthiest way to cope. She deletes the last part of the message and clicks send. 

----

Harry was never one to use his phone much. If he was candid, he could probably throw the thing out and not even realise (apart from missing the odd phone call with his mum, of course). But this week was different. 

He found himself needing to have the device near in case Y/N replied. Constantly he heard buzzes and chimes, but when he checked his phone, they proved to be nonexistent. Harry would always be picking up the thing, finding himself staring at the screen, waiting for something to pop up. It was so unlike him, so exasperating. 

Even during his lectures, in which usually he would approach his classes with a laser focus, if a vibration was heard from his mobile, his attention would be instantly drawn away, causing him to stutter more frequently, to lose his train of thought, to one time (embarrassingly so) say her name in the middle of a sentence while talking about Orwell’s, ‘1984.’ Harry was a man possessed, and he had no cause to stop it. It seemed the only way to cure his bumbling brain was if she replied to him, which, if you were to ask Harry, didn’t happen nearly frequently enough. 

Each scrap of information he received from her may as well have been liquid gold, he would pore over, comparing it to his own experiences and wishes, finding that while they were very similar, they were also very different. 

Harry found out she had worked at the bookstore for most of her teenage years and was extremely close with the owner. 

After asking about her favourite movies, he discovered she loved horror and romance but hated Disney, while he hated horror and couldn’t say no to watching ‘Bambi.’ 

They both loved falafels, but hated tomatoes and both loved reading. 

Most importantly, after discussing how she’d met her partner around a shitty bonfire, surrounded by shitty music, after sharing a shitty kiss, Harry discovered something that made his heart sing. 

Y/N and her boyfriend were no longer dating. 

He can tell she was nervous about sharing the information, tacking a “by the way, my boyfriend and I broke up a few months ago,” on the end of a message after agreeing with Harry that no one should be forced to kiss while smoke billowed through their hair and seeped into their eyes. 

Harry had hardly believed his eyes and watched as the three dots indicating she was typing popped up and disappeared at least three times as he took in the information. They weren’t dating, and she was messaging him. Did this mean what he thought it did? 

He makes a split decision, pressing the call button and holding the phone to his ear, each irritating trill of the dial tone poking the wound he was scared would open if she didn’t answer. 

Eventually, he heard her melodic voice sing through the phone, a shy “hello?” raising at the end in question. 

“Hi, thought I’d call to celebrate because I just heard the best news! You’ll never guess what it is.” 

He hears her cackle through the phone, a sound he honestly didn’t know he was missing until he heard it again, before a groan sounds from the receiver, “you are so fucking dramatic.” 

“Well, pet, what did you expect me to do? You’ve kept this crucial bit of information from me, and now I have no choice but to celebrate with champagne and balloons.” The conversation is replaced with silence, and Harry knows full well she’s preparing to explain herself. In all honesty, she didn’t need to. He heard that she dated her ex for a long time; he can’t blame her for being scared of something new. 

“I’m sorry I kept it from you. I just- I don’t know, I didn’t know how to handle the situation, I’m not all that familiar with being single.” 

Harry can’t help the smile that creeps upon his face, “you don’t need to apologise for a thing, Y/N. I understand. Doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate, though, does it?” 

She laughs again, “no, I guess it doesn’t.”

---- 

It had been a funny few months, funny in the way that Y/N wouldn’t have expected it. If she had thought her mood had increased tenfold since breaking up with her ex, well, now it had grown far beyond that. She had noticed it in almost every aspect of her life, and she guesses it was due to just being genuinely happy. 

Rather than counting down the minutes until the end of her shift, she would happen upon it, sometimes even accidentally working fifteen minutes past closing, too wrapped up in singing and dusting shelves. 

She was calling her parents willingly and asking old friends to catch up, reforming connections she hadn’t realised were severed. 

Her book club even noticed a change, with her coming to their meetings with enough enthusiasm for the whole class, ready to discuss the key themes and characters she’d already had the liberty of discussing with Harry. She even started annotating and highlighting her books. 

And the most significant change of all, Harry had started to visit her at work. It had started as him just coming in to browse books (which she knows was a lie, the pompous, ‘has to be second hand’ bastard) that also led to them sitting down, tea in hand and discussing the intricacies of Shakespeare’s work, but had quickly become a routine. Harry would visit at least twice a week, each time with a different pastry in hand or a cup of tea for Y/N to sip on, and each time he would bug her, questioning if she had finally started reading the book he had sent her. 

She was busy finishing a different series, which according to Harry, was exasperatingly long. Still, she was determined to finish it, even if it meant listening to Harry whining (which perhaps she secretly enjoyed.)

Today was no different, apart from the fact that when Harry had waltzed through the door, almond croissant in one hand and tea in the other, Y/N was sitting, with her head stuck in the book he had gifted to her. 

“Do my eyes deceive me? Have I been tricked again?” 

Y/N looks up, rolling her eyes at his antics, trying to keep the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth at bay, “fuck off, Harry.” 

He acts surprised, his mouth dropping in faux shock, “is that any way to treat the very handsome man who brought you breakfast?” 

Y/N’s eyes immediately widen, and her attitude changes entirely while she makes grabby hands at the bag in his grip, “Harry, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He continues to hold the bag out of her reach, cocking his head and ear towards her as if expecting more. “And you’re very handsome.” Immediately he drops the bag into her still outreached hands, enjoying the way she immediately tears it open and rips the croissant in two, handing him the other half without thinking. 

“So, you’ve really started reading it, hm? Thoughts?” 

If she was honest, she’d only read the first few pages, the most notable of Harry’s annotations was a tick or cross next to the songs in the playlist on the first page- which she can assume represented songs Harry both liked and disliked and one highlighted line, “you know what I’m doing- just follow along!”

“It’s good so far.” She knows it gets better in the middle, but she wouldn’t tell Harry that. 

“Yeh gets better in the middle, to be honest. What do you think about my notes?” She laughs, a mouth full of croissant, meaning a few crumbs fall from her lips, quickly swallowing she responds, “very cute.” 

Harry smiles and tries to hide the slight blush forming on the top of his cheekbones, taking another bite of croissant and fiddling with the same cup of pens he did the first time he came here. 

It’s then that Max walks out from the back, instantly spotting the flushed man standing in front of the counter, “Harry! How are you?” 

While Harry had become comfortable in the little store Y/N worked at, he’d become even more familiar with the old man who owned it, knowing full well he was something akin to a father figure to Y/N, evident in the suspicious brow and line of questioning he had received the first time he’d met him. It was apparent by the big hug he received from Max that he whittled his way into the old man’s heart, just like Harry seemed to be able to do to anyone he met. “I’m good, Max! How are you?”

Max grumbles along, something about his daughter visiting that night before he turns to look back at Y/N and then Harry, “you’re not distracting her too much, are you?” 

Y/N shrinks at how Harry looks at her, his eyes an adoring green and smile bright and genuine. “I’d never. Although I do have to leave for class, so you can have her full attention again.” He winks, picking up his bag and giving Max another hug goodbye. 

Y/N finds herself staring at the door and watching out the windows as he leaves, still finding herself drawn to the last place she saw him and feeling a longing deep in her chest like she wished he had never left. 

She picks up her book, blatantly ignoring the stare coming from Max, which she knows if she were to look, would resemble that of a stare from a knowing father. He doesn’t quite let her get away with that, coming and standing directly in front of the desk and leaning so he’s right in her line of vision. “He’s a good boy.” Y/N attempts to hold back the smile tugging at her cheeks, “yeah, I know.” She makes eye contact with the man standing in front of her quickly before bringing the book up higher once more, primarily to hide the evident flush spreading across her skin.

 Once again, this doesn’t quite cut it, Max letting out a scoff before placing his fingers on the top of the spine of the book and pushing it down so he can see her face once more. “He’s a good guy who clearly likes you, Y/N. I know your relationship with Xander has scarred you a bit, but please believe me when I say, people can still be good. You just have to let them show you they can be.” 

Y/N feels her cheeks heating up further, but not due to her embarrassment. It was the type of flush that sits right behind your eyes, that you feel streaming down your face like it’s creating a trail for the tears about to fall to reach the ground safely. 

Her silence is met with Max’s warming presence as he lifts the book closer to her face once more, “Our lives were just beginning, our favourite moment was right now, our favourite songs were unwritten.” 

She instantly recognises the quote from the book she was holding and looks up at Max, slowly nodding. She knew what he was trying to say, knew he was trying to convey his own wisdom from past mistakes and tell her that it was okay to move on, to trust again. 

She guesses that deep down, she already knew that, but how could she move on? Xander was a huge part of her life. They had spent so long together that it was as if she hadn’t been a woman and loved anyone else. Her growth had occurred alongside his; her life and circumstances had changed, keeping him in the middle of her circle while everything else spread outwards. It felt as if she had shed a million layers, and no matter how quickly she did so, he was stuck to her skin like glue. 

Scrubbing at her arms in the shower didn’t get rid of him, drinking didn’t get rid of him, distracting herself with work didn’t get rid of him. The only thing that silenced his nagging voice in the back of her mind was Harry, and she couldn’t tell if it was because she was so enamoured by him in general or if she enjoyed spending time with him so much her brain filtered out all the useless sediment floating at the top, like Xander. 

Either way, Max was right. She had tried so hard to move on from Xander by completely distracting herself from thinking about him that she hadn’t realised she was mucking the mess he’d left from the bottom of her shoes, everywhere she went.  

She looks down at the book in her hands, flicking through the pages randomly and feels an immense sense of warmth flow through her, the scrawled writing, underlined words and marked pages allowing her to breathe deeply and calmly. She knew it was silly, but it was almost like she could feel Harry’s presence through the pages, hear his voice reading the quotes aloud in silly voices and then jokingly asking her what was funny when she laughed. 

He was surrounding her, and that didn’t feel suffocating for the first time in her life, only comforting.

----

Y/N had delved into ‘Love is a Mixtape’, finding herself in the familiar territory of reading where the outside world was nonexistent, only the words on the pages surrounding her, every other word lining up with her heartbeat. 

“Any thought I had boom boom, of not falling in love with her boom boom, had went down in some serious towering inferno flames boom boom. It was over. I was over.”

Each highlighted word or scribbled note left her breathless for a second before her body took over the natural rhythm her mind had forgotten to follow through with. She was lost, hopeless, only able to focus on the pages in front of her- which she’ll admit was probably not ideal considering she was working. Each customer she attended to only served as a distraction to the story she wished to delve back into, and she found herself acting ditsy and vague like she was drunk. 

Her stupor is interrupted only by the sound of her phone vibrating against the wooden desk, replaced only with the hope of a lover, desperate to hear from her partner- in this case, Harry, her (what she wishes) soon to be partner. Instead, the jumble of numbers she didn’t recognise lets the feeling sink through her tummy and down to her toes as she registers the vague message from someone she didn’t know. 

“Hey.” She stands perplexed for a moment, looking down at the device. Who could this possibly be? There wasn’t anyone she could think of that wouldn’t already have her number (or a better means to contact her with) that would have sent this. Perhaps it was a wrong number? 

“It’s Xander.” Y/N feels every good feeling Harry had dredged up over the past few weeks, leaving her system entirely, the heavy scent of dread filling her nose and scouring through her veins to replace them. She’s about to delete the message and lock the phone when another message causes a buzz to shoot through her hand.

“Do you have my dad’s watch? I think I left it at your place last, and now I can’t find it.” Y/N pauses for a second. There’s a real chance it’s somewhere in her apartment, but where she has no clue. She remembers the piece, a beautiful brown leather band, with a black face, accented with a gold rim and hands- if the roles were reversed, she would want Xander to look for it. She knew how much it meant to him. She just needs to find the strength to message him back. Feeling her hands shaking as she clicks in the text box, she takes a deep breath, counting to ten. “Hey, I’m not sure. I’ll see if I can find it tonight after work.” 

“Alright, I’ll come pick it up whenever.” As the conversation had progressed, Y/N’s initial terror had slightly dissipated, but at the sight of the most recent message, it skyrocketed again. She didn’t want to see him, didn’t want the pain of looking at the face she’d loved and been let down by so close to her again. How was she to know how he’d react? The last time they spoke, he was aggressive and hostile, and Y/N didn’t want to deal with that again. 

She feels the panic rising from her feet, seeping through her veins and into her pores, till it felt as if every hair was standing on end. Taking a deep breath, Y/N counts to ten, waiting for the soothing feeling of calmness to overcome her, but it doesn’t. The panic only rises. 

Was she being dramatic? Yes. Did she have cause to care? No. Hell, she might not even have the stupid watch, but she wasn’t about to shame herself for feeling fear and unease around a subject that had certainly made her feel like that in the past. Instead, she sits down and grabs the book Harry had given her, skimming over paragraphs, imagining it was his soothing voice reading it to her instead. A chunk of highlighted text and the notes scribbled next to it catches Y/N’s attention, and she pauses to read the words. 

 “It’s the same with people who say, ‘Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’ Even people who say this must realise that the exact opposite is true.” And next to it, Harry’s addition, the words turning upwards and being squished by the end of the page. “It’s bullshit. You’re allowed to be hurt by the past.” 

Y/N can hardly control the tears welling at the corners of her eyes, spilling out and down her cheeks, the saltiness on her lips bringing her fingers to fiddle with her mouth. God, it was like he knew, there’s no way he could, but it was easier than ever to hear his British drawl speaking to her, to hear him telling her that it was okay that she felt the way she did. It’s only by imagining him next to her does she begin to feel the panic recede, practically feeling it ebb off her brain and down her face. 

Taking a deep breath, she closes the book, deciding that tonight she would look for the watch, and if she found it, she would be ready to face Xander. She was a mature adult, and so was he. She could do this. 

Her phone buzzes against the desk once more, but this time, the message only brings a smile to her face and a comforting feeling to settle in her lungs. 

“So I know you’re a grinch who hates Disney, but I feel like you’ll actually like ‘Soul.’ You free tomorrow to watch it?” 

The door rings at the front, signalling the entrance of someone into the store. Y/N quickly wipes away the water from her face and sends a quick reply before giving the customer her signature greeting. 

“God, when will you give up on the Disney thing? This is your last chance, loser. Come to mine at 7.” 

——

Y/N had never felt an attachment to items. Why would she? She’d spent her whole life pouring over words, finding meaning within paragraphs and filling voids in their spaces. She preferred memories, hearing whispers of songs and feeling brushes of emotion from better days. The only items she bothered tethering to were her books, in which it wasn’t the object itself, but the stories that had wormed its way into her imagination, characters that seemed so real, half the time Y/N had to reach her hand out and ensure she would not feel their silky skin against her fingertips.

But when she felt the shock of Xanders watch in her fingertips as she reached between her bedside table and mattress, Y/N felt the same swell of feeling she does when reading her favourite story. Only this time, she isn’t flushed with excitement or interest but dread. 

All at once, Y/N felt every emotion she had forced down, pin pricking into her skin, every pore splitting with ink, spelling out ‘Xander, Xander, Xander’ sketched red and hot on every spare inch of skin. 

Whether Y/N liked it or not, Xander had scarred her. She felt it every time she went into the kitchen, remembering the time he had thrown the freshly baked muffins Y/N had made against the wall in fury after he’d discovered Y/N had been alone with Max’s son in the store for longer than an hour. 

She felt it each time she stepped into her room, remembering all the tears she had shed tucked into her bed, every door slam and screamed threat. 

Y/N felt it in the bathroom, in the laundry, sitting on the couch watching her favourite show. Every memory she had was stained with Xander, and she couldn’t remember what it felt like for her hands not to be soiled with his very presence. It felt as if her fingers were dipped in paint, and each time she touched something, another part of him would be smeared all over it. 

She remembers what Max had told her in the book store, what he had insinuated when he quoted the same book Harry had left her. It felt as if Y/N hadn’t realised how lowly Xander had made her feel until she realised how happy Harry himself made her. It wasn’t even the way she felt by Harry’s words or presence; it was as if she was a different person, someone so much happier and content with who she was and how she lived her life. 

Maybe it was due to her finally being surrounded by only good. She couldn’t help but thrive while being constantly watered and nurtured- it’s now she wonders how much of her growth was stunted by Xanders presence. 

All at once, she feels her eyes well up with tears, the hot burning trace of them leaving her sight blurred. She feels them stream down her face, each drop a symbol of Xanders words and toxicity leaving Y/N’s overwhelmed brain. She was so sick of the back and forth, of feeling confident and fearless one minute and the next the mere touch of an item of Xanders bringing her hurtling back to earth. 

Picking up the watch, she walks back to the couch, sinking down into the soft pillows she’d so often found comfort in. On the table, Harry’s book sits, the cover worn and slightly bent in two of its corners, containing all the words she wishes he’d say to her in real life. 

Instead, she settles for the alternative, reading his chicken scrawl along the binds and paragraph breaks. Rubbing the edge of the watch, Y/N picks up the book and begins to read, slowly feeling her eyes dry up and her skin return to her normal appearance rather than the flushed and blotchy pattern she assumes it was 15 minutes ago. 

Each word written by Harry brings her a sense of comfort, little funny comments and anecdotes being added to random phrases and words, some highlighted with a yellow marker that is sometimes mixed with the blank ink of the words creating an ugly brown. He switches between a blue pen that seems to run out of ink, the letters becoming blotted with the colour of the page beneath them until the words become written in black instead. 

It’s around this point that Y/N sees a specific paragraph highlighted that causes tears to well in her eyes once more and her breath to stop for a second.

“Some people aren’t worth the trouble of being kind to, because they have neither the brains nor the power to make something for themselves out of your kindness.” 

Instantly her mind travels to Xander, the very person she’d spent years of her life dedicating her kindness to, only to get the complete opposite in return, and she’s left shocked, staring at the page and pursing her lips for a second. 

She thinks of when Harry had mailed the book to her, way before he’d even known she’d broken up with Xander, way before he’d even known the circumstances of her relationship with him in general. She doesn’t know if Harry had some third sense of how she felt, or if he just happened to relate to the exact quotes as Y/N seemed to, but it was as if he’d reached into her brain, taken the memories latching on to her for dear life, and wrote each note and highlighted section as if directly speaking on them. 

It was as if Harry had known her better than she’d known herself at the time, and all at once, the comfort the book brought her seemed to triple its calming effect. 

She puts the book back down on the coffee table in front of her, leaning her head back on the cushions behind her and taking a moment to close her eyes and breath deeply. Bringing her hands up to her eyes, she rubs lightly at the still swollen and sensitive skin there, feeling its puffiness and wondering how long it would last. For Y/N, crying didn’t happen often, but when it did, it felt more like an ordeal, as if all of the tears had been filling up this cup inside of her drop by drop until it finally overflowed, all the liquid within it pouring out at once. 

A knock at the door brings Y/N out of her stupor, and she stands up quickly, checking her reflection in the shiny border of a picture frame hung on the wall in the hallway, quickly deciding nothing she could do in the five seconds she was walking to the front door would change her appearance drastically. 

Instead, she smooths the few flyaway hairs that had spread around her face and rubs underneath her eyes once more before opening the door, shocked to find Harry himself standing before her. He brings his hands up in front of his face, showing a few books in his left hand and a bag of mixed sweets in his right. 

(Y/N briefly remembers mentioning her love for these, explaining how they brought a sense of nostalgia to her, remembering years of her grandma offering her these each time she went to her house, giving her a handful behind her mother’s back with a quick wink. They’d become her favourite then, and it was only solidified when Max, who was basically her grandfather anyway, brought them into work, the snack pushing her through many a shift through her teenage years.) 

Upon looking at Y/N’s swollen and tear-stained face, Harry’s hands drop, a pout gracing his lips instead of the cheeky grin that they had previously been set in. “Oh bunny, what’s happened?” 

Y/N spends the next half hour explaining what had happened; from the text from Xander to her crying on the couch reading his book, she shyly recalls how she felt reading his commentary. She takes a moment to enjoy the gentle flush that forms along the ridges of his cheeks as she mentions how grateful she was for it and how it often felt as if he could read her mind. 

From their position on the couch, Y/N can feel Harry’s heat beside her, the gentle scent of his cologne ringing through her nostrils. When she feels tears well in her eyes once more, Harry’s arms grab her and pull her into his chest. For a moment, Y/N pauses but quickly lets herself sink into the feeling of his sturdy chest beneath her, allowing a few extra tears to shed before she sniffs and counts to ten, breathing in deeply. She doesn’t move away, though, finding Harry’s strong arms around her, a presence she missed without ever feeling it properly. 

The gentle curve of his shoulder and slightly jutting feeling of his collarbone holds her head up. She realises her lips are mere inches from Harry’s neck, his cologne, clearly sprayed against his pulse point, is even stronger here, and Y/N has to stop herself from inhaling the scent deeper to source its familiar and comforting essence. 

They had been quiet for a while, Harry giving her the comfort she needed while still allowing her the space to think and breathe, but Y/N breaks the silence, whispering a quiet “thank you,” her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his throat. If they weren’t so close, Y/N would’ve definitely missed the gentle hitch in his typical pattern of breathing, and if his arm wasn’t wrapped around her and resting comfortably against her hip, she would’ve missed the rows of goosebumps rising from his inked skin. 

She sits silently, instead resting in the knowledge of the effect she had on him, not willing to break the pleasant aura they’d surrounded themselves in by pointing it out. Instead, she listens to him swallow and clear his throat gently, his voice coming out slightly hollow, “let’s read for a bit, hm? I bought a copy of ‘Pride and Prejudice,’ could go with that?” 

Harry feels Y/N’s head shake against him, the baby hairs framing her face that she so often tried to brush down tickling his neck, causing the goosebumps he’d just spent two minutes willing away to rise again. Y/N’s voice comes out hoarse, “can you read ‘Love is a Mix-tape,’ please?” 

“Sure,” he whispers back to match her tone. Leaning forward, he pulls Y/N tighter against him to keep her against his chest and grabs the book, settling back against the pillows behind him. With a gentle sigh, he opens the book up from where she’d dog-eared one of the pages, choosing to let that fact go due to the tears currently sitting behind her eyes, unwilling to trigger anymore and begins to read instead. 

Y/N relaxes further into him, enjoying the gentle intonation of his voice, the way his mouth skewed some sentences into his usual accent and the way he’d lick his lips and clear his throat each time he needed to turn the page. 

Harry feels Y/N sigh against him every so often, trying to keep his voice quiet and smooth as to relax her, enjoying the way her arm rested against his stomach, gently tracing the butterfly that was just visible under the slightly sheer fabric of his white shirt. It feels so good, but Harry almost wishes she’d stop, the tickling sensation against such a sensitive part of him causing a pit to form in the bottom of his belly, each stroke of her nail sending a brief shock to his inner thighs, shocks he has to fight himself not to act on. He wasn’t going to take advantage of her when she was so vulnerable and fragile, he wanted so badly to be with her, but he’d rather wait a million years than act on his wishes at a time like this. 

Instead, he takes a few deep breaths and imagines his grandma or his childhood dog while he reads, barely noticing her reaction to his words until he hears a sniffle and then a choked sob from her. He becomes alert then, rereading the paragraph he’d just read in his head, trying to figure out what exactly had triggered her before he finds it; he’d even highlighted it. He briefly wonders if he did have some sort of cosmic connection to her. It seemed each word that impacted her, he’d highlighted, adding either a serious piece of commentary or a joke to lighten what he’d thought may have been too heavy. 

“Tonight, I feel like my whole body is made out of memories. I’m a mix-tape, a cassette that’s been rewound so many times you can hear the fingerprints smudged on the tape.” 

And underneath it, his note, 

“Do you ever feel like you’re livin in the past? Feel like sometimes I need to wipe those fingerprints off and move on.” 

He quickly puts down the book beside him, reaching down to draw Y/N out from his chest, where she’d somehow buried her face deeper so he couldn’t see it. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear and uses the bottom of his shirt to wipe away the tears falling past her cheeks and dripping down her neck. He’s silent, only speaking when she braves looking into his eyes, a sniffle jerking her shoulders up gently. 

“It’s okay to move on Y/N. It’s okay to wipe those fingerprints and move on.” 

He watches her bottom lip tremble, and she nods, this time wiping her tears away with her sleeve, long enough that it’s tucked over her hand. “I know, I’m just scared, I think. Scared to let go of him, even if he was a dick. Guess if I let him go, I’m letting myself move into a completely new stage in my life, one I’m really unfamiliar with. It’s just all so scary.” 

He nods along, gently brushing his thumb against the soft skin of her temple. He briefly tries to draw a quote from the back of his mind, one from ‘Love is a Mix-tape’ or maybe even something, Murakami before he decides against it. While Y/N loved books, Harry’s not sure that’s what she needed at the moment, thinking maybe she just needed confirmation that he was there with no influence from books, empathised with her and was willing to provide comfort in whatever form she needed. Instead, he continues to brush her temple, chewing on his lip slightly while he thinks of how best to say exactly what he was feeling. 

“No ones saying it’s not scary, it’s bloody terrifying, no one can blame you for thinkin’ that. I think you need to believe you’re stronger than you think, and while you may believe he formed this huge part of your personality, which I don’t know, sure he may have formed part of it, you’re amazing on your own.” 

He pauses to scratch the back of his neck, now not too keen on looking her in the eye while he speaks.

“I saw it the first day I came into the bookstore, you may think you’ve changed a lot, but who you are, you’re calmness and stubbornness, you’re cackle laugh, and you’re nervous ticks, your sense of humour and love of all things books, it was all there before, and it still is now. He might have been a huge part of your life, but you are your own person. Whether he impacted that or not, you’re still you, and everyone loves you for those parts, not the ones that were stained by him.” 

It’s Y/N now that pulls Harry’s head up from his chest, her hand cupping underneath his chin, and then bringing it down to his neck when he focuses his gaze on her. She leans forward and presses her lips against his gently, feeling him quickly push back against her, moving slowly and calmly against her, even if the turmoil in his stomach told him to do anything but. 

Her lips still tremble slightly beneath his, and he can’t help comparing her to something akin to a baby deer, so fragile and perhaps a little bit broken but still so sweet and willing to trust the world around her, even though it had consistently proved it didn’t have her back. He admired her strength and ability to feel the pain and look inside it, acknowledge why it was occurring and breathe through it. 

Harry feels electricity flow through him as he realises he’s finally kissing her, finally feeling her pressed against him in the same way he had imagined so many times before. He’d imagined it the moment he’d walked through the door of the bookstore, the second he’d seen her doe-like eyes staring at him as he pretended he knew exactly what he was looking for on the shelves before him, the way her cheeks had turned a completely different shade as he’d caught her staring. 

He realised for him, it had always been her. While he was reading and annotating a book about love, she was the only person he could think of. Once he’d sent off the package, he thought every day of what her reaction would be when she received it. He imagined her reading the exact words he had and her mulling over things he’d written down, wondering if she’d agree with them or not. 

He could hardly contain the butterflies in his tummy each time he received a message from her, so keen to see exactly what she’d written just for him. 

He was smitten from the moment he saw her, and his feelings had only grown, mutating and twisting into the all-consuming feeling flowing through him now. 

Harry’s the one who pulls back first, opening his eyes to see Y/N in front of him, brow slightly furrowed as she blinks her eyes open, confused as to why he had stopped their kiss before it actually led anywhere. 

His crooked smile and a quick thumb brushing over her forehead caused the creases to smooth out, quickly becoming more concerned with how good looking he really was and how quickly she could kiss him again, this time in a more intense manner. Instead, he presses one long kiss against her, pulling back before she could open up further and pulls her towards him once more, hugging her while tucking her head into the crook between his neck and shoulder. 

“I wanna do this, just maybe not tonight.” 

Y/N nods, understanding what he meant. Even if it was the complete opposite of what she felt right now, she understands it may not be the best decision for her to make when she’s in such a vulnerable position emotionally. Instead, she decides she’ll enjoy the feeling of being pressed against Harry this way and the tickling feeling of his fingers rubbing up and down her back, each downstroke getting closer to her ass, sending a million lightning bolts springing through every nerve ending. 

Y/N feels herself slowly drifting off, jerking back awake at every unexpected sound every few minutes until Harry’s heartbeat finally lulls her to sleep, and she’s pulled under the waves of exhaustion from the day. 

——

When Y/N wakes, it’s with a start, the sharp trill of her phone piercing her eardrums, causing a deep groan to leave her chest as she feels blindly for it on the table behind her, much too comfortable with her head still tucked into Harry’s neck and flush against him. 

Finally giving in, she opens her eyes, glancing slightly above her to see Harry still asleep, some of his hair flopping in front of his eyes and each deep breath he lets in filling his chest before releasing a steady stream of air out of his nose. He looked handsome, even without his award-winning grin and dimple combination adorning his face. 

Another ring from her phone breaks her attention away from him, and she quickly finds it, fallen off the table and half-tucked under the couch they were currently on. Without even looking, she clicks the green answer button and lifts the phone to her ear, mumbling a quiet “hello,” while rubbing her face, her voice thick with slumber. 

The voice on the other end wakes her up entirely, along with sending a shiver down her spine. “Y/N? Were you asleep? It’s only 10?” 

“Uhh, Xander… hi. I- yeh, I must’ve fallen asleep on the couch.” She tried to even out her voice, feeling the distinct voice of panicking trying to scream into her ear, but she was tamping it down, trying desperately not to let it win out. She was safe. He wasn’t her partner anymore, she was in Harry’s arms, and there was nothing Xander could do. 

God, she couldn’t remember ever feeling so comfortable with someone so quickly. Looking back down at Harry, she can see him blinking awake slowly like he was fighting to stay beneath the surface of consciousness but losing the battle. She felt so strongly for him already. Looking at him brought the same giddiness as looking at a new puppy, all excitement and freshness, forcing herself not to squeeze him right then and there. 

Instead, she smiles down at him as he meets her eye, quickly returning the sentiment, before yawning while stretching, causing his shirt to be pulled up beneath him, the hem being held down by Y/N’s tummy against his own, his arms raising above his head causing the stretch. 

Y/N can briefly hear Xander still talking in her ear, but she’s much too distracted looking at Harry, who is currently checking the watch on his wrist, his eyebrows briefly raising in surprise as he takes in the time. 

“Y/N! Y/N? Are you even listening to me?” She’s jolted back into reality, feeling as if she was flying above the clouds lost in Harry’s little world, before the sobering reality of Xander on the phone pulls her back down to earth. 

She tries to reply, she really does, but Harry’s thumb brushing against her temple causes some type of silencing serum to rush through her veins, the movement causing her to get lost in his eyes, which are currently flitting over her face, the indents from the pillow they were sharing imprinted onto her forehead. He was enamoured. 

While Xander had stirred up all sorts of turmoil in her tummy, Harry’s soothing touch worked to settle it. 

“Y/N! For fucks sake, what the fuck are you doing?” 

“Fuck- sorry. Um, what were you asking?” Y/N brings her hand, not holding the phone up to Harry’s wrist, stopping him from drawing his hand back, and he scoffs, moving instead to stroke along her jaw, massaging the notch before her ear gently. 

“My watch? You said you’d look for it.” 

Finally, for the first time, she realises understanding how little she really had been listening to him. 

“Yeh, I found it.”

She hears him scoff on the other end of the phone, and while Harry has done so in amusement, it’s clear Xander is doing so in disbelief. “And you didn’t think to message me or?” He exclaims, drawing out the and saying it in such a sarcastic tone Y/N has to take a deep breath. 

“I- I’m sorry.” 

He answers with another scoff, “whatever, I’ll come pick it up now.” Before he can even finish his sentence, Y/N is interrupting, “no!” 

At her panicked tone and the look in her eyes, Harry becomes more alert, his eyes reflecting some of the anxiety she was currently flashing at him. He takes both of his hands, brushing her hair behind her ears and doing his best to soothe her without actually knowing who or what was on the other side of the phone. “Are you okay?” He mouths at her, his concern causing a furrow to form in his brow, and Y/N hates it, hates seeing him so worried about her. 

She nods, brushing him away gently before returning her attention back to Xander, who had yet to reply to her outburst, “uh no- Just send me your address, and I’ll send it to you.” 

Y/N feels her bones strengthening with each word she states, feeling the courage seep through her veins like blood. Y/N had never been good at setting her boundaries, part of why she guesses Xander and herself had spent so long together. She imagines with Harry that she was learning slowly when to set them and how, better yet, to respect them. From the second he’d walked through the door, Y/N had rejected him, with her boyfriend in mind. The following few times she saw him, even if her boyfriend was no longer in the picture, she was forced to think of herself, look into exactly how she was feeling, how Harry contributed to that and what was best for her. 

Better yet, he’d respected this. Understood when she withheld information because she wasn’t comfortable sharing it, comforted her when he felt she needed it and gave her space when she requested it. He wanted to know her before he knew she was single and wanted to learn everything she was willing to show him. 

Y/N had never felt as powerful in the face as Xander as when she hung up on him, just as he was about to force her boundary, “what? No, I’ll just-.” 

She throws the phone on the side of the couch, smiling at Harry despite the fear that had just previously filled her. The realisation of her own strength, her own courage, was enough to alleviate it, like a soothing wave of water atop a blazing fire. 

Harry can feel and visibly see Y/N relax against him as she throws the phone, and he grabs her hands once more, lacing their fingers together. “Who was that?” When he feels her tense slightly again, he instantly understands that whoever was on the phone was not someone she was comfortable with and more than likely not comfortable discussing either. “Uh… just-,” he squeezes her hands lightly, “it’s okay. Don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” The way her face lights up tells Harry he did the right thing, and it’s only confirmed when she leans forward and presses her lips against his hastily. 

Instantly he kisses her back, giggling at her haste, the sound dripping down Y/N’s throat and sinking into her belly, spreading like whiskey and warming her skin from the inside. She opens her mouth, silently begging for Harry to lick against her, and he does so immediately, nibbling gently at her lower lip before soothing the sting over with his tongue, meeting Y/N’s as she presses it against him. 

Y/N feels herself shuffling forward, Harry’s hands coming to her waist, pulling one of her thighs over his lap, leaving her straddling him. Harry groans out as Y/N slips even further forward, the radiating heat of her crotch dragging over his semi-hard cock. Instinctively he grabs her hips, pulling her harder down against him and Y/N continues the movement, rolling her hips and whining when she feels him hardening even more beneath her. 

Both had read of desire and pleasure, perhaps even felt it in their waking life too, but currently, Harry feels as if he’s about to burst. With each roll of Y/N’s hips, each hitched breath he hears in his ear, each suctioned kiss to his neck works him into a frenzy till he can hardly control it. His inner thighs burn with it, he can feel his cheeks flush, and a sweat works its way from his forehead down his temple. Harry’s throat closes over, and he is forced to pull Y/N off him the second she notices and licks at the sweat drop falling down his cheek. She wanted to taste every part of him, every drop of sweat, feel every pulse of his heart. She could hardly control herself around him. 

She startles when he pulls her off him, bringing her hands up to his face, her brows drew together in worry immediately, “are you okay?”  

He huffs, his laugh filled with self-deprivation and disbelief, “more than. Was about to cum, didn’t want to before I’ve even gotten a proper taste of you.” 

She shudders above him, feeling the effect of his words travel straight from her ear down her spine to between her legs. He seems to notice, pressing against the front of her shorts with his hand and swallowing the moan she releases when she joins their lips once more. Sweeping his tongue across her jaw, he brushes his hands up and down her back, feeling the goosebumps pimple under her skin as he kisses down her neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there. 

Y/N’s eyes roll to the back of her head, each sensation multiplied and more intense than ever. She feels herself grabbing at Harry’s shoulders, his hair, his neck, anything she could get her hands on as he kisses her skin, leaning her head back so he could have full access, being rewarded with a press of Harry’s hips up into her own. Gentle fingers feel at the hem of her pyjama shorts, sweeping along the soft skin of her tummy and snapping the elastic back against her skin, the action bringing a whine from deep within her throat. 

“More,” she breathlessly begs, unable to add any strength behind her voice, too desperate for him to slip his fingers into her. He doesn’t hesitate to comply, pulling the hem back with his thumb and slipping the rest of his hand in, startling slightly when he’s not met with cotton but her silky skin immediately. His head falls back against the back of the couch, a groan erupting from his chest, “Jesus, are you tryin’ to kill me?” 

She laughs, the sound a weak chuckle, taking the time to admire his strong jawline and tanned throat, the skin mottled with stubble just short enough that it still felt prickly to touch. Y/N looks down, watching the veins and muscles in his bicep and forearm bulging with the movements of his fingers within her, each time the movement corresponding with a jolt of pleasure as his ring and middle fingertips press against the spongy spot inside of her. 

On their own volition, her hips begin to swivel, pressing down harder on each rotation. If Harry notices, he says nothing to it, only continues his own movements observing her with his eyes slightly squinted and his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. 

Tearing away from him suddenly, Y/N shuffles back, undoing the button of his pants and slowly bringing the zipper down, pausing to relish in the hiss Harry lets out above her at the sudden movement. Each inch exposes more of the material of his briefs and a bit more of his cock straining against it. Y/N could see the mouthwatering outline of him. Even without pulling his underwear down, she could tell he was thick and long, bigger than anything Y/N had ever experienced before. 

Because Jesus Christ, of course, he was. She guesses he couldn’t very well go walking around like he does, with his perfect hair and perfect eyes. With his eccentric outfits and quirky sweaters, ranting on about books to anyone who would listen and too willing to offer his opinion on how disgusting he found coriander. He couldn’t go walking around with the biggest heart Y/N had ever seen and not back it up with what was in his pants. She’s yet to find a fault in him, something that would turn her away because so far, it all seemed too good to be true. He seemed too perfect, too suited to her.

Her mouth waters as he pulls his boxers down himself, probably fed up with her taking her time to do so herself, letting out a huff and a gentle whine. And god, if she thought he was perfect before, she didn’t know what to think now. He was big, just as she had predicted, his tip a gentle flushed red and glistening from the precum flowing steadily from it and a thick vein running right up the side. When she gets him in her hand, he’s stiff and warm, and Y/N almost cums just thinking about him inside her. 

Pressing himself down, Harry quickly pulls the loose material of her shorts to the side and begins to rub the tip against her, his swollen head parting her lips and tapping at the sensitive skin of her clit. Each time he brings it closer to her hole and doesn’t go in, Y/N could almost scream, becoming more and more impatient with his teasing antics. If she couldn’t feel the puffs of breath spilling from his nostrils, Y/N would almost say he looked unbothered, his arms and shoulders relaxed and a pretty flush of pink sitting atop his cheekbones. The only visible sign against it was the clenching of his teeth, his jaw going tight each time he pushed his head a little bit further into her weeping cunt on the downstroke. 

It’s when he finally enters her that Y/N cries out, the stretch sudden and brash, but she quickly feels her walls accommodating him, fluttering around his length in such a heavenly manner that Harry feels as if he could cum already. He takes a few deep breaths, rubbing his nose along her jawline before finding her lips again, using the soft touch to centre himself once more. She does the same, slipping her tongue against his while she fully adjusts, and it’s only when Harry feels her hips tilting back and forth slightly that he realises she’s desperate for him to give her the go-ahead to move or to very well thrust in her himself. 

Instead, he grabs her hips, watching as his fingers indent slightly in the stretch-marked skin of her hips and pulls her back and forward, silently giving her his blessing. The way Y/N reacted was as if Harry had yelled it, immediately picking up her pace and swivelling her hips against him, groaning as she feels him so deep inside her it almost hurt. 

Instead, she begins to move, lift herself up and down, and properly ride him. Harry brings one hand up to rest against her cheek while the other remains placed on her ass, subtly encouraging each drop with a push against it. “God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.” 

If Y/N didn’t have him balls deep inside her, she might have had the good grace to blush. Instead, it spurs her on moving faster against him, the sharp thwack of his balls against her easily resounding through the sparse walls of her living room. Each moan of pleasure from Harry causing a similar sound to echo from her own chest, the intimate act they were initiating in causing her to feel even more connected to him as if each bout of pleasure was her own, each desperate tug of her hair and nudge of his own hips was a piece of her own desperation flowing through him. 

It can only explain why he holds her against him, leverages her up by the bottom of her thighs and begins to thrust up into her the second her legs start to give out. She was too close, dopamine flowing through her veins so readily it was causing her legs to shake and feel like jelly, and his sharp pushes into her weren’t helping in the slightest. 

She feels her orgasm coming from a mile away, the feeling creeping up through her hips and shoulders, her pussy clenching and spasming just waiting for the inevitable release. It feels as if each thrust sends her a little bit closer to the edge, until finally, she’s free-falling, every neuron in her body firing, signals of pleasure and joy sparking over synapses, running from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. 

At the exact point she becomes too sensitive to continue, Harry pulls her down on him completely, burying himself inside of her as he cums, each spurt of cum causing a tiny jolt to go through him and in turn a small gasp to leave Y/N as she fights the urge to pull away from the overwhelming pleasure. She played with his hair and scratched at his scalp as he calmed down, his head buried in her neck, leaving open mouth kisses against her collar bones. 

“Fuck me, that was good.”

He chuckles, humming his assent into her neck, the vibrations tickling the sensitive skin and causing her to pull away, giggling. He only smiles and pulls her towards him, kissing her gently and sweetly. 

Who would’ve thought the night would end like this. It had been such a roller coaster of emotions. The exhausting numbness and frustration surrounding memories with Xander were superseded by the intense rush of emotions associated with Harry, and it was a little jarring. She had gone from the lowest of lows to the highest of highs, wading through territory too familiar to be comfortable, into territory that was so new and invigorating it caused her teeth to chatter. 

She was confused but happy, sad but relieved, exhausted but revitalised. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt whole. Not because of Harry himself, but because she had come to terms with herself, she thinks. Had let go of the past, of the heartbreak, the anger and frustration and had truly embraced the future. 

She didn’t know where they were headed or what would happen, but there was one thing she was sure of. 

Love sure was a fucking mix-tape.

[bang-tan-bitches]

Title: Beloved

Word Count: 17.4k

Rating: M

Genre: Drama/Thriller/Smut

Warnings: Yandere Behavior, Violence, Blood, Character Death, Emotional Manipulation, Hint of Dubious Consent, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Cream Pie, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Mild Dirty Talk 

Pairing: Emperor!Yoongi X Reader

Summary: Court was just a game of politics after all. And you intended to win

Written By: Admin B

Note: This was entirely inspired by Daechwita and everyone should thank A for indulging my madness and encouraging me

“Are you even listening to me?”

 You jerk at the sound of your younger sister’s voice, the long carriage ride has made you sleepy. You glance over at her and give her an indulgent smile, “I’m sorry, darling. I can only listen to you wax poetic about his Imperial Highness’ esteemed looks for so long before I lose interest.”

You can’t help but laugh when Ara snaps her fan closed and tries to hit you with it, but you block it with your own fan.

“Stop or you’ll wrinkle your dress!” You giggle, “Then what will his majesty think of you?!”

She sits back in her seat, but you can see her eyes are shining with laughter. She looks positively breathtaking in her pale pink ceremonial dress. Her hair is beautifully styled with pearls and ribbons laced throughout. Her maids really made her as eye catching as possible. When the decree was first announced that all single ladies of marriageable age were invited to the palace on behalf of the imperial princess to find a bride for his majesty, you were concerned. You know Ara had fallen hopelessly in love with the emperor the one and only time she saw him, having begged father to take her to court with him two years prior. Ever since then she had this fairy tale dream in her head that they were meant to be together and you were terribly afraid of her getting hurt. 

“He really is beautiful,” her eyes are dreamy as she glances out the carriage window, “did I tell you how his hair is so pale that it practically shines like moonlight?”

“Yes, yes,” the sarcasm clear in your voice, “He is the most handsome and benevolent ruler our land has ever seen!” 

“He is,” you sister insists, “even with the scar!”

“He has a scar? I thought that was just a rumor.” You look out the carriage window to see how far you are from the palace. The ride seemed longer than usual, but that could have just been your boredom with the topic. You had no interest in politics - not that that had stopped your father from teaching you - and avoided going to court as much as possible. You had never even been in the presence of the emperor or the imperial princess. Ara had no interest in politics either, but that didn’t stop her dreams of becoming Empress.

“Oh! It’s not a rumor!” Your sister straightens her posture, “There’s a scar that covers his right eye! He got it during the great war when he was still the crown prince.”

“Why didn’t he -”

“Why didn’t he have the Imperial healers treat him and remove the scar?” Your sister cuts you off before you can finish your question, “He wanted a reminder to never show leniency. He was betrayed by some of his own men that weren’t loyal to the crown. He slaughtered not only the betrayers, but also their entire families.”

You furrow your brows and fix the long sleeves of your ceremonial dress, uncomfortable with the emperor’s apparent brutality, “Sounds cruel.”

“It’s not cruel. He had to ensure that no one would try to get revenge. He was protecting our kingdom from those that would try to take it!”

“Of course, of course,” you placate your sister and roll your eyes at her fervent defense of his highness.

“Don’t roll your eyes, I’m terribly sorry everyone can’t be as noble as your dear Namjoon.”

You frown, “First of all, he is Lord Kim and he deserves your respect. Secondly, he isn’t my dear anything. Nothing has been finalized. There has only been talk of marriage, but no contracts are in place.”

Ara scoffs, “Everyone knows he absolutely adores you. His eyes get all big and his cheeks turn bright pink whenever he sees you.”

You smile wistfully and look down at your lap, “He is rather adorable.”

“Mmmhmm and if it was up to him you would already be married and probably with child.”

“Ara, it is impolite to discuss such things.” You scold gently, “What if someone overheard you?”

“Who?” Ara dramatically looks around the carriage before resting back against her seat, “Who can possibly hear us? There is only me and you in this carriage. No one is going to hear us.”

“Still, you need to be appropriate, you cannot slip up at the palace.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, Ara with closed eyes gently fanning herself while you contemplate how to bring up what’s been weighing heavily on your mind. Your younger sister was spoiled and had always gotten her way, even you were guilty of indulging her every whim. You were terribly worried that she would not adjust to court life well. Your understanding was that the women could be even more vicious than the men and you needed to prepare her.

You chew your lip before deciding to broach the delicate topic, “I heard another rumor about your emperor.”

“Mmm… what’s that?” Ara opens one eye to look at you.

“I heard,” you lean forward and lower your voice, “that his harem is… extensive.”

Ara pouts adorably, “It is. Apparently he has over 300 concubines.”

“300? That has to be an exaggeration. No man would want 300 concubines. Although,” you continue quietly, “he is the emperor and a large harem would show off his wealth and power. Does he have a favorite among them?”

“Ugh,” you watch Ara’s eyes darken in anger, “Concubine Nam In-Suk. She is his favored concubine and I heard the only reason she wasn’t named his empress is because Imperial Princess Min would not allow it.”

“Why would the emperor care what his elder sister thinks?” You already know the answers to all these questions, but you hope that asking them will help Ara realize what she needs to do to secure her place as empress. The carriage starts to slow, you were almost to the palace and wouldn’t have much time alone to prepare her going forward and no time alone once you’d arrived.

“She is his advisor and closest confidant. He trusts her with everything.”

“Ara,” you grab your sister’s hand and give her a meaningful look, “It is very important that you gain the favor of Imperial Princess Min. If you have her blessing, you will not be denied. Most of the silly girls will be striving for Emperor Min’s attention, not realizing that the imperial princess is making the final choice.”

Ara nods her head, determined. “I will gain her favor.”

“Also,” you know she will hate what you are about to suggest, but it has to be done, “You need to become friendly with Concubine Nam.”

“Never!” Ara gasps and tries to pull away, “As soon as I’m chosen as empress I will make him disband his harem!”

“Ara, you cannot!” You lean close and let the severity of your demand bleed into your tone, “You must become friendly and show you are not a threat.” 

“But I am a threat…” she pushes her lip out in a pout. 

You squeeze her hand, “I know, darling. But court politics are not that different from bedroom politics. He will not get rid of his harem just because you demand it. If Concubine Nam thinks she can manipulate and play you, she will be less of a threat. She has his ear and his favor. Let them think you are stupid little girl with stars in her eyes. It will bend them to your will.”

 “But,” Ara’s voice is quiet, “I want him to love only me.”

“Oh my beloved Ara,” you hold her close to you, “these things take time. Once you bed him and provide an heir, you will secure your place at his side. He will have to love and cherish only you. How could he not?”

Her smile is blinding when the carriage stops outside the palace gates. 

-0-0-0-

“Relax,” you whisper, “you are the most beautiful lady here. You have nothing to fear.”

Ara releases her bottom lip and nods subtly. When you had arrived at the palace earlier that day, you were welcomed inside to a large hall filled with other single young ladies and their chaperones, all from the most prominent families in the kingdom. Imperial Princess Min herself greeted everyone and announced that a welcome banquet would be held that evening. You were then ushered to your rooms where you could refresh yourselves before the evening. The Daisy Courtyard would serve as your temporary home for the next few weeks. It was a smaller courtyard, but it was beautiful and secluded and you were thankful to learn that it was nowhere near the concubine courtyard. 

It was almost impossible to remember how quiet the courtyard was now. 

Now, in the palace banquet room awaiting the arrival of the emperor for what felt like hours with the crowd growing more restless by the minute, you dearly missed the seclusion. Imperial Princess Min was present, drinking wine and enjoying the performance of the dancers brought in for entertainment. If she was upset with the late arrival of her brother, her face did not show it.

The music abruptly stops and everyone quiets down. The large golden doors at the back of the room are opened and an imperial servant steps in, placing their fisted hand over their heart, they bow and announce, “His Royal Highness, Emperor Min Yoongi, 37th Emperor of the Min Dynasty.”

Everyone immediately bows, giving reverence to the Emperor. He is dressed in the darkest black with gold dangling from his ears, neck, and fingers.  His blond hair is pulled up into a high topknot and a black headband is across his forehead. 

You notice a beautiful woman trailing a few steps behind him. She is covered in diamonds. They glitter from her shiny black hair down to the long train of her bright purple ceremonial dress. The dress itself is decorated in patterns of golden tigers, matching the pattern of the emperor’s black robe.

By the clenching of Ara’s hands, you realize that this must be Concubine Nam. You discreetly nudge your sister and mouth for her to relax. 

The emperor takes his seat on his golden dragon throne, while his favored concubine sits obediently at his feet. His presence is overpowering and you can feel his displeasure radiating throughout the room.  

“So… I was told that one of you will be this emperor’s bride and empress consort.” Emperor Min’s voice is deep and controlled, but the underlying fury is unmistakable. You can feel his eyes trail over the room, “Do you really think that one of you will enrapture this emperor? Do you truly believe one of you will become my chosen?”

Everyone is deathly silent, afraid of angering his highness even more. You can feel his penetrating gaze stop on you. You did not dare look upon the face of the emperor. You knew the rules of the court. You keep your eyes lowered and wait for his eyes to move past you. 

They don’t.

You can still feel him staring at you and after several silent minutes you hesitantly look up and meet his eyes. You feel your breath catch in your throat. He is startlingly beautiful. His features are delicate but his scar provides him a hint of roguishness that accentuates his already extraordinary beauty. 

His gaze is intense and you can feel his angry aura disappear to something unreadable. His dark eyes are burning with something as a devilishly handsome smile spreads across his face.

You quickly lower your eyes and ignore the chill down your spine and the heat spreading across your face. You now understand how your sister could be so enraptured with one look. 

The emperor laughs, startling you into looking again. He’s staring at his sister and smiling. You can see Concubine Nam’s face screwed up, but staring at the floor. You look away quickly before he can feel your stare. His voice is filled with warmth and something else, something unsettling, “Maybe this emperor will finally meet his bride amongst the ladies here today. Rise and enjoy the welcome feast.”

Immediately servants present platters of food to the various tables and the music starts again. You ignore the burning gaze you feel on you and direct your attention to Ara.

“Make sure you eat. You have to be strong if you plan to carry the next heir of the kingdom.” You add more food to her plate.

“Yes, yes,” Ara giggles and pushes your hand away, “I could feel him staring in our direction. Did you feel it too?”

You force a smile, “Of course. How could he not stare at you. I told you that you were the most beautiful lady here.”

When it’s your turn to introduce yourselves to the royal family, you make sure to keep your head low and only make eye contact with Imperial Princess Min once you’re allowed to rise. Next to you, your sister does the same, following your example, even as you feel the hot eyes of the emperor on you once again. Ara pays a pretty compliment to the Princess, and you smile proudly when the Princess laughs delightedly and asks for your names. 

“Oh, I remember you. And your father.” Princess Min says, a delicate finger resting on her bottom lip. She shares a look with her brother and you can feel the hateful eyes of Concubine Nam on you and your sister. You ignore her. You needed Ara to win over Princess Min before she won the hearts of anyone else. “I look forward to getting to know you once again. Both of you.” 

You smile, and bow again before moving on to let the others greet the royal family. 

Ignoring the heavy weight of Emperor Min’s gaze, you try to keep your sister distracted and engaged during the remainder of the banquet. For every goblet of wine your sister has, you make sure she also has a goblet of water. You don’t want her embarrassing herself in front of the other eligible ladies. You relax once the emperor’s gaze is no longer focused on you and take the chance to glance towards the throne, noticing the emperor in a deep discussion with his sister. The imperial princess has a strange smile on her face and is nodding her head along to whatever his highness is saying. You also notice that Concubine Nam is nowhere to be seen.

“Where did Concubine Nam go?”

“What?” Ara quickly looks around the large hall, her voice tinged with excitement, “Concubine Nam? His highness must have sent her away.”

"Strange..” you take a delicate bite of the fresh dumplings brought out by the servants, smiling a bit at how excited Ara is to find her possible rival missing, “I thought she never left his side.”  

“Well…” Ara is interrupted by the arrival of an imperial maid. The maid bows her head respectively and holds a silver tray with a folded golden parchment.

You grab the parchment and slowly open it, quickly read the contents, fold it and place it back on the tray. “Please tell your mistress we accept.”

The maid bows and scurries away. You watch her go and keep a calm mask on your face, even as your heart is racing. You knew the point of these banquets and festivities was to find the Emperor a bride, but to receive an invitation so quickly… You notice many of the young ladies in attendance are watching and you refuse to show any sort of emotion. 

Court was just a game of politics after all. And you intended to win. For Ara. 

Ara grabs your hand under the table where no one can see, “What was that about?”

“Ara, did you bring that pretty pale green dress that grandfather gifted you for your birthday last year?” You take a sip of your wine, and keep your tone low.

“Of course.” Ara nods her head and grabs some fruit slices from one of the platters on the table, but by the tenseness of her shoulders, you could feel her excitement. You would have to instruct her on how to hide it better. 

“Good. Wear it tomorrow.” You squeeze her hand, “we are invited to the morning meal with Imperial Princess Min.”

-0-0-0-

Imperial Princess Min’s courtyard and private rooms are absolutely gorgeous. Everything is draped in golds and pastels and smells of the fresh flowers that are placed throughout her rooms. The three of you sit at a finely crafted table in her pavilion, the only sounds are the bubbling of the large fountain nearby and the tinkling of the platters of food as they are placed upon the table before you. 

“Thank you for joining me this beautiful morning.” Princess Min smiles sweetly at you both, once you rise from your bow, gesturing for a maid to pour tea, “I do hope you enjoy the meal.”

“We are honored to be invited by her majesty for a meal. Thank you.” You bow your head reverently and sit in the chair the maid has pulled out. 

“Yes, thank you, your highness.” Your sister follows suit. The plates are quickly set with delicious smelling food, but you can only sip your tea, taking your cue from the princess who has barely glanced at her plate. 

“Tell me,” Princess Min takes a dainty sip of tea, “Are you enjoying your time at the palace?”

“It is very beautiful here. We are forever indebted to the emperor and the imperial princess for allowing us to visit.” You keep your voice soft and your sister nods along, her cheeks slightly puffed with the food she has in her mouth.

“And your rooms…” Princess Min continues, directing a maid to put some kimchi on her plate, “are they to your liking?”

“Yes your majesty. The Daisy courtyard is beautiful. Thank you for gracing us with such lovely lodgings.”

The princess inclines her head briefly and smiles, “What do you think of the emperor?”

“Oh, he is wonderful. The best ruler our empire has ever seen.” Ara gushes enthusiastically, “May our emperor live ten thousand years!”

You and Princess Min share a small smile, both seeing that Ara is completely infatuated with his highness. You take a small bite of the delicious food on your plate as Ara continues to praise the emperor. 

“And you?” Princess Min interrupts your sister and turns her gaze on you. Her dark eyes are so similar to her brother that it catches you off guard for a moment, “What do you think of the emperor?”

You didn’t understand why but you feel like your answer holds more weight than your sister’s. You lick your suddenly dry lips, smile demurely at the imperial princess and respond as blandly but nicely as possible, “His highness is a most generous and benevolent king.”

“That he is.” Princess Min smiles and glances at your sister, “And what are your thoughts on his harem?”

Your sister is quiet for a moment and you can see her struggling with finding what she wants to say, you gracefully answer for her, “I’m sure my sister would be most grateful to have others help serve the emperor.”

“Yes!” Ara nods eagerly, “I am most grateful that the emperor has many to keep him company.”

Princess Min hides a giggle behind her hand and you tilt your head, curious what could make the Princess giggle like that. 

“Indeed. You may be grateful for the… help.”

Your eyes widen but Ara continues to look confused. You share a look with the Princess before she continues, “My brother, the Emperor, has a… healthy appetite.” 

As if summoned by your discussion of him, your meal is interrupted by the arrival of a servant stepping into the pavilion, “His Royal Highness, Emperor Min Yoongi, 37th Emperor of the Min Dynasty.”

You and Ara quickly place down your chopsticks and stand from your seats to bow properly. 

“You may rise.” The emperor’s voice is deeper than you remember. He is dressed in an informal black robe patterned with crimson lotus flowers. Thick golden necklaces rest against his collarbones and his pale hair is pulled up into another topknot. You notice that his long, golden earrings aren’t as extravagant as the ones he wore the night before. You and Ara quickly return to your seats.

“Here is my darling sister.” The Emperor gently kisses Princess Min’s cheek before sitting in the empty chair that is placed directly across from you by a servant. “I hope you do not mind if I join you three for the morning meal.”

“Imperial Brother I can see right through you.” Princess Min giggles, “You just want to look at my pretty company.”

You feel your breath hitch when the emperor locks eyes with you, a dangerous smile pulling at his full lips, “Can you blame me? I cannot remember the last time I’ve been so enchanted.”

Princess Min smiles and glances between you and your sister, “The sisters are true beauties.”

“Indeed,” The emperor's eyes flicker to your sister before focusing back on you, “It’s refreshing to know that a father did not exaggerate his claims of his daughters’ virtues.”

"Our beauty does not dare compare to the Imperial Princess." Your sister answers perfectly, the flattery clear in her voice. You see the smile spread across Princess Min’s face, clearly pleased with Ara’s answer. 

Princess Min and Ara chatter for a while, the emperor occasionally joining the conversation, but his burning gaze never leaves your face. If anyone else notices his attention on you, they dare not mention it. You stay quiet, trying not to draw any attention away from Ara. You are proud of your sister, she is so poised as she engages in conversation with the royals. You were worried she would freeze up, or even worse, prattle on incessantly about nothing. You motion for a servant to refill your teacup and are startled when the emperor waives the servant away, refilling your cup himself. “Please, allow me.”

Everything stops around you at his actions, even the servants seem to freeze in place. You glance at your sister and the imperial princess, both completely in shock at the emperor’s generosity. Although you notice the imperial princess has a look of unbridled delight in her dark eyes.

“Thank you, your grace.” You incline your head and keep your face impassive. Only years of training drilled into you by your tutors prepared you for this. A lady must always be composed and even though you feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest, you keep calm. You have no idea why his eminence would pour your tea as if he was your servant, but did not dare question his actions. 

The silence lasts longer than is socially acceptable and when you dare to look at him, the emperor’s eyes are already focused on you. You can feel Ara’s eyes darting between the two of you, but you can only focus on the emperor. He opens his mouth to say something when your meal is interrupted by several maids rushing into the room. His eyes release you from your trance as he looks away. 

You tell yourself that you’re grateful for the interruption. 

“Your highness!!!” They all drop to their knees once they see the emperor, their heads touching the ground, “Your highness you must hurry. Concubine Nam has collapsed!”

You glance at the maids in alarm and look back at the emperor, his brows furrowed, “Have the imperial healers been summoned?”

“Of course, your highness.” The head maid answers, rising from her bow. You realize that they must have been the personal maids of Concubine Nam. The other maids remain on their knees, foreheads pressed to the ground. 

The emperor turns away from the maids and takes a sip of his tea, dismissing them without words. You watch the head maid bite her lip before taking a step forward, “Please your highness, she is calling for you.”

You can see the displeasure on the emperor’s face. His eyes are angry, but the anger fades when he looks at you. He stares at you for a moment as if he’s waiting for your approval. You swallow and glance at the maids before meeting his gaze, “Your highness, please forgive this lowly maiden for speaking out of turn, but your beloved needs you. You should be at her side.”

“My beloved?” His voice is filled with mirth, and you wonder what is so humorous.

“Yes, your majesty.” You continue, licking your lips. His eyes follow your tongue. “Everyone knows she is your favored concubine. She needs you. You must attend to her.”

“You’re right.” His smile disarms you, again causing your breath to catch. “I must do what my beloved asks of me.”

With a swirl of his black robes, he is gone. The maids and his personal servants trailing behind him. 

The silence left by the emperor’s abrupt departure is broken by the tired sigh of the Imperial Princess. “I apologize for Imperial Brother.”

“No, no,” you immediately respond, seeing a forlorn expression on the princess’ face, “It’s alright. Concubine Nam needs him. I do hope she is alright.”

“Yes, hopefully it is nothing serious.” Your sister cannot hide the distaste in her voice at the mention of the concubine.

“Oh, it’s nothing serious.” The princess laughs scornfully, “Concubine Nam always pulls some sort of devious trick whenever she thinks my brother’s attention might be taken away from her.”

You glance in the direction the emperor disappeared, “Does she?”

“Yes. It’s pathetic.” 

You choke back a giggle when the princess rolls her eyes and instantly feel yourself relax. 

“She thinks she has my brother wrapped around her finger. Always throwing a tantrum or faking some sort of illness.” She sneers and shakes her head, looking at you as if confiding something, “Several months ago, when I first spoke to my brother about finding a potential bride, I thought for sure that she would do something then, but it looks like the little bitch was just biding her time.”

“That is terrible.” If Ara is shocked at the vulgar language used by the princess, her face doesn’t show it. She is calm and poised and while you know she has a million questions she wants to ask, she is keeping her composure until the two of you are alone in your courtyard. “Hopefully his highness sees through her tricks.”

“She’s not half as clever as she thinks she is. He knows exactly what she is doing, but he indulges her.”

“I’m sure his majesty has his reasons,” you smile at the princess, “have faith in your brother.”

Princess Min stares at you, a contemplative look on her face. You don’t know what she is looking for, but after a few quiet moments she smiles beautifully, “Yes. Of course, you’re right. I have faith in the emperor. He was chosen by the gods to rule our kingdom.”

“May he live ten thousand years.” Ara says solemnly. You and Princess Min murmur in agreement.

“Still,” Princess Min’s voice is resolute as she gestures for a maid to refill her tea cup, “Concubine Nam cannot be trusted. Be careful.”

You sip your tea, pushing thoughts of the emperor’s dark eyes to the back of your mind and wonder just how much danger your sister is in.

-0-0-0-

When you return to your courtyard, servants are rushing around packing your trunks..

“Excuse me,” you feel bad interrupting one of the maids, but you have no idea what is going on and can’t help but fear the worst, “what is happening?”

“My lady,” the maid bows her head, “we have orders to move you and your sister to the Golden Bell courtyard.”

You frown and watch the servants continue to carry out your things, Ara clutches your hand, “On whose orders?”

“His Royal Highness.”

“As you were.” You dismiss the maid and turn towards Ara. You can see the excitement in her eyes. She’s practically vibrating. You nod for her to follow you out to the main yard where an imperial carriage is waiting to take you to your new courtyard.

“Sister,” She whispers, “The Golden Bell Courtyard. That’s closer to Imperial Princess Min’s private courtyard.”

“I know.”

-0-0-0-

The Golden Bell Courtyard is stunning. The main yard is filled with the fragrant Golden Bell flowers and the rooms were at least twice the size of your previous courtyard. Ara is practically giddy with excitement as she throws herself down on the large bed in the room you chose.

“He must already be in love with me.” 

“Why wouldn’t he be?” You were surprised Ara was able to contain herself until the servants left. 

“Everything is so luxurious.”

“It is.” You sit yourself at the fancy dressing table in the corner of the room and check your reflection in the bronzed mirror, “You should get used to this.”

Ara giggles and snuggles into the soft bedding. You watch her through the mirror and smile at her behavior. She was still so young and you wish you could shelter her forever. You still worried about her marrying into the imperial family, but you felt a little better knowing that Imperial Princess Min seems to have warmed to her. “You need to thank his majesty at tonight’s banquet.” 

“Of course.” Your sister smiles and throws a soft goose feather pillow in the air, “I will make sure to thank him for his hospitality.”

-0-0-0-

Unfortunately, Emperor Min is not at the banquet that night. In fact, you were informed, for the next fourteen days he would not be attending any of the events Imperial Princess Min had scheduled.

You can tell the princess is upset. Her smile seems a little more strained and while she is able to handle everything as a hostess should, you can tell she is very stressed about whatever the emperor is currently handling. You have a strong suspicion it is related to Concubine Nam, but it is not your place to ask questions so you remain quiet. You do, however, try your best to help where you can, becoming a steadfast and loyal companion to her majesty, continuing to have meals with her whenever she requests and spending many afternoons in her pavilion with her. She would ask your opinions of the young ladies from the different households and tell you about what would be required of the empress consort. As the days moved along, the princess dismissed more and more of the potential brides for his majesty until only a handful were left. You were pleased that Ara seems to be the favorite.

You sit across from the Imperial Princess. She sent you a note at the morning meal requesting you to join her in her plum blossom garden this afternoon. You can tell the princess is upset. Her lips are pursed and her fingers are white as she grips her cup of tea tightly. You're afraid the delicate cup might crack. 

“Your majesty’s plum blossom garden is beautiful. It must be the most fragrant and lovely plum blossom garden in all of the empire.”

Imperial Princess Min gives you a soft smile. She dismisses the servants and they step back so they are out of hearing range, but close enough to see if her highness requires anything.

“Concubine Nam is with child.”

You are silent for a moment. You keep yourself composed and don’t dare show your thoughts on your face. Your mind is frantically trying to process what this means. How could this have happened? What does this mean for Ara? 

You swallow and gently speak, “Princess Min, please forgive this simple one for questioning, but I thought it was against the imperial law for a concubine to bear children?”

“It is.” Princess Min throws her tea cup on the ground in anger, two imperial maids rush over to clean up the shattered mess and prepare another cup of tea for her majesty. Once the servants step away, the Princess continues, “She stopped drinking the herbal tea the day my brother agreed to find a bride.”

“Will Concubine Nam be punished?” You don’t look at the princess when you ask, you focus on the full cup of tea in front of you.

“If she is punished, it won’t be until after she gives birth.” Princess Min takes a small bite of sweet cake, “The little bitch thinks the emperor will make her his empress consort.”

“Will he?” 

“No,” Princess Min gives you a reassuring smile, “He will choose someone most deserving.” Her eyes shift as she stares at you until you feel you have to look away. “He’s been diligently working on preparing everything for his chosen consort. That and this unfortunate incident with Concubine Nam has kept him busy.”

You feel relief to know that Concubine Nam’s schemes do not seem to be working. And from the knowing smile the princess gives you, you feel elated that Ara will definitely be chosen as the consort. “What of the child?”

“The child will be recognized as a prince of the kingdom, but not an heir. Only the Empress can provide an heir.” Princess Min still looks unhappy, “I hope this won’t affect things going forward.”

It almost sounds like a question, as if she’s asking you if it will affect things. But you know that can’t be. You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. This news will be upsetting to Ara, but not all is lost. This can still be salvaged. She could still marry and become the empress. Her child will still be the rightful heir. “No, I’m sure my sister will love any child that his highness produces.”

“Oh, yes, of course your sister would.” Princess Min gives you a curious smile, her dark eyes shining as if she’s amused. She takes your free hand in hers, “I hope I can request your confidence in this matter.” She says and gives your hand an almost too tight squeeze, “This must not be told to anyone.”

“Of course,” You nod your head solemnly, “I won’t say a word.”

 -0-0-0-

The Emperor continues to absent himself from any events involving the possible consorts for the next several days. Even though it had yet to be announced, you knew he had already decided on an empress consort, therefore he did not need to attend any of the lavish events and parties his sister had scheduled. Though as the days progress and nothing more happens, you grow more and more concerned over Ara’s position until finally you are moved again to an even larger, more extravagant courtyard. 

The Mugunghwa Courtyard. 

The Mugunghwa Courtyard was reserved for the empress consort and is located directly next to the emperor’s private courtyard. The servants treat you and your sister like royalty, you are given the same respects the emperor and his sister are provided. Ara is enjoying the envious glares she receives from the other ladies and you allow her to enjoy her victory, but remind her to be polite and courteous to the servants because they will be her eyes and ears to what is happening in the other courtyards(including the harem).

Soon after you’re comfortably moved into the Mugunghwa Courtyard, the gifts begin arriving. Some days when you return to your rooms after the festivities, you find fresh Mugunghwa flowers on your bed. One morning you wake up and find a bottle of sweet perfumed oil. You know that it isn’t uncommon for a groom to bestow gifts upon his bride’s family, but you’re a little uncomfortable as the days progress and the gifts become more elaborate. Silk slippers, golden hairpieces, diamond necklaces… it’s all too much. Ara has also been receiving small gifts, flowers and oils. You don’t know why, but you don’t mention the jewelry or clothing to her. 

You continue to spend time with Imperial Princess Min, her personal servants would invite you, and only you, to have a private audience with her almost daily. Once, you asked her where the emperor was, as you had not seen him since breakfast almost a week ago. She had smiled at you as if you’d said the one thing she longed to hear, and informed you he’d been out of the palace. Taking care of business. But assures you that he would return soon. 

“If you would like, we can invite him to breakfast again.” She takes your arm and giggles, as if breakfast with her brother is against the rules. “But I might get jealous if my soon-to-be sister pays more attention to my brother than me.” 

Your heart soars at her words. This is practically confirmation that Ara will be chosen!

She keeps you updated on the goings on with Concubine Nam. The child is growing strong, and Concubine Nam has already started showing a small bump on her otherwise perfect body. While you never wish harm on anyone, you cannot hide your small sense of satisfaction when you're told that Concubine Nam is visibly distraught over the fact that the emperor has not once visited her since she collapsed.

You are still very concerned about Ara finding out about the pregnancy. You have kept your word and stayed silent on the matter, but you know Ara’s bubble of happiness will burst once she is made aware. You spend many of your days touring the multiple gardens of The Mugunghwa Courtyard in contemplation, trying to decide if you should tell Ara what is happening. 

You’re taking a leisurely stroll in the hibiscus garden when you suddenly feel like you’re being watched. This happens most days when you’re alone in the gardens, but no one is ever around so you dismiss it as your imagination. You startle when you hear the emperor’s deep voice call your name.

You spin around quickly and meet the burning gaze of the emperor. He’s dressed in his signature black robe, but this one is patterned with dark blue koi fish. His pale hair is pulled back in a low ponytail with a black headband across his forehead. Today he is wearing one long golden earring and a heavy golden choker around his throat. 

You briefly wonder if he would adorn his Empress in so much gold. 

“Your highness!” You immediately remember yourself and bow low.

You are still bent low and staring at the ground when you see a long black robe come into view. You feel a gentle finger under your chin and your head is tilted up until you’re standing again and staring directly up into the emperor’s perfect face.

He continues to stare at you, his eyes swirling with emotion. His finger moves from your chin to rub along your bottom lip and your eyes close involuntarily. He leans closer and you can smell the clean scent of his skin. You feel his breath on your lips…

The sound of a throat clearing jolts you. You snap your eyes open and immediately step away from the emperor’s personal space. Emperor Min is glaring heatedly at a eunuch who is standing several feet behind him. The eunuch looks apologetic, but you are grateful. 

“Your majesty, are you also here to tour the gardens?” You can feel your cheeks heat and you absentmindedly smooth out your dress. “The hibiscus garden is especially fragrant this time of year.”

His eyes are gentle when he looks at you. He gives you a soft smile, “No. I am here to see you.”

“Me? I do not know what I have done to deserve your attention. How can I help his majesty?”

Emperor Min’s voice is serious, “You deserve more than my attention. You deserve everything.”

You turn away from his penetrating gaze, focusing on a nearby flower, “Your highness has been very kind to me and my sister. I cannot thank you enough.”

“Do not thank me.” The emperor chuckles, “I am a king. I always have an ulterior motive.”

You realize he is most likely speaking of Ara. As Ara’s elder sister, you know you have the most influence over her and her opinions. He is trying to gain your favor so she will be more likely to accept his suit, but he must know that Ara is already in love with him. Princess Min would never keep that information from him.

“I have a gift for you.”

“Another gift?” You look up at his handsome face, “I couldn’t possibly accept anything else. You’ve been so generous already.” 

Faster than you can blink, his face is so close to yours, you can feel the brush of his lips as he speaks, his hand on your chin and eyes locked with yours. 

“I am the emperor. It is my divine right to give what I want, and to take what I want. Do you understand?” 

You blink and quickly lower your eyes, unable to bow your head, “Yes, your highness.” 

He moves away and you catch yourself before you can stumble from the suddenness of it all. 

“Eunuch Ki.” Emperor Min gestures and the eunuch steps forward holding a small wooden box, golden dragons painted on it. Eunuch Ki opens the box and you cannot stop your gasp when the contents are revealed. A beautifully hand carved jade bracelet is nestled within. You can see that your name is engraved in it along with the symbols of beauty and love. 

Emperor Min holds out his hand, waiting for you to give him yours. You place your hand in his and watch quietly as he gently pushes up the sleeve of your dress. His hand is so much larger than yours and you shiver when his thumb gently rubs along your wrist.

Eunuch Ki hands him the bracelet and he tenderly clasps it around your wrist. 

“Perfect.”

 You feel something inside you stir, “It’s lovely.” 

 “Not as lovely as the wrist it adorns,” he meets your eyes, “it becomes you.” 

You know you should pull away, part of you desperately wants to pull away. But he is the Emperor, and you know better. 

“Ara loves her gifts too!” You blurt out, trying desperately to control the way your heart is pounding. 

His face scrunches in thought and he tilts his head, “Ara… yes. Your sister. I’m glad she enjoys her gifts as well.” He raises your hand, flips it in his, and places a kiss on the inside of your wrist, lips brushing the cool jade beads. “Don’t take it off.” He commands, before leaving you alone once more. 

-0-0-0-

After that, you did not go into the gardens alone, always making sure Ara or Princess Min is with you. While you never did run into the Emperor in the gardens again, you still sometimes felt his burning gaze on you, but when you looked around, he was never there.

Today, you and Ara are staying in your own courtyard. You feel that both of you need a break from court. You know you certainly do. You have already had your morning meal in your rooms and were currently relaxing in one of the many drawing rooms. You smile as Ara pricks her finger again on her needlework. “Be careful Ara. A lady's hands should be soft and delicate.”

You can’t hide your laughter at the adorable glower she gives you. “Why do I have to do this? When I’m empress, I’ll have the royal seamstresses do this for me.”

“It’s a good skill to have and maybe your husband would want a personalized gift from you.”

Ara pouts but doesn’t say anything else. You sit in comfortable silence, her trying to embroider and you snacking on small sweet cakes. The days seem to be getting slightly cooler and you were appreciative. You didn’t know how long this consort selection was going to take, but you were already longing for home. You had written several letters to your father, letting him know of Ara’s progress and wanting to hear any news from home. You were hoping maybe your marriage to Lord Kim would be finalized, but unfortunately, there was no news about that. Your father seemed to avoid mentioning Lord Kim at all. As for Lord Kim himself, you sent him a few brief letters asking after his health and wellbeing, but had yet to receive a response. He was normally very quick to reply to your letters, but you brushed off his lack of response due to the fact that he must be very busy.

Your musings are interrupted by the arrival of several imperial servants and a finely dressed eunuch. They are carrying two large golden trunks and place them down in front of you and your sister. The eunuch steps forward and bows low.

“My ladies,” You recognize the eunuch as the emperor’s most trusted servant, Eunuch Ki, the one who was at his side in the hibiscus garden, “His Royal Highness would be most pleased if the mistresses would accept his gifts.”

You and Ara share a look and you quickly stand from the soft, golden sofa, “Thank you, Eunuch Ki. We are honored to receive gifts from his eminence.”

The large golden trunks are opened and you can hear Ara’s gasp of delight. The emperor has provided each of you a ceremonial dress made of fine, silk fabric and beautiful hair ornaments. Ara’s dress is a gorgeous light blue patterned with silver butterflies. The matching hair ornament is a hair pin styled in beautiful swirls of silver and jade, a single butterfly resting on top.  

Your dress is colored a rich gold and patterned with black mandarin ducks, diamonds line the long sleeves and train. The matching hair ornament is also a hair pin, but it looks to be solid gold with two mandarin ducks resting on top of a bed of orchids made out of diamonds. You hesitate at the pattern on the dress, unsure if this is a mistake. 

“If it pleases the mistresses, his highness requests you wear his gifts to the Grand Banquet tomorrow evening.”

“Of course, we would be delighted.” Ara beams at Eunuch Ki when you don’t respond right away, your eyes still focused on the pattern on your dress. 

“Eunuch Ki,” you follow him to the entrance of the drawing room, your voice quiet so others cannot overhear, “I feel there might be a mistake.” You gesture to your dress and your eyes flicker towards an oblivious Ara.

Eunuch Ki eyes you for a moment, his look is heavy and almost pitying, “The Emperor does not make mistakes.”

You swallow hard and nod at Eunuch Ki, closing the door behind him and turn to look at Ara. She’s already holding the dress up against herself and admiring it in the mirror. 

The Emperor might not make mistakes, but you were beginning to think you had. 

-0-0-0-

You slowly make your way towards the courtyard of the imperial princess. After Eunuch Ki had left last night, you received a summons from the Imperial Princess. She requested you to meet her for afternoon tea the following day before the grand banquet. 

This side of the palace was oddly quiet. You knew that everyone was preparing for the grand banquet, so all the activity would be much livelier near the grand banquet hall. You had yet to see that hall, apparently it was large enough to hold all the noble families of the kingdom comfortably. 

When you enter her private pavilion, Imperial Princess Min is reclining on a giant resting sofa, a servant girl fanning her. 

“Your highness.” You bow your head reverently and wait for her to receive you.

She smiles beautifully and sits up, her dark eyes shining beautifully, as she holds her hands out to you, “I’m so glad you are here.”

“Your Highness flatters me.” You go to her, smiling as you take her hands in your own before releasing them to gesture to the ornately carved tea table in the corner, “Afternoon tea?”

“Yes, we have much to discuss.” Princess Min stands up and elegantly makes her way to the table, you follow obediently behind her. Once you are both seated, Princess Min gestures for a servant to pour tea.

“Are you excited for tonight’s banquet?” Princess Min takes a sip of her tea, “I’m so very excited and the banquet isn’t even for me.”

“Of course, tonight is a grand occasion. It deserves to be celebrated properly.” You swallow a sip of tea and look around the beautiful pavilion. “Thank you so much for the hospitality you have shown my sister and I. Your kindness will never be forgotten.”

Princess Min smiles at you and chatters about the drama currently happening in the harem courtyard, Concubine Nam was still holding hope that Emperor Min would choose her as his bride, while the other concubines were furious over her blatant violation of the rules. You listen and chime in when necessary, indulging in Princess Min’s love for gossip. 

“What would you do with Concubine Nam and the harem?” Princess Min asks you, her voice curious, “How would you handle this entire scandal?”

“Well,” You ponder over her question for a moment. She had asked you similar questions before, but usually about how you would handle this political issue or that. Never one quite so close to home. You take another sip of tea, deciding how to answer without offending her, “an example would have to be made.”

“What kind of example?” Princess Min tilts her head slightly, her dark eyes swirling with something, “if you had the power, what would you do?”

“If I had the power?” You gesture for a servant to pour you another cup of tea and laugh softly, “If I had the power, my husband would not have a harem at all.”

Princess Min stares at you, her eyes practically glowing, “No harem? A normal man would not agree to your terms.”

You smile, “I will not marry just any man. I will marry a man solely devoted to me.”

The Princess giggles beautifully, “I love your way of thinking.”

“Well,” you giggle along with the princess, “My way of thinking isn’t something that is approved of. Luckily for his majesty, Ara will gladly allow him his harem.”

The princess quiets down and gestures for a servant to place a small, sweet cake on both of your plates. Her smile is sweet, “Tell me…”

“Hmm?” You tilt your head in question and take a small sip of tea.

Princess Min’s voice is light and soft, “when are you going to stop playing ignorant?”

You still completely, your stomach bubbling with dread. You keep your face calm and composed, but your heart is beating rapidly. After a brief silence, you question, “Pardon? Whatever do you mean?”

“You’re a very clever woman, it’s why I like you so much.” Her sweet smile never leaves her face, but her eyes are dark and cold. “You know exactly what I mean.” 

“No,” You keep your voice firm, “I do not know what you mean at all.”

Princess Min’s smile widens, but her dark eyes are unsettling, “Did you enjoy Imperial Brother’s latest gift?”

You slowly set your tea cup on the table, “His highness gives the most thoughtful gifts, we are forever in his debt.”

“You know, he chose the pattern and colors himself.”

“About that,” you lick your lips before continuing, “Eunuch Ki gave me the golden dress by mistake.”

“Oh you are good. For someone who claims they have no interest in court or politics, that is. Though you need a little more training before you sit in on a council.” The Princess takes a bite of cake, her eyes flashing, “I don’t recommend playing dumb with me, however.” 

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean.” 

The Princess ignores your remark, “Have you heard of my betrothed? Prince Regent Jung Hoseok. He’s the general of the Imperial Army.”

“Of course,” your mind frantically tries to understand where the connection is, “He has helped the emperor win many battles.”

“Did you know that he was betrothed before?”

You shake your head, but don’t reply. You have no idea what this discussion has to do with the emperor’s gifts, but you didn’t dare interrupt or question her.

“He grew up in the palace here with Imperial Brother and I. My father, the emperor at the time, practically raised him as one of his own. He was Imperial Brother’s companion and also to be his general in war. I had been in love with him since I was very young. He was all I ever wanted.” Princess Min Glances off into the distance, as if she’s reminiscing, “For his outstanding work as the General of the Imperial Army, my father gifted him a marriage to a nobleman’s daughter... Lord Tokko’s only daughter, Yeong.”

Lord Tokko’s name was vaguely familiar to you, you had heard your father mention him a few times. As for his daughter, you had never heard of this woman, but by the tone of Princess Min’s voice and the frown on her face, you know it was someone that the princess did not like.

“The Prince Regent agreed to the marriage, he actually cared for her, thought himself to be in love,” The princess scoffs and takes a small sip of tea, “It was not hard for me to get my father to agree to have Lady Yeong come to the palace to serve as a friend and companion for me.”

“She was one of the kindest, sweetest, young women I had ever met.” The Princess locks eyes with you, “So trusting that even as she lay dying, it never crossed her mind that I was the one that poisoned her.”

You're quiet for several moments, trying to gather your thoughts. Your voice is a little shaky when you finally ask, “Why are you telling me this?”

Princess Min ignores you once again, “We thought the sickness had skipped my brother. It usually only manifests itself in the women in my family, my grandmother had it too, you know?”

“What sickness?” You are growing more alarmed. The Princess was revealing information and secrets that you should not know and you did not understand her reasoning.

Again, Princess Min ignores you, continuing her story as if she were a player on stage and you the enraptured audience, “He never showed any symptoms, not a care in the world for anyone but himself. The closest he came was Concubine Nam, but nothing serious ever happened with her. He would never make her his consort, so I knew she wasn’t the one.”

“Imagine my elation when you finally arrived. You have turned out to be all we hoped for and more.” Princess Min smiles at you beautifully, her dark eyes shining almost manically, “The moment he saw you, your fate was sealed.”

Before today, having Princess Min’s confidence made you feel warm and welcomed. Now you only feel dread. 

“I.. I...” You lick your too dry lips and stumble over your words, your composure crumbling in the wake of the Imperial Princess’ confession, “I am to be married to Lord Kim. My father is working out the contracts.”

“Lord Kim?” The princess giggles, “My brother wanted to strip him and his family of their lands and titles, but I was able to talk him back from that.”

“I don’t understand.” You feel cold all over.

“Yes, you do.” The princess gestures and a maid comes forward holding a silver tray, the princess grabs the small bundle of letters and tosses them on the table, “You’re lucky that I was able to intercept these before Imperial Brother read them. If he knew you were writing to another man, he would have Lord Kim beheaded.”

You’re quiet, staring at the letters you wrote to Lord Kim asking after his health. The letters he never received. Too much was going through your mind. What about Ara?

“My father-”

“Your father has already agreed and I was able to have Imperial Brother gift a marriage to Lord Kim.”  Princess Min’s voice is pleasant, as if she's discussing the weather, “Your sister will be his bride.”

You stand abruptly from the table, your chair clattering to the floor behind you. You feel shaken and terrified. You knew something was off, but you were hoping, praying, you were wrong.

“Please excuse me, your majesty.” You step back from the table, your eyes slightly glassy, “I need to rest before tonight’s banquet.”

“Please, call me Ji-Soo…,” The princess smiles at you, her dark eyes are filled with what you now recognize as madness, the same look found in the emperor’s eyes when he looks at you, 

“..We’re family after all.”

-0-0-0-

When you arrive back at your courtyard, your mind is still struggling to comprehend what is happening. You rush past the servants and lock yourself in your room. You stare at the beautiful golden dress laid out on your bed, the diamonds twinkling as if mocking you. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Ara is supposed to be empress.

You slide to the floor, your back against the door. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You stare at the dress, but your mind isn’t focused on it. You’re trying to think, trying to plan. What are you supposed to do? You don’t even entertain the thought that your father will save you. You have no choice. Emperor Min holds all the power. 

You don’t realize that hours have passed with you staring blankly at the dress until the servants knock on your door. “My lady, we are here to prepare you for the banquet.”

“I don’t need help to prepare. Please leave me.”

“My lady,” The voice of the maid is trembling, fearful, “The emperor insists.”

You swallow and stand, your legs shaky. You open the door and stare at the servants, they are terrified. Terrified of the emperor, terrified of his displeasure. You realize that you and them are not so different. No one has a choice. Everyone is subject to Emperor Min’s whims.

“Where is Ara?”

“She has already been prepared for the banquet.” Several servants rush in carrying a large washing tub filled with steaming water. The water is fragrant and several flowers are flowing on the surface. 

You watch a large dressing screen being set up around the tub, several of the servants bow low to you before quickly leaving the room. You look at them questioningly and an older maid steps forward, “Forgive us, my lady. We are under strict instructions and not allowed to help you undress or bathe.”

“What? Why?”

The maid licks her lips and hangs several white undergarments over the dressing screen, “The emperor made a new decree that it is a crime punishable by death for anyone other than the emperor himself to view the empress consort’s nude body.” 

It’s a jarring experience to be referred to as the empress consort. 

“It- it is not official.” 

You want to scream at them that this is wrong. That you’re not even betrothed, that this isn’t supposed to be you. 

They won’t meet your eyes. 

The jade bracelet on your wrist slides, warm beads against cool skin, and that’s when you realize all the mistakes you have made. You can’t stop the heavy weight you feel in your chest. You can feel your lips begin to tremble and your eyes feel watery. You don’t want to cry, but you know you should because you have the horrible feeling that once you are announced as the chosen empress consort at the banquet, the emperor will not let you out of his sight. 

The maid smooths over any imaginary wrinkles in the undergarments and gives you a pitying look, “Please get dressed in these once you are finished and we will prepare you for the banquet.” 

You’re left alone and you robotically remove your dress and undergarments. The water is hot and relaxing and it soothes your frazzled nerves. You lean your head back against the washing tub, you can hear the maids quietly talking behind the dressing screen. Your mind is racing. You are a smart girl. Your father has always praised your brilliance and forward thinking and lamented over you not being born a boy. You could figure this out. You could find a way out. 

There is obviously something seriously wrong with the Imperial siblings. The Princess herself confessed to murdering a love rival and the emperor has never shown any sign of this alleged sickness until now. Concubine Nam is carrying his child. You’ve already told Princess Min about your distaste of the harem. You refuse to have a husband that continues to keep a harem of concubines. 

But you know, you know, you could not refuse the emperor’s suit. You did not have any choice in the matter. While this is not the outcome that you nor Ara want, you know that your father will be pleased. All men want is power. They do not care for who they hurt or how they use their children like pawns. Your father will be the father-in-law of the emperor, his position and power will be secured.

The water is cold when you finally decide to step out of the washing tub. You resolve yourself to your future. Being the Empress Consort is not the worst fate you can have, but you were fearful of your sister’s reaction. She will hate you. 

You slowly put on your undergarments and step out from behind the screen. The maids eagerly rush you over to the large dressing table and sit you down. You stare at your worn reflection in the large, ornate mirror. 

Several maids kneel at your sides, dipping your fingers and toes in a dark paste. Other maids rub scented lotion onto your arms and legs. You watch through your reflection as the older maid rearranges your hair into an intricate updo, her skilled hands working effortlessly.

Your voice is a little hoarse when you speak, but you clear your throat and look at the older maid, “Will you be my personal servant?”

“Of course,” The maid gives you a warm smile, “His highness chose me personally to care for his bride.”

You give her a strained smile in return, neither of you mention the fact that the emperor chose servants that would be loyal to him. It wasn’t uncommon for a bride to bring a handful of trusted servants with them to their new home, but these aren’t normal circumstances. You would truly be alone here. “May I know your name?”

“Unso.”

“Unso.” You say the name carefully, “Please take good care of me.”

“My absolute pleasure.” She beams and gestures to your hair, the golden hairpin shining on top. The hairstyle is extravagant and more beautiful than any you have ever worn. The other maids clean the dark paste off your fingers and toes, revealing the nails to be stained a pretty red. Another servant brings a small jar of white cream and rubs it onto your face. You sit still as makeup is applied to your face. Your lips are painted a dark red and your eyes are lined with kohl. A small, delicate mugunghwa flower is painted in red and black between your eyebrows.

You stand and the maids help you dress in the beautiful golden dress. They take their time making sure everything is perfect. When you are fully dressed, the servants all stand back and stare at their hard work.

“Mistress is the most beautiful!”

“The Emperor has chosen well!”

“Her beauty is unparalleled!”

“An absolute vision!”

“His highness will be most pleased!”

The praises are interrupted by Eunuch Ki. He gives you a once over before nodding to Unso, “Excellent. Make sure everything is prepared as instructed.”

Unso nods her head and steps back.

“My lady,” Eunuch Ki bows low to you, “Please allow me to escort you to the banquet hall.”

You look around nervously, “But Ara-” 

“Your sister is already at the banquet.”

“I see.” You nod your head realizing you don’t have a choice, “I would be honored for Eunuch Ki to escort me.”

He gives you another low bow and turns to lead the way out of your rooms. Unso gives you an encouraging smile and you nod your head in return. Eunuch Ki leads you out of your courtyard to an extravagant imperial carriage. From the design and brilliance, you can tell that this is the emperor’s personal carriage. 

The ride to the grand banquet hall is quiet. You’re positive that you’re shaking in your seat. Eunuch Ki is watching you, but he doesn’t comment on your nerves. The carriage comes to a stop and the door is opened by an imperial guard. Eunuch Ki steps down first. You follow slowly behind him, all the servants and guards bowing in your presence. 

The long walk to the banquet hall seems to last seconds. You can feel sweat beading on your forehead and you are distractedly worried that all the servants' hard work on your face paint will come undone.  The closer you get to the hall, the louder the music and laughter from inside becomes. You can hear that it is a grand celebration and you worry for a moment that you are late. 

Eunuch Ki stops several feet away from the double doors. He gives you a sad smile and leans close to you, “An empress does not show fear. An empress does not show despair.”

You nod your head in understanding, straighten your back and hold your head high. You can feel your heart beating out of your chest; the expectations of the kingdom weighing on your shoulders. You can feel the sinking feeling in your stomach that Ara will never forgive you. You desperately hope she can understand. 

You do not have a choice. 

“Please open the doors.”

The large golden doors are heavy, requiring several servants to push them open. A loud chime is heard from the inside of the room. Eunuch Ki steps forward and announces your arrival, but you cannot hear him over the sound of the blood rushing through your ears. 

You step forward and you can feel all eyes are on you, but the only eyes you can focus on are the emperor’s. Dark, calculating, mad. He’s not dressed in his customary black, but gold. His ceremonial robes are a bright gold patterned with black mandarin ducks, matching yours. His long hair is unbound, a glittering crown is placed upon his brow. He is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. 

The room is so quiet you can hear a pin drop. You take several slow steps into the room and make your way towards the emperor. Before you reach him, Princess Min steps forward, a handsome man you recognize as Prince Regent Jung Hoseok at her side. The couple is dressed in matching colors. Royal blue and patterned with silver bats. Princess Min leans close to you and kisses both your cheeks. She pauses to whisper a quiet, “Good Girl,” that only you can hear. Prince Regent Jung gives you a low bow.

You bow in return to the Princess and her betrothed. The room is still deathly quiet. When you finally reach the emperor, he stares at you as if you are the only thing he has ever wanted. You prepare to bow, but Emperor Min stops you, “From this moment forward, you bow to no one.”

You swallow and nod your head. Emperor Min continues staring at you, his eyes swirling with equal parts happiness and madness. Eunuch Ki steps forward holding a golden goblet. You stare at the goblet and then look at the emperor in horror. This isn’t right. You realize quickly that this is no ordinary celebration banquet. 

This is a wedding. 

You quickly look away, desperately searching for Ara. Slim fingers grip your chin tightly, you can feel the cold metal of his rings pressing into your skin. Your face is turned back to the Emperor.

“Who is the king?” His voice is quiet, but firm, “Who is the boss?”

You stare into his cold eyes. He knows he has you trapped and he knows there is nothing you can do. While you want to believe that you had reconciled yourself with your fate, you had truly hoped that you had more time to find a way out. But there is no way out.

After a few moments, you nod your head in understanding and open your mouth to accept a drink from the goblet. Emperor Min takes the goblet from Eunuch Ki and holds it to your lips. His smile is gentle, but his eyes are filled with triumph as you drink.

The rice wine is sweet but you barely taste it. You swallow a large gulp and lick your lips. The emperor’s eyes darken as he watches you and his smile widens. He gently places the goblet into your hands and you carefully hold it up to his lips. He takes several large gulps, but never breaks eye contact with you. 

Eunuch Ki grabs the goblet from you and before you know what is happening, you’re in the emperor’s embrace. One of his hands cup the back of your head as the other holds you tightly by the waist, “Finally, you’re mine.”

His kiss catches you off guard and you close your eyes involuntarily. You know that kissing is improper for a wedding ceremony and should only be done in private, but no one would dare question the emperor. His lips are soft and taste of the rice wine you just drank. When his tongue gently coaxes your lips open, you do not resist. Your fingers grip his shoulders and you cannot stop yourself from melting into him. 

When he finally releases you, you steady yourself against him. You’re in a daze as the emperor leads you to the royal table. You stand quietly at his side as he raises a glass of wine in a toast, “To my new bride, your new empress!”

The hall is filled with thunderous applause and cheering. Your moves are robotic as the emperor instructs you to sit next to him. He fills your plate with all your favorite delicacies and pours you a cup of tea. The musicians start playing music again and the murmur of conversations start up around you. You glance around the hall and realize that all the eligible young ladies that were prospective consorts are wearing matching dresses. Light blue and patterned with butterflies. The same dress that Ara was gifted.

You look around for Ara and you find her seated between your father and Lord Kim. Your father and Lord Kim seem to be in a serious conversation. Ara looks calm and composed, but her eyes betray her. You can see her unhappiness and your heart aches. 

“Beloved,” You’re jolted by the emperor’s deep, somber voice, “Don’t worry about your sister. She will be taken care of. Lord Kim will make her happy.”

It takes you a moment to respond, but you do so quietly, “My sister’s only happiness will always be with the emperor.”

The emperor glances in the direction of your sister and then turns back to you, his smile is sweet, “You are a good sister, but it’s time you put your happiness first.”

You’re puzzled, “My happiness?”

“Your happiness.” Emperor Min kisses your lips softly, “To be my bride. To be my queen. To be mine.”

You stare at him incredulously, and realize he truly believes that you are happy being his bride. He really thinks you wanted this and were only holding yourself back for Ara’s sake. Princess Min gives you a knowing smile from across the table. You sit in a daze as the night progresses. The emperor would let no other serve you, but himself, constantly refilling your plate and cup.

You can feel the angry glare of Concubine Nam on you from across the hall and when you finally meet her gaze, you're startled to realize that she’s also wearing the same light blue dress, patterned with silver butterflies, that Ara was gifted. In fact, all the concubines are dressed this way.

Concubine Nam’s face is fuller and glowing beautifully. Her soft, demure persona would be more believable if her eyes weren’t filled with hatred. You’re secretly pleased that her plan to trap the emperor has failed. If she was smart, she would try to gain favor with you, but instead she will most likely plot to poison you. You give her a small nod of acknowledgement and she sneers in return before turning away. 

The night drags on and you're exhausted from trying to keep a happy facade. You catch your shoulders drooping more often than not, and even feel yourself lean against the emperor a time or two. 

When it is finally time to receive congratulations from the representatives from the noble families, you stay quiet at the emperor’s side. You smile when needed and murmur thanks when prompted. Everything feels unreal.  

When your family steps forward, you try to catch Ara’s eyes. She nods her head at Princess Min and bows low to you, “Your highness, many happy wishes on your marriage. May the gods bless you with healthy sons.”

Her voice is cold and you can see the hatred in her eyes. You grab her hand, “Ara please, you must understand.”

“Understand that my sister is a liar?” Ara raises her voice and pulls away from you, “Understand that she is a snake who planned this?!”

“Ara, no.” Your voice cracks and you can feel tears brimming in your eyes, your exhaustion and stress finally catching up to you, “You are my most beloved sister. I would never-”

“And yet, here you are.” Ara’s voice is mocking, “Empress.”

The scene your sister is making draws the attention of your father and Emperor Min, who were in the middle of a quiet conversation near you. Even Princess Min is frowning from where she is seated, obviously hearing the raise of Ara’s voice. 

“Enough.” The emperor’s voice is cold as he glares furiously at Ara, “You dare to show disrespect to your empress?”

“She tricked you! Can’t you see she tricked you?!” Ara ignores the dangerous aura surrounding Emperor Min, “It was supposed to be me! I am supposed to be your queen. I love y-”

“Guards. Detain her. Disrespect to the empress is punishable by death.”

You can see the fear on Ara’s face, she backs away quickly, but the guards grab her. Your father looks alarmed and even Lord Kim looks fearful for your sister’s life. You look at the emperor and grip his arm tightly, “Please, please do not punish her. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

“She dared to disrespect you. She doesn’t deserve to live.”

“Please,” You beg him, you look at Ara’s fearful face and close your eyes in dismay, you know she will hate you even more after this. You firm your resolve and open your eyes, “She’s only a child.”

You press yourself against the emperor, “She’s harmless. She knows that what we have is real. She knows that you love me. She’s only jealous.”

The emperor’s eyes soften as he stares at you. “And you? Do you love me?”

You glance at your sister, an apology in your eyes, before wrapping your arms around Emperor Min, “I love you. Only you.”

He kisses you deeply and waves away the guards. Once he breaks the kiss, you feel yourself sag against him in relief as Ara is released and your father ushers her away. You can feel Lord Kim staring at you and when you finally meet his gaze, you're taken aback by the devastation in his eyes.

His eyes flicker between you and the emperor before he turns around and follows after your father. You stare after him but the emperor blocks your view. You look up and meet his eyes.

“Your eyes are only meant for me. No one else.”

You nod your head, but don’t say a word. Emperor Min continues to stare at you for a moment longer, before he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Eunuch Ki.” 

Eunuch Ki suddenly appears at the Emperor’s side ready and willing to do whatever is asked of him and gives a low bow, “Your majesty.”

“Take my bride to rest.”

“At once, your grace.” Eunuch Ki gestures for you to follow him and you do so without another word. Once the heavy golden doors close behind you, you finally let the tears fall from your eyes. You cry silently on the long carriage ride back to the other side of the palace. Eunuch Ki looks uncomfortable and like he wishes to offer words of comfort, but has no idea what to say. 

You go to rub your eyes with the sleeve of your dress, but Eunuch Ki stops you and hands you a soft cloth, “Forgive me your highness, but your dress must be preserved for the royal archives, you must not dirty it.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” You give a sad hiccup laugh and look out the carriage window. You realize quickly that you are not headed to the Mugunghwa Courtyard, but to the Emperor’s private courtyard. 

“I thought the Emperor wanted me to rest.”

Eunuch Ki gives you a look, but doesn’t respond. When the carriage rolls to a stop, Unso is there to help you down from the carriage. If she sees the distress on your face, she doesn’t comment on it. She gives you a low bow and leads you into the Emperor’s lair.

His private courtyard and rooms are enormous. Everything is draped in silks of black and gold. When you finally reach the Emperor’s private chambers, you’re astounded. His bedroom has the largest canopy bed you have ever seen, covered in a mountain of pillows. There is a large wooden desk in one corner of the room surrounded with several shelves filled with scrolls. There’s two separate golden resting sofas, each larger than you have ever seen and even a large dressing table with a mirror, obviously for a woman to use. There are also large double doors leading out to a small, private hot spring.

You watch Unso bustle around the room, preparing things and beckoning you over to the dressing table. “Your highness, let me help you remove your makeup.”

You sit quietly at the table and let Unso gently wash your face. You watch her put a special cream under your eyes to bring down the puffiness from your tears. She takes her time undoing your hair and leaving it unbound. You meet her eyes in the reflection of the mirror, “How many women has he bedded here?”

She looks puzzled at your question, “His majesty has never brought any woman here.”

“Concubine Nam?”

“Never.” Unso’s voice is resolute, “His majesty has never brought any woman, harem or no, here. These are his private chambers.”

“I see.” You don’t know if she’s lying to you, but if she is, you appreciate it. You feel slightly better knowing you are the only woman to ever sleep in his chambers.

Unso opens a chest and pulls out a black silk robe embroidered with red mugunghwa flowers and lays it over the top of the dressing screen in the corner of the room, “Your highness, you should remove your clothes and put this on. I’ll make you some tea and then you can lay down and rest.”

You slowly make your way behind the dressing screen and painstakingly remove your wedding dress. You leave it in a heap on the floor along with your undergarments. You know there is no point in wearing them and while you are nervous and a little scared, you know the consummation is inevitable. 

You put the silk robe on, and gently tie the sash around your waist. When you step around the dressing screen, Unso has already prepared the bed by removing many of the pillows and replacing the black silk sheets with a soft, white one. The white sheet shines ominously in the low light of the lanterns. 

“Your highness, have some tea to soothe your nerves.” Unso has brewed some fresh tea, but the scent is different than any you have had before. You sit stiffly on the edge of the newly made bed and take a small sip of tea. The taste is slightly bitter, but soon you feel yourself relaxing. 

“What type of tea is this?” You ask as Unso refills your cup and urges you to drink more.

She pats your head and gives you a warm smile, “Don’t worry. It was requested by his highness to help improve your health.”

You nod and don’t question her. You assume it’s similar to what the harem drinks to prevent pregnancy. The emperor is still young and with the drama that Concubine Nam has caused, you doubt children were on his mind. Before you know it, you’ve finished the entire pot. 

Unso helps tuck you in bed, and turns down all the lanterns. The only light in the room is that from the moonlight seeping in through the heavy curtains. You can barely keep your eyes open and the last thing you hear before you drift asleep is Unso’s quiet words, “Rest well, your majesty. You will need it.”

-0-0-0-

You’re awoken by a soft noise. You sit up and look around but don’t notice anything out of place. You’re still alone in the emperor’s bed. You see a faint glow under a previously unnoticed door in the far corner near his large desk. 

You get out of bed and make your way to the door. It opens soundlessly and a large staircase is revealed. You slowly make your way up the staircase, being careful not to make a sound. At the top of the staircase is a large room. It looks like an artist’s studio. Numerous canvases line the walls, charcoals and paints scattered over several large wooden tables stationed through the room. 

You see half finished portraits of Princess Min and a few of the previous emperors. You step into the room, careful not to disturb the artwork. There are some more paintings of several gardens and fountains that inhabit the palace grounds. In the corner of the room there is a beautiful hand carved desk, slightly smaller than the large tables, covered with more artwork. When you get closer you realize the paintings and sketches are all of you. You in the dress you wore the first night you arrived, you smiling in Princess Min’s private pavilion, you taking a walk in one of the private gardens, you asleep in your private rooms. Hundreds of paintings and drawings of you. 

You see another canvas underneath, it's slightly worn with frayed edges as if it’s been touched frequently. When you pull it out you see it's a painting of you, but this one you recognize. Two summers ago your father had you and your sister sit for a family portrait. The artist was impeccable and it was one of the most accurate paintings you had ever seen of yourself, it was almost like looking in the mirror. You see that the painting is torn, your sister and father removed from the portrait.

“You’ve found my sanctuary.”

You startle at the emperor’s voice and drop the canvas as if you’ve been burned. He’s standing at the entrance of the room, he’s no longer dressed in the golden robe, but now his signature black. It’s tied loosely, so the smooth pale skin of his chest is visible. His blond hair is loose and his crown is gone. 

“You’re quite the artist.” You gesture around the room, “but I notice there is no artwork of your concubines, of your beloved Concubine Nam.”

The emperor glances around, taking in his artwork as he steps further into the room, “Are you jealous of In-Suk?”

You frown at the use of her first name, but do not deny his accusation, “I do not like the thought of my husband bedding other women.”

“There are no other women.” Emperor Min slowly makes his way over to you, “You’re the only one that matters.”

You glance back at the desk littered with portraits of you, your eyes stopping on the torn family portrait, “How long have I been the only one that matters?”

He smiles, “Does it matter?”

“Yes.” You keep your voice calm and composed, “It matters to me.”

Emperor Min stands close to you, his fingers trailing over the artwork on the desk, “I had no interest in marriage. Lords and other noblemen constantly throwing their daughters at me. Your father is no different. Going on and on about Ara and how wonderful and virtuous she is.” He smiles wryly, “I finally got him to shut up by feigning interest.”

The emperor gently picks up the torn family portrait, “Imagine my surprise when he brings me this. A beautiful family portrait. I ask him about you and he immediately tells me about what a beautiful and doting older sister you are to Ara. How ever since your mother died, you have helped raise her. How you love her more than anything.”

He sets the portrait down and grabs your hands, gently turning you to face him, “I knew then that you would sacrifice everything for your beloved sister. I also knew that I needed to get you into the palace. Once you were here, you could not deny me.”

“But I was supposed to marry Lord-”

“Never say his name again.” Emperor’s Min’s voice is hard, leaving no room for discussion, “I am your husband. He is nothing.”

“Of course,” Your voice is quiet, you hesitate for a moment before you continue your questioning, “But… but Princess Min set up the consort selection. She told me she had to practically beg you to agree.”

“My beloved wife.” Emperor Min cups your face affectionately, his previous sour mood at the mention of Lord Kim completely gone, “You’re too trusting. She poisoned her companion, do you really think she would not lie to help her brother?”

“But Ara-”

“Ara will forgive you.” He presses a soft kiss against your lips, “Or she won’t. It does not matter.”

“But-”

“Is it really so bad being Empress?” Emperor Min presses another kiss to your lips, his fingers tangle in your unbound hair, “Being Mother to the country?”

“No-no, I am grateful to your majesty.” You shiver at his touch, grasping his shoulders as he presses himself against you.

“Yoongi.” He places more kisses down your lips and chin, “Call me Yoongi.”

“Yoongi!” You gasp when he softly bites your neck.

You feel him reach behind you and push everything off the large desk, the sound of canvases and painting supplies hitting the floor echoes throughout the room. Yoongi picks you up and sits you on the large desk, his lips never leaving your skin.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” His mouth is muffled by the skin of your neck, his lips and tongue trail lower. You feel hot all over and cannot help but shiver when his hand yanks the collar of your robe down your shoulder. “My beautiful queen.”

Your fingers clutch at the silk fabric of his robe, holding him closer to you. You don’t stop him when he undoes your robe, his hot fingers trailing down the skin of your abdomen. “Beloved, will you show me?”

You wordlessly lean back, letting the open robe slip down your arms, baring your nude body to his view. His eyes are burning as he drinks you in. “Absolutely Exquisite.”

Yoongi leans over you, pressing himself between your thighs, and kisses you deeply. His tongue licks into your mouth with desperation. His hands are shaking as he grips your hips, and you quickly free yourself from the sleeves of your robe.

He breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down your neck and chest, his hot tongue swirls around your exposed breast before suckling the nipple. You can’t stop your moan, your whole body jerks at the feeling. “Y-Yoongi!”

“Say it again.” Yoongi’s voice is filled with desperation as he kisses down your ribs, “Say my name again.”

“Yoongi.” You whisper and your stomach clenches when he kisses lower, his wet tongue trailing over your abdomen. You’re so aroused, you can feel your wetness coating your thighs, but you can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed. 

“I have never seen a more beautiful woman.” Yoongi presses a soft kiss below your belly button, “The country has never had a more beautiful empress.”

“Your highness flatters me.”

“No.” Yoongi’s firm voice startles you and when you meet his eyes, they are burning with madness, “This emperor loves you. Only you.”

You shiver at the look in his eyes and nod your head in return, “Yes. Of course.”

Yoongi presses another kiss to your abdomen, his large hands gripping your thighs as he stares at you, “Will you deny your king?”

“Never.”

The smile he gives you is equal parts beautiful and dangerous, his dark, dark eyes overflowing with adoration for you, “Good girl.”

Your breath catches when he spreads your thighs apart and leans forward, his mouth inches away from your wet, pulsing cunt. “I wonder if you taste as succulent as you smell.”

You feel your pussy throb at his words and you lean your head back against the desk, your eyes closing in anticipation. You find his crude words more arousing than you ever thought possible. Your heart is beating so fast and you can feel sweat beading on your forehead. While you have never been intimate with a man, you were no stranger to self pleasure. You just never imagined your first experience with a man would be the emperor of the entire nation between your thighs, waiting to pleasure you. The heady rush of excitement is making you dizzy.

You tense when Yoongi presses the flat of his tongue against your juicy pussy. His tongue is hot as it licks a slow stripe up to your clit and you both release a throaty groan when he sucks your clit into his mouth.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you get light headed from lack of oxygen. You're shivering all over and you feel a tight pressure in your stomach. Your entire body is tuned to Yoongi’s mouth, every lick and suck of his tongue has you soaring. 

“Better.” He whispers between licks of your swollen clit, his fingers shaking as he holds your thighs apart, “You taste so much better than anything I’ve ever had before.” 

You press your hand into your mouth to bite down on, trying to muffle your moans. Your other hand scrambles for something to hold onto before tangling in his long, soft hair. 

You press your heel into his back, but if Yoongi is bothered, he does not show it. He’s completely focused on devouring you. You bite your hand hard to cover your squeal when his hot fingers gently probe your cunt. He reaches up to pull your hand out of your mouth, his fingers gently stroking your wrist around the jade bracelet, “Do not dare hide your pleasure from me.”

He places your hand on his head, near your other hand already grasping his hair, and encourages you to use him as you please. A long, thick finger slips inside you and you cannot stop yourself from clamping down, your hips automatically rolling up into his face. 

“That’s it, my beautiful girl,” Yoongi continues to flick your clit with his tongue, “Ride my face.”

Your fingers grasp his head, holding his mouth against your aching cunt. You’re throbbing and dripping and you know you are going to come soon. You can feel the release building deep inside you. Yoongi presses another finger into your dripping hole and you can feel yourself trembling. He’s completely focused on you and your pleasure, his mouth working nonstop to help you reach your peak. 

You sit up slightly and meet his dark gaze, his eyes are brimming with satisfaction. You grip his hair hard and press his face against your dripping cunt. You’re so close you’re practically vibrating with pleasure. 

He twists his fingers and you're coming. You release a soundless gasp and can’t stop yourself from gushing all over his fingers. Yoongi moans at the taste of you, his mouth eagerly trying to swallow every drop of your release. You collapse on the desk, your orgasm still thrumming through your body. 

You barely catch your breath when he’s hovering over you, your release glistening on his lips and chin. He kisses you deeply, making sure you can taste yourself on his tongue. You can feel his body trembling as he undoes his robe and you cannot figure out if he’s nervous or excited, or a combination of both.

He breaks the kiss to look at you and your stomach flutters at his gaze, so full of yearning and affection, you’re no longer sure why you ever thought about denying him. You hadn't even realized something was missing from your life, he was missing from your life, until this moment. You weren't just doing this out of a sense of duty. Because you were his wife. Because he was your husband. You wanted this. Desperately. More than you’d wanted anything up until this moment. 

Full of your realization, you push his robe off his shoulders and spread your legs wider, allowing him to press himself completely against you. He’s hot and hard, pulsing between your thighs. You shiver at the feel of him, your sticky cunt still dripping from your orgasm. You look at him, his cheeks flushed pink, his forehead and chest slightly sweaty, his hair a tangled mess. His scar looks less intimidating in the low light of the lanterns.

“You love me?” You don’t realize you have said the words out loud until he stares at you, his dark, dark eyes burning.

“More than anything.” 

It’s intoxicating knowing you have this beautiful man confessing his love to you. He is the most powerful man in the entire world and he loves you more than anything. You can’t help the ugly feelings of jealousy bubbling in your stomach, knowing other women have seen him undone like this. Knowing that Concubine Nam has had him like this is unacceptable. 

“I want them gone.” You shift forward slightly, the head of his thick cock catching on your entrance. You feel so hot between your legs, your cunt aching to be spread open by him. 

“Who?” He sounds confused, distracted. His whole body is trembling, holding himself back from thrusting up into you.

“Your whores.” You roll your hips and feel him sink a few inches inside you, you hold your breath and try not to tense up at the intrusion. “I will not have a husband that has a harem. I want them all gone, especially that bitch Nam. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else seeing you like this.”

“Yes,” You feel more than hear him gasp, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, “Anything you want.

“You’re mine.” 

Your whispered declaration causes something inside of him to snap. You’re unprepared when he pushes completely inside of you. The burning stretch of his thick, heavy cock leaves your breathless. He groans into your chest, barely giving you a moment to adjust before he’s thrusting in and out. Every roll of his hips has you clenching around him. His lips press soft kisses into your skin between pants of yesyesyes and all yours. You’re soaked and shaking, your fingers clutch his shoulders, trying to anchor him against you. He’s so thick and so large, you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

“My Empress, My Goddess,” Yoongi whispers reverently into your skin, “I will give you everything.”

“Yes,” You press yourself closer to him, ignoring the feel of his ringed fingers bruising your hips, “All I want is you.”

Every thrust of his hips brings you closer to the edge. You’re quivering around him, so close you can almost taste it. You shudder when he releases your hip, his fingers gently rubbing your swollen clit, causing you to pulse around him. “That’s it, my beloved girl. Come for me.”

Yoongi softly pinches your clit and you explode. His tongue licks up your throat, his mouth swallowing your quiet cries of pleasure. You clench down and feel him gasp against you, his body shuddering uncontrollably. The pulse of his cock inside you floods you with warmth.

You close your eyes and hold him against you, trying to catch your breath. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. You slowly run your fingers through his hair and smile when you realize he’s still buried inside you.

He sits up and stares at you. You can see your reflection in his dark eyes. Your hair is disheveled and your lips are swollen. You can see your eyes are hazy with pleasure and several love bites adorn your neck and shoulders.

“My beloved bride.” Yoongi smiles at you affectionately, his fingers gently brush your hair back from your sweaty forehead, “I will never let you go.”

-0-0-0-

When you awaken you’re alone in the emperor’s bed, his side is cool, as if he’s been gone for hours. You’re sore all over, your husband spent most of the night inside of you, making you come over and over again until the early morning light.

You wrap the wrinkled white sheet around you and stand on shaky legs. You slowly make your way to the door and call for Unso. She appears immediately, almost as if she was waiting for you.

She helps you sit at the dressing table and goes about opening the curtains. Based on the sunlight entering the room, you can tell it is already early afternoon. Several maids clear the used bedding from the bed, and replace the sheets with clean silk ones. 

“Where is the emperor?” 

“His majesty wanted his bride to get enough rest, he would not let anyone disturb your highness.” Unso ignores your question and pulls a black dress patterned with golden dragons from the wardrobe. She hangs it over the silk dressing screen along with several undergarments.

You watch her through the mirror as she orders servants to prepare bath water for you. You can tell that something is amiss by the way Unso will not meet your eyes and the maids scurry about as if they are terrified of you.

“Your highness,” A younger maid bows low and holds out a fresh cup of tea, “your tea?”

You take the cup from the trembling maid, it’s the same bitter tea from the night before. You take a small sip, “Unso, where is my husband?”

“Your majesty, you must drink your tea, it is good for your health.” Unso comes out from behind the dressing screen, “Come take your bath, it will soothe your sore muscles.”

“No,” You set the mostly full cup of tea on the dressing table and stand up, “Bring me my robe.”

“Your majesty, you cannot go out in only your robe!” Unso’s voice is shocked. “It is improper!”

“Fine,” You make your way behind the dressing screen and put on your undergarments, “You will help me dress and then you will take me to my husband.”

Unso and several maids help you put on the stunning black dress. You’re ushered to the dressing table where you are adorned in diamond jewelry. Unso styles your hair with a jeweled dragon hairpin. Lotions and creams are rubbed into your face, neck and arms. 

Once you are deemed presentable, you follow Unso and several servant girls to the throne room. When you reach the large doors, Eunuch Ki looks alarmed to see you and quickly bows low, “Y-your highness! What are you doing here?”

 “Eunuch Ki,” You nod your head in greeting, “I came to see my husband.”

“I see,” Eunuch Ki shares an undecipherable look with Unso, “His majesty is conducting important business, he has asked me to inform you that he will join you in his rooms later for the evening meal.”

“Open the doors.”

“Please your majesty, you need to rest.” Eunuch Ki tries to placate you, “Let me take you back to the emperor’s courtyard or even to see Princess Min.”

“Open the doors. Now.”

Eunuch Ki looks helplessly at Unso before nodding his head. The guards slowly push the heavy doors open.

The smell is the first thing that hits you. The thick coppery scent of blood. You slowly step into the room and gasp in horror. The floors and walls are covered in blood. It looks like an entire massacre took place here. You walk further into the room and ignore the way the blood soaks into your silk slippers, seeping between your toes.

Eunuch Ki follows quietly behind you. There are several servants scrubbing the floors and walls, trying to remove the pools of blood around the room. You ignore them all, your eyes are completely focused on the emperor. He’s staring at a small golden box in his hand. A bloody sword rests near his feet. 

“Yoongi.” You whisper the words quietly, but his head snaps up immediately, his eyes focusing on you. 

“Beloved.” His eyes light up when he sees you, a beautiful smile spreading across his face. He rushes eagerly towards you. You realize he’s wearing a black robe, patterned with golden dragons, the same design as your dress. The only difference is his robe is stained with fresh blood. His hair is pulled up into a topknot, his black headband in place. Small drops of blood stain his cheeks and neck. He presses the golden box into Eunuch Ki’s hands before cupping your face, his fingers still wet with blood.

“My beautiful bride,” His voice is light, happy, “everything is perfect now that you are here.”

“Perfect?” You whisper and let him take your hands, leading you towards his throne. The golden dragon throne looks intimidating in the blood soaked room. The closer you get to the throne, the stronger the scent of blood becomes. You feel light headed, your stomach churning at the smells permeating the air.

“I.. I need to sit down.”

Yoongi looks at you concerned and immediately has you sit on his throne, “Are you alright, my love? Do you need some tea?”

“No,” You sit quietly. You feel sick, you feel sweaty, you can barely catch your breath, “I just need a moment.”

You close your eyes trying to center yourself. You know something terrible happened here, there is so much blood it looks like a battlefield. You're grateful that the bodies have already been removed, you don't know how you would have handled a room full of corpses. You take a few deep breaths and open your eyes, meeting Yoongi's bright gaze.  

“I have a gift for you.” Yoongi takes the golden box from Eunuch Ki, “I wanted to surprise you with it this evening, but you are here now. My beautiful girl.”

You stare at the golden box stained with blood. You take it from Yoongi with trembling hands. Yoongi is vibrating with excitement next to you. You can feel the pressure behind your eyes signaling that you are about to cry. You blink repeatedly, holding back your tears.  

You slowly open the box and stare at the contents. Yoongi holds your hands around the golden box, making sure you can’t drop it. You swallow the scream bubbling in your throat and meet his eyes. Dark, crazed, unhinged eyes overflowing with love for you. Love and madness.

You look back at your gift. Dead, lifeless eyes stare back at you. Concubine Nam’s eyes. Yoongi kneels obediently at your feet, soaking his robe in more blood. Blood from Concubine Nam. Blood from the rest of the harem. 

You can’t stop the tears from dripping down your cheeks. 

“They are all gone. Just like you asked.” Yoongi stares at you with reverence, his eyes sparkling, “I told you I would do anything for you.”

[cotncandyboifics]

1989 [High School AU]: Chapter 2

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter 8 ~ Chapter 9 ~

Pairings: slight Logince, eventual Prinxiety & Logicality

Word count: 1,974

Story summary: Roman Prince is your stereotypical Jock, with everyone swooning after him. Every day a crowd of people follow him around, only to disperse at his personal whim. In reality, he's lucky to have such good acting skills that help him cover up the disdain he has for his life. He only wishes he could use his skills properly.

Patton Whitelock's always there to lend a helping hand, no matter who you are. If you need a favor or just need someone to talk to, go to him. In reality, he's been taught from a young age that kindness should be held above all else. No one suspects that he took it the wrong way.

Logan Montgomery is the smartest boy in the Senior class. He's stern, and most people are too intimidated to speak to him. In reality, he despises most all of his fellow students. He sticks to his studies and doesn't stray, for fear of being stuck in his father's shadow his whole life.

Virgil Black is the most emo kid in school, let alone 12th grade; everyone knows to leave him be. In reality, he's very fortunate. He has two parents who love him dearly. But everything beyond his life, everything within his mind, is utter chaos and turmoil.

what will happen when they're assigned a biology project together?

General CW: food, swearing, implied s-lf h-rm, non-graphic descriptions of s-lf h-rm scars, graphic and non-graphic descriptions of anxiety attacks and panic attacks, drug abuse, minor character intoxicated on heroin, non-graphic drug overdose description, sickness/description of sickness, blood, non-graphic descriptions of needles, (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: <none> (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: there's an excessively detailed description of the biology project in this chapter. I haven't read it since i first wrote and edited this chapter two years ago. :)

...

Logan walked into his 4th Period class, biology, with a glint in his eye. He enjoyed the class quite a lot, and the teacher was passionate about the material, making the learning process all that much better.

"Good morning students!" He said cheerily from the whiteboard. "As you can see, I've rearranged the desks into groups of 4, and if you look up here at the board, you'll see the seating chart. These will be your groups for this semester's project." Logan scanned the projected seating chart and found his name. Near the center of the room, and his desk at an angle which he could still see the teacher. He glanced at the other names. he recognized two of them; Roman Prince, the school jock, and Virgil Black, notoriously introverted and depressing. The third name he didn't recognize; Patton Whitelock. He took a seat at his assigned desk, and awaited the arrival of his group mates.

Patton and Virgil arrived together. Logan recognized Virgil with his purple hair and sulking form, and as they walked closer, assumed the perky boy walking with him was Patton. Upon seeing him he realized this was someone he actually had several classes with, but had never bothered to pair a name with his face. He seemed to radiate an infectious joyful aura, and Logan felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he approached. Virgil just gave Logan a small nod, while Patton smiled wide and stuck his hand out across the desks to shake Logan's pale steady hand.

"Hi there!! My name's Patton! You're Logan, right?" Patton's voice went perfectly with his demeanor. Logan allowed a smile to cross his face - just out of politeness, of course -  as he shook Patton's hand.

"Hello Patton. Yes, Logan Montgomery. And you must be Virgil, correct?" He said, looking over at the dark boy sitting across from him, who was now slumped over on his desk with earbuds in. Virgil just glanced at him and gave a small nod.

Then, in a burst of flamboyance, Roman arrived at the table with his signature smirk displayed proudly on his face. He glanced around at his teammates. His smirk faltered at the sight of ta certain purple-haired emo, but he continued to scan as he sat smoothly, sliding his backpack under the desk. He greeted Patton with a handshake - the two were relatively friendly, as Patton often helped organize football events - and upon seeing the tall pale boy seated next to him, changed tone.

"Why hello there," Roman said in a deep voice, leaning over to Logan, who tensed up momentarily. But he regained himself quickly, and turned to face Roman.

"Salutations. Logan Montgomery. You are Roman Prince, I presume," Logan said cordially, holding his hand out to the jock. Roman only smirked and took Logan's hand, kissing his knuckles gently. In that moment Logan cursed his off-white skin, as he felt his face heat up and was sure the blush was plain as day. It only made Roman smirk more to see the effect of his actions.

"But of course. I suppose I should be thankful for the honor of being grouped with such a handsome-" In the midst of his courting, Roman was interrupted by the teacher clearing his throat and giving further instructions on the project.

"These will be your groups. No buts, this is final. Unless there is a serious conflict, I will absolutely not be changing your groups. Now that that's out of the way, I'll explain the project." He clicked a button on his computer, and the projection changed to a presentation about their project. "You are to write a detailed, extensive report on Lepidium Sativum, or Garden Cress, and its attributes in various environments. there will be three rounds in this project." He clicked a button again, and the slide changed. "in the first round, you will have two plants being given the same amount of water and light, but two different types of fertilizer. after two weeks, the fertilizer that has been the most effective in helping the plant thrive will be used for all future rounds." Next slide. "in the second round, you will have two entirely different garden cress plants, that are to have the exact same amount of sunlight and both be planted in the better fertilizer from the previous round. you are to take the recommended amount of water you should give the plants per day, and give one plant less than said amount and the other more. repeat this process for two weeks, and note which plant thrived more. This plant's dosage of water will be used in the next round as well." Next slide. "For the final round, two new plants will be given the optimal fertilizer and amount of water, but different amounts of sunlight. One is to be in the sun constantly, the other is to be kept out of the light. Whichever one is the most successful after two weeks time, will be presented in class at the end of said time period. these plants will be 10% of your grade for this project." Next slide. "Your report will include the following 11 paragraphs; 1, prior knowledge. any and all things you collectively know about Garden Cress. If you know nothing, then I'd devote some time to researching the plant. 2, the procedure for the first round. step-by-step description of what you did in the two weeks. 3, hypothesis or predictions for the outcome of the first round. 4, the results of the first round. 5, 6, and 7 repeat 2, 3, and 4 but for the second round, and 8, 9, and 10 for the third round. the 11th paragraph will be the conclusion; comparing all the results and analyzing them, whether you think your experiment was accurate, etcetera. I expect before and after pictures of both plants for all three rounds in your report as well." He then turned off the projector and walked over to a table, which had 16 plants on it. "Today is the beginning of the experiment, one group member will be chosen for the entirety of this lab to be conducted at their house, and said group member will come up and take two plants from here at the end of the period. We have... 10 minutes left. discuss among yourselves."

With that, they were off. Logan had been furiously scribbling notes in somehow impeccable handwriting. He looked up once the teacher had stopped talking and cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. "I will take the plants to my house. We should meet there every week at least, preferably on a consecutive weekday," he said.

But Roman had other plans, that he thought were absolutely brilliant in terms of his suddenly enticing pursuit of Logan. "Au contraire, my bespectacled friend," He began, "I believe that the best household for our project to be conducted in would be chez-moi," Roman finished with a dramatic hand-to-the-chest pose. Virgil couldn't keep in a scoff and a smirk, murmuring something under his break about how Roman didn't speak french. The others ignored him, but Patton looked at him curiously.

"And what could have possibly led you to that conclusion? I strongly believe that of the four of us," Logan said, looking around at his partners, "I am the most responsible. So, I'm curious to hear your reasoning," Logan finished, adjusting his glasses again and facing Roman more prominently.

"Well, Microsoft Nerd," Roman said, at which Virgil smirked again, "My house is only a few blocks away from school. Its very accessible, and I for one know that at least two of us would prefer to be near school," Roman said, looking over at Virgil.

Virgil considered protesting, but decided against it. "...I mean, he's not wrong," He said quietly.

Roman rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the assist, JD-lightful. Patton, what do you think?" Roman said, turning his attention to Patton, who was staring at his desk with a hint of a blush on his face.

He looked up upon being addressed, and responded. "Oh, um, I'm alright with either honestly." He said, slightly less perky than usual, glancing at Logan before looking back down.

Logan simply sighed and adjusted his glasses again. "Well, I'm not going to argue with you over something so trivial, so fine. We can go to your house."

Roman clapped loudly and put his hands down on the desk. "Wonderful! How's about tonight? And every Monday hereafter?" He said, looking between all of them. Logan nodded once, Patton nodded vigorously (only after Logan had given his nod), and Virgil just slowly bobbed his head up and down as if he was exhausted, leaning into his arm that was propped up on his desk. "Okay, it's a plan! Meet you all at the front of the school when 8th period is over." And with that, the teacher got the students' attention again.

"Alright students, it's time. Send up whomever will be taking the plants to their house." Roman stood up proudly and strut over to the table, where he picked out two of the nicest-looking plants on the table. There was a minute or two before they were dismissed, so the four of them took the opportunity to exchange phone numbers. Then the bell rang, and the students immediately filed out the classroom door and dispersed.

...

When Roman walked up to the bench at the front of the school at the end of the day - followed by a few of his fan girls, of course - only Logan was there. As Logan noticed people walking his way, he put away his phone hastily, as if embarrassed, and quickly began pulling different notebooks out of his backpack, trying to look busy. As Roman approached, he dismissed his pursuers and sat on the opposite side of the bench, while Logan attempted to start his Calculus homework.

"Well, if it isn't the Microsoft Turd," Roman said, looking over at Logan.

Logan didn't look up, merely scoffed. "You already made that joke."

"Well, it was a variation, and I can think of a Microsoft Third!" Roman shot back, smirking once again.

Mr. No-nonsense Logan responded, "have you heard from the others? it's been approximately... 12.4 minutes since 8th period ended," he said, checking his watch.

"No, not particularly. However, I did see Virgil sulking in the hallway on my off-block. Ugh, the nerve of him; he's constantly ruining the mood for everyone, in every situation! Are you listening to me?" Roman said, watching as Logan did his same scribble in a graph paper notebook, breezing through his work.

"No."

Roman put on an extremely offended face, and would've retorted, had Patton and Virgil not walked up at that exact moment. Roman opened his mouth to say something to Logan but his eyes caught Virgil's radiant hair, and he was momentarily distracted.

"Hey Logan!!" Patton said cheerily, waving to him while keeping his thumbs behind his backpack straps. "Are you ready for some science!?" He said the last word with zeal, and Logan looked up at him, smiling softly.

"Yes, I am rather looking forward to the actual project," Logan said, then glancing over at Roman, "though I expect there will be plenty of distractions on Roman's account."

"Only distractions you'll enjoy," Roman said, wiggling his eyebrows "flirtatiously". Virgil scoffed yet again from behind Patton, trying to hide his smile.

"Well, then let's get going!! I-I mean, if you're ready, Logan." Patton said, referring to Logan having surrounded himself with textbooks and notes.

"Oh, right." Logan pushes his glasses up the bride of his nose, and made quick work of putting his things away. Roman made an attempt in vain to carry Logan's pack; Logan said he wouldn't trust Roman with his backpack if it was "consisting of objects of an inconsequential nature, which it is not."

And they four made their way down the sidewalk, talking and teasing each other, unaware of the growing bonds between them.

[inhanf-archived]

11. ovipositor

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Squares/Prompts used:

#kinktober2020:   11. ovipositor

Warnings: Smut adjacent

Pairing/s: Emily Prentiss x Reader x Spencer Reid

Authors Note: I've never used an ovipositor before but I did some research. I mean absolutely no judgement on anybody who used these toys or partakes in this fetish, the reactions of the characters in this story are based in humour as a coping mechanism. I don't think they would judge anyone for this either and I hope it doesn't read that way.The G'lorp is a real toy, it can be found here.

Word count: 1640 AO3

You could hear them laughing before the key even entered the door, a rare and welcome sound when your partners were returning from a case. Padding softly to the kitchen to put on the kettle you were pleased to see their smiling faces join you moments later. ‘Good result?’ You enquired, setting up three mugs. ‘Eh, entertaining, let’s say that instead.’ Emily half grimaced and embraced you from behind, burying her nose into the crook of your neck and inhaling your scent.

‘Entertaining isn’t a word I normally associate with the BAU, not unless it’s family dinner or karaoke night.’ You filled the mugs with hot water, letting Emily stay wrapped around you and turned your head to look at the unusually quiet Spencer Reid. He was grinning and adding milk and more sugar to his coffee but there was a definite blush in his complexion. It was only when Em released you to finish making her tea that you noticed the package on the breakfast bar. ‘Open it’ Spencer hadn’t even looked at you, now fixing himself a snack and Emily had busied herself with rooting for cereal.

To say you were skeptical would be an understatement but you trusted that it wasn’t a head in a box so you sat on one of the stools and prised the box open. Skepticism morphed into major confusion and you slowly turned the box three times trying to make sense of it’s contents. You could feel them both looking at you now but you took another moment to compose yourself, not wanting to laugh in their faces if this was something they’d been working up to.

‘See this is how she beats us at poker.’ Em said, grinning into her bowl of muesli. Spencer has a hesitantly optimistic smile on and was nodding sagely. You looked down at the box and up into each set of brown eyes in turn, waiting for them to give some kind of hint. Their grins had you thinking they’d done this for the lols but you could never be totally sure. Emily had a great many kinks hidden behind those big brown eyes, maybe this was one of them. You kept your poker face, allowing your lips to mimic the small grins on theirs and waited them out.

Em cracked first, snorting into a fit of laughter. ‘I’m sorry, there was this shop and you really had to be there to get the joke but we both wanted to see your face so.’ She shrugged and gestured to the box which you now reached into. Gripping it round the middle you placed the only flat side of it down onto the counter. It’s main shaft was bright pink, the flat base a dark blue and the little tentacles were purple. Emily was surprising a fresh fit of laughter and even Spencer was chuckling into his coffee. Your own grin was demolishing any remnant of your poker face and you crossed your arms and cocked your head to the side, taking in the strange silicone object.

It was massive, easily twelve inches long and as thick around as your wrist. It had a hole in the base and the top tapered to another wide slit. You had a million ideas about what they wanted to do with this thing but for all your open mindedness you had no clue how it was going to be pleasurable. ‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Em asked tentatively. ‘Oh Penelope would have many thoughts on this, she’d probably keep fluffy pens in it in the batcave.’ The three of you dissolved into giggles at that visual. Clutching her side Em leaned against the opposite counter top and waited for your eyes to meet hers. ‘Really, what do you think?’. You sighed and wiped away the tears from your cheeks. ‘Honestly?’ ‘Honestly.’ They replied in unison. ‘It looks like you searched Doctor Who on PornHub.’ You answered honestly and with a miraculously small number of chuckles. Spencer spat his last mouthful of coffee back into the mug and bent over the breakfast bar counter, his head in his hands and shaking with laughter. Em cocked her head and gave the thing another look nodding her agreement with you.

Tearing your eyes from it you looked back into the box and extracted what looked to be a reusable egg carton and a booklet which you opened with hesitant curiosity.

‘G'lorp: Bringing sex to a (w)hole new dimension.’

You scanned the booklet for a word, a phrase, anything you could find that might give you a clue about what G’lorp actually did. It was on the last page that you found images of other equally brightly coloured and unusually shaped silicone creations and the word ovipositor. It suddenly dawned on you and you picked up the egg box and flicked back to a FAQ page you’d dismissed earlier. Recipes for gelatine mould.

Your partners were both around the kitchen island now, Spencer looking at you with a grin and biting his bottom lip, Emily sat on the countertop, legs folded, her huge brown eyes watching you over her mug of tea. ‘I have a few questions.’ You state with more calmness than you truly possessed. They nodded in unison again. You opened your mouth to speak and closed it again, unsure of how you were going to ask them without you all dissolving into giggles again. Deciding to pick the G’lorp up, it was far less scary now it had a name, you looked at it instead of your waiting partners, tracing the different textures in the silicone with your fingers.

‘Who did, no what did, what did you want to do with it? Well who also I guess.’ They smiled but the giggles seemed to have faded for now. ‘At first we just wanted to see your reaction, it’s not something either of us ever knew about.’ Em spoke up, glancing to Spencer to make sure she was on the right track. He nodded and reached across to the box and took out a small ziplock baggie with several yellow balls in it the size of large chicken eggs. ‘We were laughing about it in the hotel room and decided to test it out.’ ‘To see if it’s named after the sound it makes. It kinda surprised us both how nice a feeling it was to squeeze them through it.’ Em finished and took a long drink of tea.

You were all looking at the ball eggs now and putting G’lorp back into the box you reached out to Spencer to see what they felt like. He extracted one and placed it in your outstretched palm. ‘It’s a little lubey, that’s how you get them into it.’ Reaching into the bag he pulled out what looked like a large golf tee and placed another ball egg on top of it. You’d taken G’lorp from the box again, and held it in one hand with the slippery egg rolling in your other. Taking the dildo from you Spence lined up the hole in the bottom with the tee’d up egg and with a small schloop noise it went in. He handed G’lorp back to you and you gave him back the egg, wanting to grip the massive toy with both hands now it had lube all over it.

You could feel the ball inside and with a little pressure you could move it back and forth inside the shaft. Grasping the toy below the ball you pushed it towards the tapered end and it flew out and across the kitchen to land in Emily’s empty cereal bowl. ‘There’s a messed up sport in there somewhere’ Emily said with a wry grin as she washed the milk off the slippery egg and handed it back to Spencer. ‘Ten points to Gryffindor’ you and your boyfriend echoed and the prior calm was lost again to laughter and theoretical discussions about hippogriff reproduction and the likelihood that G’lorp was a distant relative of the flobberworm.

The G’lorp and its egg ball children stayed in your closet for a while after that night. None of you had any great interest in trying it out but there wasn’t enough disinterest to throw it away either. You were seriously considering gifting it to Penelope for her pen collection after unearthing it while cleaning one Saturday when Spencer came into your room and stretched himself across your bed, taking it out to examine. ‘I think you’d like it Y/N’. You pulled your head out of a garment bag full of lingerie and looked up at him from the floor. Giving the silicone toy an affectionate look you made a spur of the moment decision. ‘Okay’ Spencer rolled onto his stomach in surprise. ‘Okay?’ You nodded and repeated yourself. ‘Guess I’ll go make some fresh eggs then’ Spence took the box and left your room. You could hear him quietly saying ok to himself all the way down to the kitchen.

The three of you stood at the foot of Emily’s bed. You’d laid out an old duvet, anything involving this much lube required protective coverings. Emily had been as surprised as Spencer to hear you’d given them the go ahead and now that you were all here, fresh eggs made and G’lorp freshly cleaned for the event none of you really knew what to do. You weren’t as giggly as you had been the night they brought it home, but you could only insist so many times that you had no desire to role play getting eaten out by Davy Jones from Pirates of the Caribbean before you collapsed onto the bed laughing and thrust the toy at them. ‘Let’s just get on with this yeah?’ You rolled your eyes and laid back as they joined you.

[danishmiilk]

PART ONE. --- SICHENG

next || masterlist

summary ||  a collection of crack stories from y/n and nct working together in taeyong’s pizza shop - ncity pizza. written from povs of different characters.

genre || crack

pairings || none. 

warnings || swearing. a lot. probably. idk.

word count || 1.8k

taglist || @teasysan​ @hannie-dul-set​ // send a dm or an ask to be added to the taglist! though why you’d want to be added, i have no idea why

The cashier grinned at Sicheng as he walked into the pizza shop after his psychology lecture with Professor Kim. It was nice to be welcomed with a smile after a long day, so Sicheng smiled back at him at approached the cashier.

“Hey, you must be the new part-timer, right? Well, you go into the back over there, and Y/n’ll pass you the uniform.”

Sicheng felt the smile slowly slip off his face. What? He hadn’t signed up for this. “Uh,” Sicheng let his eyes wander to the nametag on the cashier’s uniform, squinting at the small writing. “Uh,” he repeated again intelligently. Channeling two years of Japanese lessons which he had mostly forgotten, he tried reading the nametag again. Screw it, he couldn’t remember how to read Kanji - reading it the Chinese way would have to do. “What, think my pecs are impressive? Why do you keep staring at my chest?” Sicheng felt himself flush, heat rushing up to his cheeks. He glared at the cashier silently, too taken aback to say anything else. 

“You’ve got it wrong, I’m not a part-timer, uh, Yōu tài-san?” The cashier’s grin grew impossibly wide. “Yuta,” he corrected gently, “Anyway, are you younger than me? Your application says you’re born in 1997- you can call me hyung, then!” Sicheng opened his mouth to protest again, but before he could say anything, Yuta was already calling out for someone. “Y/n! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE, THE NEW PART-TIMER IS HERE!”

“COMING! My god, what’s gotten your knickers in a twist today, Yuta?” A girl popped her head of faded purple hair out of the back room. She was a traditional beauty, very pretty with smooth skin, a small face and delicate features. Sicheng felt his breath catch for a moment, momentarily forgetting that he should be correcting the cashier who was so adamant on him being the new part-timer even though Sicheng was not. He felt hot breath on his ear, “Ah, ah, part-timer. It won’t do to ogle now, would it? Don’t worry, we were all like that once. But she’s the devil’s spawn.” Sicheng felt heat rush to his cheeks again, though it had never really left.

The girl looked him up and down, then stretched out a small hand. “You must be the new part-timer! I’m Y/n, one of the workers here at this godforsaken pizza shop.” Sicheng reached out his hand mindlessly to shake hers, “Sicheng. But I’m not the part-timer?” At the same time, Yuta said, “Don’t let Taeyong hear you call his shop godforsaken.”

Y/n looked at Sicheng quizzically, “You’re a funny one, you. And Yuta? I’m the favourite child, you know. The only daughter will never get into trouble.” 

“What did you do now, Y/n?” A voice floated into the front from the distance, presumably Taeyong. Y/n gulped, “AH! UH, NOTHING! What are you waiting for, Sicheng? Come on.” Seeing as Sicheng would continue insisting that they’d gotten the wrong person, Yuta pushed him into the back room and slammed the door. “HEY!” Sicheng turned to bang on the now-closed door, but decided against it. He could use some money and he’d been planning on looking for a part-time job anyway. 

“Yeah, see? No point arguing with Yuta if he’s made up his mind,” Y/n grinned at him, “And by the way, Donghyuck just stole your wallet.” Huh? Sicheng whirled around, only to be met with a boy with rainbow hair holding up his wallet. The expression of shock on his face must’ve been extremely hilarious, because both workers around him burst into laughter. “Don’t worry, I’m not actually a thief,” Donghyuck smiled at him, “But do consider buying me a meal sometime, I’m broke and hungry.” Dazed, Sicheng nodded slowly along to his words, having zoned out a while ago. Then the realisation hit him that Y/n’s previous words hinting at her knowing about the misunderstanding. 

“Wait, you know I’m not the real part-timer?” 

“Ooh, an impostor? What are we doing, playing real-life among us?” Donghyuck stuck his head in front of Sicheng’s face, smiling a cheeky grin. “Fuck off,” Sicheng blurted out before he could stop himself. “Ha, I like you already. Anyway, Chenle’s stealing food from the walk-in freezer, do you want me to get you some, Y/n?” Y/n gave a squeal and threw her arms around Donghyuck, nodding her agreement. Looking at another boy who just walked past gnawing on a frozen mozzarella stick, Sicheng decided not to tell them that if the food was in the freezer, it was either frozen or raw, and they couldn’t very well eat it.

Having shooed Donghyuck away, Y/n turned back to him, “Well. Of course you aren’t the real part-timer, I saw his application form thingy, his name is Jung Jaehyun. You’re Chinese, aren’t you, Sicheng?”

“Yes! Oh, it’s great to meet another Chinese speaker, I-” Y/n cut him off in Korean, smiling apologetically, “Sorry, I don’t speak Chinese.” Someone yelled, “Don’t believe her! She just wants to eavesdrop when you speak Chinese, she’s perfectly fluent!” 

Y/n’s face darkened, and she lunged after the culprit, “Yangyang, you fucking piece of shit, I was going to have some fun with him!” Grabbing a rolling pin off the nearest counter and out of the hands of the chef, she whacked the wall with it by accident, then threw it at Yangyang, running after him while laughing. 

At this point, Sicheng wasn’t even sure if this pizza shop had rules of its own, seeing as theft, violence and eating frozen things belonging to the shop were - apparently - allowed. Someone hit Sicheng’s head with a greasy pizza box by way of greeting, and he turned around, realising that it was Ten, his seatmate in one of his classes. Which made the pizza box greeting not that out of the norm, really.

“Ten-hyung…”

“Sound more awake, motherfucker!” Ten yelled at him, dropping another pizza box into the arms of a passing worker, who only saved it because he kicked it up like he was playing soccer. “Yo, Sungchan! Stop playing soccer with that shit and pass this whole stack over to Mark over there, kay? He’s the driver, he’ll know what to do.”

Sungchan grinned and lobbed all ten pizza boxes one by one across the whole kitchen to Mark, standing by the door, who somehow managed to catch them all, though not without getting cheese and tomato sauce all over his “carefully styled” - his words, not Sicheng’s - hair. 

“Shit, why’d you do that?” Mark whined, shaking out his hair, “Now it’s ruined!”

Sungchan rolled his eyes, “Nothing’s ruined, you shit. It looks way better this way, your hair was fugly.”

“Ah, yes! Let’s go,” Ten dusted his hands off on his apron, dragging Sicheng to a rack of clothes sitting in the corner. Sicheng eyed the dust on the uniforms dubiously. Pulling the rack out forcefully, Ten elicited a yelp from the circle of people on their phones behind it. Ten glared at them, “Slacking off during work hours?”

One of them looked up and shot a string of angry German at Ten. Ten, scandalized, gave a mock gasp of shock and put his hand to his chest, “Yangyang taught me how to swear in German! And you did not just call me a-”

“Did too.”

“Oh, you’re the new employee? What was it, Sicheng? Y/n told me about that little misunderstanding, but you look alright, hey! Welcome to Ncity Pizza. That’s Jaemin, Jeno, Donghyuck,” at this, said rainbow-haired boy waved at Sicheng, not taking his eyes off his phone, “Renjun, the one who just swore at Ten is Chenle, and I’m Jisung.” Sicheng offered up a smile, then found a nice corner with fitting clothes that weren’t three sizes too small or five sizes too large (both of which had been proposed by the boys a few minutes prior; they were apparently horrible judges of size).

By the time he’d returned, Ten had been dragged into whatever game they were playing that Sicheng couldn’t recognise. Ah… among us.

“GUYS, I SWEAR IT’S RED. RED’S THE IMPOSTOR.”

“I’M RED!”

“NEVER SAID YOU WEREN’T THE IMPOSTOR, HYUCK!”

“IT’S NOT HYUCK, HE DID ASTEROIDS IN WEAPONS.”

“DID YOU SEE THE GUNS SHOOT OUT STUFF?”

“WHAT GUNS.”

“YOU SEE, IT’S HYUCK!”

“WHAT PROOF DO YOU HAVE?”

“YOU WOULDN’T LET ME COPY YOUR HOMEWORK YESTERDAY.”

“WHY IS IT GETTING PERSONAL?”

“BECAUSE I HADN’T DONE IT EITHER YOU LITTLE SHIT?”

“Oh. WELL, I DON’T CARE! RED’S ALWAYS SUS.”

“YEAH OKAY VOTE RED VOTE RED.”

“Red was not An Impostor, 2 Impostors remain- YOU SEE? IT WASN’T ME!”

“SHUT UP, YOU’RE DEAD.”

“I’LL KILL ALL OF YOU. ALL OF YOU! THEN NONE OF US WILL BE ALIVE!”

“Ooh, scary.”

Chenle - or was it Jisung?- waved at Sicheng, “Care to play?” Sicheng shook his head hurriedly, deciding not to partake in this tomfoolery. The boy shrugged and returned to his game, calling for an emergency meeting and starting up another round of discussion.

“IT’S JENO GUYS, I HADN’T SEEN HIM THE WHOLE GAME.”

“WELL, MAYBE BECAUSE SOMEONE SET THE VISION TO BE 0.25x? AND THE SPEED IS LIKE 0.5x I WILL CRY PLEASE.”

“WHERE WERE YOU JENO?”

“OH WAIT GUYS I JUST PASSED BY ORANGE’S DEAD BODY THAT’D BE CHENLE.”

“YEAH I DIED.”

“THEN WHY ARE YOU GOING AROUND ACCUSING PEOPLE?”

“I WAS IN NAVI GUYS.”

Weird. Sicheng could’ve sworn he’d seen the dude standing around admin, at least two metres (or the in-game equivalent) from any task. Then again, Sicheng was looking over his shoulder, and Jeno was An Impostor. 

“Jaemin sus y’all,” Ten fiddled around with his phone, “It’s so definitely him.”

The younger boys stared at him for a while, before Renjun asked, “Are you even playing?” “Yes! I’m playing, okay? Jisung asked me!” Ten replied indignantly. Renjun stared at Jisung accusingly, “Stop inviting all the lame people to our games! Now that I think about it, Ten’s sus too.”

Of course, neither Jaemin nor Ten were The Impostors. Chaos followed, with everyone dogpiling on- the real Impostors? Of course not! Jaemin and Donghyuck and Ten! (“Why’d you act so sus if you’re not An Impostor?”)- including the actual Impostors, which somehow nobody bothered to check at the end of the game. Sicheng would go so far as to say that Jeno and Y/n did a good job, but really all they had to do was keep their mouth shut at the side and add fuel to the brainless “discussion” (what discussion?) going on in the background.

“Y/n,” a man in a white shirt strolled toward the group of people, “Can you go to the front and help out with the register?” Y/n groaned and ran her hand through her hair, putting her phone down, “But Doyoung, Yuta’s being the cashier and Taeyong’s handling the calls and online orders!”

Doyoung arched an eyebrow at her, “You can go on damage control.”

Grumbling and groaning, Y/n made her way back to the front. “And the rest of you! Go and work! What does Taeyong pay you for?” Honestly, Sicheng didn’t know either, noting the fact that he hadn’t seen a single person work in all the time he’d been at the pizza shop.

©danishmiilk, 2020.

[herradhighpriestess]

Deliberate Exchange

Summary: Elka Green is at work the morning the Exchange. She is one of the hostages pulled onto the motorcycles and not released. Elka is married to a conservative judge, in a loveless marriage, there's all sorts of drugs, sex and violence and political references/quotes that could offend, I hope you enjoy, xoxo I don't own any of these characters etc.

Chapter One: A Personal Note

Elka Green climbed the steps of the Exchange building, her eighteen hundred-dollar Gucci heels sounded in staccato clicks on the pitted and well traversed steps of the Exchange.

She tossed her hair back and adjusted the silk scarf that was loosely wrapped around her slim neck. Elka’s dark blonde hair fell long past her shoulders.

A sharp breeze blew in her direction, and a single tendril of her macadamia nut oiled hair caught in the loose knot of her scarf. As the wind died down, the single strand of warm blonde hair pulled free of her scalp and settled in the silken valleys of the designer fabric.

Elka paused at the top of the steps when she heard someone call her name.

“Elka, hey Elka!”

She forced her lips into a welcoming smile as Jerry Reynolds jogged over to her.

“Hey Elka, how was your weekend?”

“Good morning Jerry, it was pleasant. Thank you for asking.”

Jerry ran a manicured hand through his seventy-five-dollar haircut. Elka started walking again and kept her matte lipstick smile fixed in place as she headed in the direction of an organic coffee cart.

Jerry kept pace and prattled on about his weekend, completely oblivious to Elka’s disinterest. She struggled to not roll her eyes as Jerry rattled off story after adventure about his wild weekend.

Elka’s smile turned genuine when Albert Phinney pressed a white lid on a recycled paper cup and passed it to her as she walked up. “Good morning Mrs. Green, I hope your weekend was well,” he added as she accepted the hot cup from his hands.

Albert watched her intently as she took a sip of the steaming soy concoction. She smiled warmly when the sweet espresso flooded her mouth and coated her taste buds.

“Today, it’s a soy hazelnut macchiato with a dusting of cinnamon and nutmeg.”

Elka took another sip as Albert whispered that he had added some light agave syrup. Monday through Friday, Albert made Elka a mystery espresso. It was a tradition that had started more than seven years prior and showed no signs of stopping unless one of them ceased to live.

It had been Elka’s first day at the Exchange, she had started on the lowest part of the totem, barely clinging to its wooden splinters. She had been obscenely early for her first day, not many people had been around. Albert had been brewing coffee and unwrapping and arranging sweet pastries and Bavarian cream filled delicacies onto plastic platters.

Elka had straightened the stiff collar of her stark white blouse and pinstriped blazer as she approached Albert’s coffee cart. He had offered her a warm smile and didn’t tell her that he wasn’t quite set up for business yet when he saw her nerves peeking out from behind her statuesque and stoic facade.

Elka stood a little over 5’8 and in her Jimmy’s, she came in just a hair under six feet. Albert’s smile broadened when Elka couldn’t decide on a coffee and held up a wrinkled, liver-spotted hand to pause her indecisive litany.

“Allow me to make you a drink not on the menu,” he had whispered in a low conspiratorial tone and bustled about steaming soy milk and adding an amber colored sweet syrup.

Elka had smiled gratefully and accepted that first drink which started the long-running weekly tradition of Albert creating her morning coffee. She always abstained from one of the tempting and delicious looking buttery pastries. Every great once in a while, Albert would top one of her morning espressos with whipped cream and fat light-brown raw sugar crystals.

Elka put a few dollars in the battered paper tip cup and headed to the large revolving doors of the Exchange with Jerry hot on her highfalutin shiny, leather heels.

Elka breathed a sigh of relief when Jerry said he’d catch up with her later and hopped into an already packed elevator to head to the bustling seventh floor. She casually waved at him and continued in her preferred solitary fashion of the carpeted floor of the Exchange.

She sipped at her macchiato and reveled in the sweet coffee as she readied her mind for the day.

Elka was Mrs. Elka Alsina Green. Married just under four years to Justice Calvin Patrick Green of the Supreme Court.

They had met when Elka had been a key witness in a defense case against a legal firm CEO caught up in a masterful Ponzi Scheme. Judge Green had waited until the verdict had come in and had slammed his gavel down before asking her out for dinner.

In their short marriage, Elka’s bullish behavior and competitive drive led to her being promoted to her current position of an Information Systems Analyst Supervisor. Her intense focus at the Exchange led to people loving or hating her, unfortunately Jerry was head over heels for her, smitten beyond belief, despite Elka’s multiple reminders of her marriage.

She hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings by adding that she held zero attraction towards him.

Elka swirled the coffee in the dull green paper cup as she stalked through the Exchange and paused to say hello or offer a few passing words to several colleagues. After she finished the coffee, she fished a pack of gum from her burgundy Louis Vuitton bag. Soon the sweet and artificial peppermint coated her tongue and chased away her coffee breath.

Elka adjusted the shiny plastic badge over her heart as a familiar and delightful nervous energy filled her body, leaving a vast tingling in its wake that danced through her limbs as she waited for the opening bell to ring.

As Elka’s heartbeat increased and she snapped her gum faster, Jerry had remained at the Exchange entrance and looked down at the older man running a stiff bristled brush over the tops of his shoes.

Jerry could nearly see his reflection in the buffed surface of his shoes.

“You can’t short the stock because Bruce Wayne goes to a party,” Jerry said loudly to the man sitting next to him. The man whose name Elka couldn’t seem to remember. Dennis.

“Wayne coming back is change. Change is either good or bad. I vote bad.” The man who Jerry was looking down upon in his current sitting position as well as in life was a very loyal man with five grown daughters. Esau pretended to be every part the simple-minded man who was shining the shoes of the pretentious, all in hopes for a few crisp bills and shiny coins to rain down around him.

Esau continued to work the brush over the tops of Jerry’s gleaming shoes, urging a glow to swim to the surface. As Jerry and Dennis continued to discuss Bruce Wayne, Esau let his eyes wander over to his black nondescript backpack which held a loaded automatic weapon.

“On what basis?” Dennis asked.

“I flipped a coin,” Jerry answered casually before adding. “Come on let’s go scalping,” he said as he tossed a fresh five-dollar bill to land next to Esau‘s leg.

Esau watched Jerry adjust and smooth down his royal purple tie that stood out proudly against his bright blue and white striped shirt.

While Elka covered a deep yawn, Scott Carthwright pulled a creased ten dollar bill out of his pocket when the delivery guy from Antonio’s, a stellar delicatessen, walked up with a brown paper bag.

Scott opened the bag and pulled out the parchment wrapped sandwich that was supposed to be a mortadella on wheat with a fat pile of pungent pepperoncini and thick rings of Vidalia onion. He was looking forward to the olive oil and balsamic dressing that would soak the bread and impregnate it with the progeny of sweet, bitter, spicy, and savory. Scott let out a dramatic exasperated sigh and looked at the delivery guy who sported sharp features and a hooked nose. “It says rye, I said no rye man.”

The salt and pepper haired delivery man, Joshua, flicked his eyes over to the clock before his gaze landed on Scott’s plastic badge and ID number, G13689.

While Scott continued to bitch about his sandwich, on the marble landing of the carved staircase, Karl pushed a wooden handled mop along the floor after a pair of traders walked past. His beige monochromatic clothing made him almost disappear in the sea of ostentatious bustling busybodies with their platinum money clips, excessive caffeine consumption and high blood pressure.

Karl glanced down at his sunny yellow mop bucket filled with sudsy water.

Submerged in the soapy water was a matching automatic weapon to Esau’s, which laid in deadly dormancy, waiting to take lives.

Elka glanced up at the large clock and made her way to her glass-walled corner office, which was sprawling and spacious, she smiled at the fresh peonies her secretary Janice had left on the corner of her desk.

No sooner had Elka taken her seat and booted up her computer, when her life changed irreparably by a masked man in a leather jacket.

The metal detectors began to blare their alarms as Bane walked into the lobby of the Exchange, armed guards milled about with their federally issued .40 caliber handguns.

Bane’s broad shoulders were encased in a well-worn and creased leather jacket. DCS Downtown Courier Service, was emblazoned across the back in dull brick red letters.

Bane’s thick and heavily corded muscular neck and body were obscured by the fire engine red helmet that drew the attention of Sandra, a full-time member of the Exchange’s security team.

Sandra approached Bane and began to recite her repetitive litany for newcomers to the Exchange.

Her dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail and she struggled to not roll her eyes in irritation at yet another person not being able to read the sign that clearly stated to remove all headwear, from hat to motorcycle helmet.

“Hey rookie, lose the helmet. We need faces for camera.”

“Come on,” Sandra managed before the red helmet was off Bane’s head and smashing into her face. The bridge of her nose exploded, and she saw bright blue stars before losing consciousness.

She would awake in a narrow emergency room gurney a while later, a plastic IV line in one arm, keeping the pain down to a dull roar.

In a brutal display of startling power, Bane moved to the right and swung the helmet in an arc, catching another guard in his forward momentum. He dodged left and avoided the next man’s reaching arm and gun. Bane slipped around the man’s extended arm and forced him to discharge his weapon before dropping him to the ground.

Bane looked around at the fallen guards, his veins and arteries swelled and became engorged with lethal toxicity. His body moved with the feral grace of felines stalking in the tall brush of the Serengeti.

“This is a stock exchange, there’s no money you can steal,” Jerry said in a tone that still held the repugnant tone of his obnoxious silver-spooned upbringing.

“Really? Then why are you people here?” Bane rebutted quickly and pulled Jerry roughly by the neck to a nearby desk. Bane slammed Jerry’s soft featured face onto the desk’s paper cluttered surface and ripped the plastic access badge from his chest.

Dennis tried to sink into his seat and disappear off of Bane’s radar, his sweating fingers struggled to not drop Bane’s red motorcycle helmet onto the ground. He felt like he was going to piss his pants, sphincter tightening. His stomach threatened to reject his liquid latte breakfast, acidic bile burned at the back of his throat.

While the metal detectors continued to blare their alarms as the masked group of men stormed the lobby. The masked men were all heavily armed and swarmed the offices and took up post by the elevators.

One of the men sprayed a line of bullets in the ceiling and the abrupt gunfire quieted a lot of screams.

Another anonymous man lifted a bullhorn to his masked mouth and began to speak. His voice reverberated through the lobby and reached Elka’s ears as she crawled under her desk and hugged her knees to her chest, through the glass walls, Elka could see that Janice had taken the same position under her own desk.

“Disobedience will be punished by death,” the masked man began and in a brutal display of startling power, grabbed one of the crying interns who was wailing incessantly and pulled her to her feet. He swung the bullhorn in an arc, catching the crying woman in mid-sob and knocking her unconscious to the floor.

“Cooperation and silence are what will allow you to retain your life.” Elka peeked around the corner of her desk as the masked man looked around at the people shaking in fear, the veins and arteries in his muscular neck swelled and became engorged with lethal toxicity. His body moved with the feral grace of felines stalking their unsuspecting prey in the tall brush.

Elka ducked back under her desk as the man’s gaze took to sweeping across the faces of the scared men and women standing in trembling huddles. They were corralled by their own fear, nearly paralyzed with the thought that the next bullet fired was going to kiss them between their shoulder blades.

Elka took a sharp intake of breath and nearly felt the weight of the masked terrorist’s eyes pass over where she was hidden from view. She flinched when she heard his voice grow in volume as he moved down the hallway, his men had spread out and were dragging people from their offices and impromptu hiding spots.

Elka pressed her lips together and inhaled deeply through her nose, she tried to remember all the jargon her yoga instructor spouted about finding a place of calm and being able to breathe away anxiety. She closed her eyes; her heartbeat was pounding in her ears with a dull roar and she couldn’t shake the image of the masked man. A short film on perpetual repeat, danced behind her eyelids of his predatory stalking around the Exchange floor, his eyes found every weakness among the hostage masses, from their red blood cells to their very warm, wet core.

Elka risked another peek around her desk just as the armed man did another visual sweep. His eyes landed on Elka when her face appeared around the mahogany desk. Elka found herself unable to move, trapped under his warm caramel colored eyes.

As the dangerous man approached her with light footfalls despite his heavy boots, he watched her expression fill with fear. He smiled behind his mask as he closed the distance between them, walking towards her with deliberate and painful slowness.

He stopped in front of her, “stand up,” he ordered and pointed to the floor in front of him. He watched her struggle to stand and found he barely had to drop his eyes to return her wide-eyed stare. His eyes fell to her plastic badge indicating her supervisorial capacity.

The next few moments were a blur for Elka, she was startled back to reality by the feel of his massive hand enclose around her bicep.

From the closeness of his proximity, his voice caused her stomach to clench and her mouth went dry.

“How much longer does the program need?” the intricate metal asked man asked Esau, with his eyes completely trained on Elka and the rapid and rise and fall of her chest.

“Eight minutes but they cut the fiber, cells working,” Esau said as he watched the progress of the computer program weave its way into the monetary network.

She flinched when she heard his voice call again to the man that had until not too long ago, shining shoes.

“Time to go mobile,” sounded the masked man’s musically toned voice as he closed a large hand around her upper arm. From the closeness of his proximity, his voice caused her stomach to clench and her mouth went dry.

The next few moments were a blur for Elka, she was startled back to reality by the feel of his massive hand yank her around by her bicep.

Elka heard the shouting of the masked man’s counterparts and fresh gunfire erupted as she was pulled towards the exit doors of the Exchange.

“Everybody up!” a deep male voice shouted and was followed up by a spray of bullets. Some hit yielding flesh with a meaty smack.

“You two, move.”

Bane paused in front of Dennis and pulled at the red helmet that he was clutching like newborn stock options.

“Thank you,” Bane said in a haunting and melodic tone as he pulled the helmet from Dennis’s sweating hands.

Elka seemed to wake up as the physically imposing man pulled her towards a line of waiting motorcycles.

She began a futile attempt to pull free of his grasp.

He didn’t audibly respond to her feeble attempt at resistance, instead he tightened his grip until he forced a hiss of pain from her lips and yanked her towards the closest bike.

Bane didn’t relinquish his stranglehold on Elka’s arm, even as he swung his leg over the bike and settled on the padded seat. He spared a glance at Elka before he pulled her to perch in front of him.

Her fears were renewed when he started the bike’s engine and began to let it idle as the other men with him gathered the remaining hostages at the exit doors and got on the bikes as they gunned the engines to life.

Outside, SWAT and police milled about and argued about the best approach to the terrorists.

Foley and Blake had their firearms leveled at the Exchange as one of the rooftop snipers squinted and called out. “I’ve got something.”

“Steady….” Foley called.

“Steady.”

The hostages started down the steps of the Exchange and the security chief shouted over the growing Gotham Police Department’s adrenaline buzz.

“Hold your fire, they’ve got hostages.”

In the midst of the shouting, Elka tried to slide out of Bane’s grasp, she almost squealed with victory when the toe of her shoe hit the ground. Her joy was fleeting as Bane wrapped a powerful arm around her and pulled her back until she was flush against his chest. She was forced to shift her body until the smooth, metal gas tank was cool against the inside of her trembling thighs.

As Bane and his men tore through the city on their motorcycles, they dropped their hostages one at a time.

The police force erupted in chaos and officers tried left and right for a clean shot at any and all of the terrorists, while trying desperately to avoid the innocents.

Some of the unlucky guys and gals landed poorly and Gotham’s emergency room had a slew of broken wrists and ankles to grit-filled road rash.

The original objective had been to take temporary hostages in order to ensure a safe escape from the Exchange.

As Bane urged the bike’s speedometer higher, Elka squeezed her eyes shut.

Bane kept his grip on her strong and unyielding, through the razor thin vents of his mask, he could detect the sensual aroma of a high-end parfum, sold only in overpriced blue glass bottles.

The fragrance held the sweet and citrus undertones of rosehips and bergamot.

Bane inhaled a lungful of the subtle fragrance as he continued to maneuver the motorcycle through the city.

As he steered them further from the Exchange, Elka began to fall still under her body’s shock response.

“Where are you taking me?”

Bane was genuinely surprised when Elka’s voice sounded above the wind rushing past them. He responded immediately and without delay as soon as her last spoken syllable had tumbled from her lips.

His single word response caused her vocal cords to temporarily cease to function.

“Home.”

[faelune-home]

A Blade of Fallen Petals

(A/N: Sometimes it’s the major story NPCs, and sometimes its the smaller ones. They were only around for so long, but their death still hits like a brick. ;-;

That’s Wilred here. A little story about missing him, and coping with that. I used Lyse as a bouncing off NPC for miqo!Fu partly due to location (since the mini questline that acknowledges him and gives him a resting place in Stormblood goes into the Lochs) but also I find Lyse an interesting character to discuss death, just because for as much as its not presented in game, she’s lost a lot. She’s probably quite familiar with it.

I want to write more of these NPC remembrance stories, and I’ve already done a few prior - one for Minfilia, and two as part of FFXIV Write 2020, both actually featuring Lyse incidentally - but I’d like to do more.

Didn’t do too much editing after I finished writing, so apologies for any iffy errors.

@ffxiv-writers)

Cracking bones pierced the air as Lyse stretched, finally freed from the stuffiness of the castle meeting room. It felt like she’d been up and moving and chatting since dawn had broken, but she could rest at last. Spying the sun in the sky, seeing it just hovering above the walls of the Quarter, she let out a breath of relief. It would be nearing meal time, and she was starving. And she’d have to consider collecting a plate for Fordola as well…

“Well well, if it ain’t Lyse? I figured you’d be busy till sundown,” a voice called, snapping the woman from her thoughts. Gundobald approached with a wave, an affable smile on his face, which she gladly returned.

“It’s getting close enough though, isn’t it? So technically I have been,” she countered, nodding in the direction of the lowering star. “But it’s good to see you, especially after so long.”

“Likewise, lass, likewise. And it's good to be back in Ala Mhigo, even if it's only for a day,” the elder man hummed contentedly, looking around the city with pride in his eyes. Lyse couldn’t help but smile at his reaction.

“Right, you said you’d stay behind for those that couldn’t make the trip,” she mused, remembering the arrangement one of her soldiers - his own nephew - had made to transport the Ala Mhigans home, “So what brings you all the way here then? Just seeing the sights? Taking back stories for the older folk back in Thanalan?”

Gundobald tilted his head. “Aye, I suppose I could do that for them. Rhalgr knows even in their last few days, everyone back in Little Ala Mhigo gains a bit of new life being reminded that their home is free now.” Then he shook his head. “But that wasn’t the main reason I came. It was to pay some respects to some old comrades. The ones that couldn’t be here even to hear the news.”

Lyse lowered her head upon hearing this. “I see. I did learn about the old mercenary monument up north. Probably still fitting for everyone else that uh...passed beyond these lands.” Looking back at him, she asked, “So you’re returning home now? Would you like an escort?”

“Nah, I’m not so enfeebled I can’t handle myself on the return trip,” the highlander shook his head, though there was a friendly glint in his eye as he said it, “Better to keep your men here where they’re needed more, Commander. But if you want, you could send someone to go check on the Scions’ Warrior girl by the monument.”

At this, the woman perked up. “Fufu is here? There, I mean?”

“Aye, I figured you would’ve known, that she would’ve told you. She was up there before I arrived, and she’s still there now.” Lyse shook her head, surprise still colouring her features. Gundobald frowned, but he didn’t sound worried when he added, “Well, I’ll let you look into that on your own. Suppose you’ve been so busy you could do with a catch up with your friend. I’ll get started on my way back.”

He waved, wandering off down the cobbled streets, leaving a pondering Lyse to her thoughts.

~*~*~

The woman didn’t wait long before making the decision to venture to the old tomb, leaving behind an order to deliver food to the resistance’s prisoner should Lyse not return in time to do it herself. A bread roll haphazardly stuffed in her own month would do her until then.

The sky was turning a shade of purple by the time she reached the monument, the clouds painted orange and pink in the fading sunlight. A sole figure sat on the quickly chilling stone in front of the pillar, the only other source of light coming from a small lantern mounted on the saddle of a sleeping chocobo nearby.

“Hey,” Lyse called out, making the miqo’te jump and spin around. A hand hovered over the chakram by her waist, however Fufu quickly relaxed at the sight of her old friend. Her flickering tail settled.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Fufu said as Lyse joined her. The hyur gave the Scion a friendly nudge, lightly scolding her by saying, “Of course you weren’t, ‘cos you never even told me you were here.”

The miqo’te winced, a sheepish smile on her face. “I’m sorry. In my defense I did show up at the palace gates, and I thought about it, but everyone said you were busy pretty much all day. They offered to take a message, but I didn’t want to interrupt or make you take time out if you were doing important stuff.”

“You’re never interrupting,” Lyse chucked, “I’ll always be happy to make time for you or the other Scions if I can. If anything,” she groaned, rolling her shoulder, both girls wincing at the loud crack it let out, “I’d appreciate having an excuse to take a break.”

Fufu nodded. “Alright then, noted.” Both women fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying the quiet as night fell, the sounds of the salt waves lapping at the shore behind them, and Fufu’s noble bird snoring softly next to them, the lantern swinging gently on its hook with each breath the chocobo took. Their faint shadows shifted ever so slightly against the stone structure.

“Who are you here for?” Lyse finally asked, the question having been sitting on her tongue since she’d arrived. Fufu didn’t answer immediately, but Lyse didn’t expect her to. In the meantime she added, “I met Gundobald in the Quarter, he said he came here with you. Or more like you arranged to meet here, I suppose, he said you were already here when he arrived from Little Ala Mhigo.”

Fufu’s tail twitched, managing to brush against the hyuran’s arm.

“Someone I knew once.” Was all she said.

“Did I know them?”

“...Kinda.”

They sat again, Lyse willing to wait for her friend to talk, or even if she didn’t at all. But after a moment, Fufu took in a breath.

“You remember one of the first reports I wrote on my own? For one of my first missions without another Scion watching me.” With a sly smile and a side eye toward her friend, she added, “After the whole thing with the sylphs.”

Lyse inadvertently spluttered as she burst out laughing. “Oh gods! I remember that! Your penmanship was awful, and it was so plain!” 

Lyse was already near falling to the floor from hysterics, however the miqo’te shoved the other woman over with an exaggerated pout all the same, though unable to hide the amusement in her voice as she argued, “Excuse you, I’d never done much writing before then, never mind for a fancy mission report. And what am I supposed to even put in one? ‘Went to Little Ala Mhigo, nobody liked me, I had to save some kids from the amalj’aa’? And it's not like you or Papalymo or anybody else was around to help me write it.”

“I kno- gods,” the hyuran gasped, finally trying to bring her laughter to an end. Given their location, things were sure to take a turn, even if Fufu had started the moment of levity. Indeed the woman in question had turned sombre once more. Lyse coughed, trying to stem her chuckles. “Alright, I’m done.” 

Another breath out to calm herself, then Lyse said, “I mean, really, it was plain, but that’s fine. It did the job it was meant to do - say what happened, what you did - and you were still new to it all. And teaching you wouldn’t have helped, you probably don’t need to write those anymore. So nothing to dwell on anymore. Right?” Fufu shot her a grateful look. Then she looked up at the stone beacon in front of them.

“Well, one of those kids involved in that whole thing, he’s here now.” Lyse flinched, eyes glancing up at the tomb.

“The one that didn’t die in the amalj’aa attack...but he died later as a Brave,” Fufu said, her face eerily straight, yet her eyes already beginning to water. Lyse herself found her eyes drifting to the foggy horizon, a faint memory of a bright eyed, hopeful looking young man dressed in blue coming to mind.

“His name was Wilred,” the miqo’te added without prompt, “And he meant every word of the Braves’ original creed.”

She shook her head, letting out a shaky breath. “I know a few of the folk that believed in what the Braves were meant to be still stuck with the Scions after that whole mess, but Godsdammit, I wish he could’ve been there as well. He just disappeared one day and then h-he was...he’d been left to rot in Urth’s Fount! He d-didn’t deserve that, h-he…”

Her words caught in her throat, and despite pressing her hands against her eyes to stem the oncoming flood, a sob broke from the warrior. Without hesitation, Lyse pulled the miqo’te into her shoulder, letting her friend weep freely. Fufu’s chocobo nearby stirred, letting out a small chirp at the sound of its mistress’ crying. A glance from the monk let the bird settle again, although the tenseness in its haunches betrayed its worry.

“He should’ve been here, I know,” Lyse mumbled gently, rocking to try and calm the other woman. She bit her lip, trying to think of what she could say to soothe her friend, but coming up short. She didn’t know the boy that well, only recognising him as a passing face in the Rising Stones...and one that eventually stopped showing up.

“It’s more than that,” Fufu hiccuped, lifting her head. Her eyes were already red raw. “He started out so angry and desperate, desperate enough for the ascians to notice him and his friends and...and he was the only one to make it out alive. And that changed him, and he wanted to do good after that. And the Braves were supposed to be his second chance to do that and-- By the Twelve, Lyse, he was younger than us.” Her voice cracked, and Lyse winced.

Still, the woman leaned her head forward against the other’s in a reassuring gesture. Fufu sniffed.

“I know I can’t go back and change things. I can wish and hope and say what I could’ve done instead - and I wish I’d watched him more now, I wish I’d taken Riol worries to heart, and I wish we’d never crossed paths with Ilberd, that I had cut him down where he stood if I knew then what I do now - but I know that won’t change anything about what happened before.” She let out a heavy sigh after her rant, finally seeming to calm. “I wish for a lot of things Lyse.”

“Me too.”

“I wish he had a chance.”

“I know. I wish all the time that Papalymo was still here to help me. He’d keep the resistance in line better than I could.” At that, the keeper chuckled.

Another sniff. “It’s moments like this...losing people I feel like I could’ve saved, it makes me try harder. So I don’t have to lose anyone else. So normal people can have a chance after hardship.”

“For those we have lost?” Lyse said, a small smile on her lips. Fufu smiled back, nodding.

“I wish they didn’t have to die, but I won’t let their deaths be in vain. But...but I guess it all feels like so much sometimes. And I need to be alone to deal with it. I know I could stay with the other Scions and they wouldn’t judge me for it, but just every now and then...” She trailed off.

“I get that,” the hyuran chuckled, ruffling Fufu’s hair, “And that’s fine, good even. It shows that you care. That the whole Warrior of Light title isn’t just for show. Better that than coming across like some soulless killing machine.” 

“I’m proud of what I do, since I can help so many people, but sometimes it can feel like a weight,” Fufu pouted. 

Lyse sighed. “I know the feeling.”

The highlander stood, her knees cracking, offering a hand to Fufu as well. The chocobo finally woke after a whistle from its rider, stumbling to its feet.

“We’ll go back to the Quarter together, and you can spend the night with me. I can send a soldier or call Tataru’s linkshell to let the Scions know,” Lyse suggested. Too worn down by her emotional outburst to argue, Fufu nodded, the idea sounding appealing at that.

“And in future,” the woman continued, “if you come here again, I insist you let me know. I won’t let you sit here on your own. This sort of thing is better with a little support, isn’t it?”

Fufu looked up at the stars above, the shimmering dots reflecting in her wide watery eyes. She smiled, looking back at her friend.

“I’d appreciate that.”

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

Oliver Twist and Little Orphan Annie

PART TWENTY OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: discussions of physical/emotional abuse, anxiety about future, serious angst, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 5.8K

Summary: As graduation approaches, Ella and Jess paint a room, and attend a party.

“How have you never painted a room before?” Ella asked, tiling her head at Jess as she guided his hand, armed with a roller, up and down.

A creamy white streaked the wall in stark contrast with the old color, giving off pungent fumes. Her one window was opened all the way, letting in the late May air. Rain poured on Stars Hollow, a thunderstorm which brought humidity and lightning. The sky had faded to a dark greenish-gray, a dull bruise. But Ella felt her spirits lifted high. Lorelai had paint leftover from redoing the Independence Inn following the fire, and she’d given it all to Ella. Sometimes, she didn’t know what she would do without the Gilmore matriarch. If she had to stay in her room during college, the least she could do was have a new mural. Three of the walls would be soft eggshell, while she had yet to decide the exact design of the one behind her bed. She had a lot of purple to use, and was thinking something floral. But the base coat was all they needed for the day.

Jess had volunteered rather than been recruited, but it quickly became clear to Ella that he had no idea what he was doing. His first few strokes were patchy at best, textured at worst. She was thankful Luke hadn’t gotten a new apartment back when they were thinking of moving. The plan then had been to have Jess paint it. Ella could only imagine the quarrels which would have ensued. As she guided Jess’s hand, she maneuvered around the mattress in the center of the room, piled high with almost all her belongings and surrounded by layers of plastic to protect the carpet.

“We can’t all be Michelangelo,” he quipped, frustrated with his clear incompetence. In theory, painting a room evenly wasn’t hard. But, a perpetual renter, he had zero experience. Theory was proving much different than practice.

Ella snorted a laugh. “Jess, it’s not the Sistine Chapel. You’re painting one wall with one color.”

“Easy for you to say. You paint all the time.”

She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t have to help. Just don’t apply too much pressure. We’ll have to do a few coats, but that’s the only way to make it look good.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jess grumbled as she stepped away from him, going to her own paint tray and prepping her roller for the wall next to his.

“I know you will, James Dean,” Ella said, more sincerely than he was expecting.

Smiling a tiny smile, Jess glanced over his shoulder at her. Her hair, held away from her face in a black bandana, fell down her back. The old Pixies t-shirt she wore rose up as she reached high on her tiptoes, exposing the dimples in her back, above the waistband of her worn jeans. His stomach buzzed with pleasant butterflies as he turned back to the wall.

“You write your speech yet?” Jess asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Groaning playfully, Ella shook her head more to herself than to Jess. “No. Not quite ready to pretend to have some inspiring message about the last four years. Also, I’m pretty sure my speech is going to be the last one. I’ll have to follow whatever those student government kids have to say.”

“Well, graduation is still three weeks away. You’ve got some time, Miss Valedictorian,” he said.

“One of four valedictorians,” she reminded him, her tone dismissive. “With the lowest GPA of all four.”

“How many times, Eleanor? It’s still a huge deal.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she said, breathing a soft sigh.

Before Jess could speak again, a quiet knock sounded on the door. Ella’s father didn’t wait to be invited in before he opened the door. Both of them turned and Jess could almost see Ella’s body turn rigid. Jess bit his lip again and put his paint roller down in his tray as Jake Stevens began to speak.

“Hey, Ellie, how’s it going in here?” Jake asked.

“Fine,” Ella shrugged, gazing around the room. “Should be done by tomorrow or day after next.”

Jake nodded. “Good. Don’t want the house smelling like this forever.”

“Right,” she said. “I just figured...white will be a better color for a guest room when I move out, and with the pink gone only one wall will need painting by then.”

“But that won’t be for a while, right?” Jake said, eyebrows raised.

There was almost a warning tone in his voice, Jess thought. In the interactions he’d seen between Ella and her father, it was never blatant. Jake never said anything overtly cruel or malicious, but it was in the way he said things. Like he knew there was nothing his daughter could do to get out from under his thumb. Like he could forever bind her to the role her mother used to fill, the chores and the emotional labor, while still ignoring her as if she didn’t live in the room right next to his. It was such an odd dichotomy.

Jess could definitely understand having a parent who was often neglectful, but there was a strange, controlling element to Jake’s behavior which Jess had never experienced himself. Many of Liz’s boyfriends (and sometimes fiancés, and sometimes husbands) were addicts with less than friendly personalities. But they were never around long enough to establish true manipulation of him. Instead, Jess would fight with them (more often than not, to protect Liz) until they got fed up and left. Then, Liz would blame him for driving the guy away and the cycle would begin again. The last time he’d gotten into a scrap with one of her men, punches had been thrown. Jess had even landed a few himself, but his fighting back proved to be the final straw for Liz. Instead of watching the man walk away from her, she’d sent Jess to Luke. But, of course, she’d moved onto the next one by the time Jess returned to New York following the accident with Rory’s car.

Those men, their main weapon was fear. But Ella’s father wielded guilt instead. He used his words, how he said them, and small actions disguised as discipline, instead of his fists. He loomed over his daughter coldly. She didn’t often talk about it, but Jess knew Ella’s father had slapped her at least once as a child, for talking back to him at the dinner table. She’d made the comment off-handedly, as though it was nothing. As though all parents kept their kids in line using such methods. And she claimed her father hadn’t touched her in anger since, that things were getting better between them, that her father had a hard childhood of his own and he had learned to parent in an abusive environment. But touch wasn’t always the vehicle for household violence. A family could have some kind of love without it being a healthy kind of love. It wasn’t dramatic, he didn’t witness any blow-outs. And though Jake always had a beer in hand when he was home, Ella only shook her head when Jess brought it up, told him her father never got blackout drunk anymore. Not since Fiona came around. But the subtle, warning tone was always there. And Jess could see shades of it every time Jake and Ella spoke to each other.

“Yeah,” Ella said, offering a weak smile. “Not for a while. But I’ll be thanking myself in four years.”

“Smart,” Jake agreed, nodding. Then, he turned to Jess: “And how are you, young man? No college plans I hear?”

“No,” Jess said, shaking his head. “Personally, I think I’m better equipped for trades.”

Again, Jake nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on Jess. “I suppose only time will tell, won’t it?”

“Yes. Yes, it will,” Jess said shortly.

Jake smiled thinly. “Well, I can’t wait to see the room when it’s done. As you were, kids.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Ella said, picking her roller back up as her father shut the door behind him.

Swallowing dryly, she took a second to listen to the rain outside. She flexed her free hand once and then got back to work, humming a Fleetwood Mac song under her breath. Jess watched, hesitant to say a word. Slowly, he began to paint again, rollers squeaking quietly against the walls.

“I hate it when he calls me ‘young man,’” he said, trying to keep his tone light.

She scoffed. “Wow, I’m shocked.”

“Yes, I’m very unpredictable,” he quipped. “There you go, type-casting me again.”

“Hey, I can’t help it if you’re James Dean back from the dead,” she teased, smirking over at him. “Speaking of which, are you too cool for the party next weekend, or are you gonna come watch Lane play with me?”

Running his free hand over his mouth, Jess locked eyes with her, looking over his shoulder again. “Depends. Are we gonna go make fun of everything like we’re gonna do at prom?”

Ella nodded. “Everything except the music. You can come be a Grinch with me, just like at the diner on Christmas.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“And you don’t get to complain about my driving at prom. It’ll be a station wagon instead of a limo, since your rust bucket is gone,” Ella reminded him. Three weeks prior, Jess had walked out of the diner one morning and found his car gone. He had heard no leads about it since.

He sighed through his nose. “Whatever you say, soccer mom. I’ll get the tickets this week.”

“Okay, but I’m paying you back for mine.”

“If you insist,” he shrugged.

“I do.”

His eyes lingered on her a moment longer as she reached high on the wall. Sidestepping his painting tray, he brought a gentle hand to the small of her back and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Scrunching up her nose, she chuckled and told him not to distract her. And he went back to work laughing.

.   .   .

Though there were rips in her fishnets, Ella felt an added, confident skip to her step as she passed town square. The Spring Fling festival banner was still hung over the gazebo, though it had ended with a parade the night before. Bunches of flowers still lined the streets, beginning to wilt in the heat of May. In the back of her mind, she worried vaguely about her dark eye makeup melting off in the sunshine. Her Doc Martens squeaked on the tile floor of Luke’s as she waltzed in, breathing a small sigh at the gust of cool air conditioning. She smoothed down her black floral dress, blowing loose strands of hair, which had fallen from her half-up, half-down look, away from her freckled cheeks.

Only a few customers peppered the red tables, and no one occupied the counter. Luke scribbled on his pad as he stood behind the ancient register, preparing to close.

“Hey, Luke,” she called, smiling slightly at him.

He mumbled a greeting to her, not glancing up. Ella scoffed out a laugh at his disinterest, and didn’t bother asking if it was alright before going behind the curtain and trudging up the stairs. He’d been acting off lately, and though she wondered if it was something to do with his lawyer lady friend, she knew better than to ask. She’d spent the afternoon before visiting Julie in New Britain, and he seemed to have cooled off at least a little since she’d last seen him. Granted, it had been a Thursday, inventory day. One could always expect a fair amount of open hostility from Luke on inventory day. Ella could hear the sound of the Sex Pistols before she even neared the apartment door. Only knocking twice, and assuming she wouldn’t be heard over the music anyway, she stepped into the apartment. Jess sat up in his bed, reading Dead Souls, brows furrowed in concentration in spite of the noise.

Smirking, she came over and turned down the music to half volume. He only looked up to see her as Johnny Rotten got quieter, and blinked in surprise at her. She set her bag shoulder bag down on the worn wooden floor and sat at the end of the bed, legs hanging off the side.

“Hey, James Dean,” she said. “More light reading?”

He shrugged. “Seems that way.”

Clicking her tongue, she shook her head to herself. “I can just never stomach the Russians.”

Finally, one corner of his mouth quirked slightly upward. “So unrefined.”

She shrugged. “Maybe someday you’ll convert me.”

“Someday.” Jess put his book on the nightstand and ran a hand over his mouth. “You look ready to rock and roll all night and party every day.”

Rolling her eyes, Ella ignored the (millionth) KISS joke and cast her eyes down to her outfit once more. “Thanks. I was going for sort of a Winona Ryder thing.”

“Aren’t you always?”

“That I am,” she smiled, standing from the bed and holding a hand out to him. “We gotta go if we want to see the full set.”

Sighing through his nose, he grabbed her hand to pull himself up and nodded.

“Oh, and I finished my speech today,” she said as she watched him go over to the dresser to change out of the shirt he’d worn on shift and into his Metallica tee.

“Huh.”

“If you wanna read it before graduation, I can give you inside access,” she teased. “Or you can be surprised at the actual ceremony.”

“As long as it doesn’t mention me,” he muttered as he changed and checked his hair in the mirror.

She snorted a laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mariano.”

Watching his reflection in the mirror, she saw a half hearted smirk cross his face. It didn’t reach his eyes. He ran a hand over his mouth again as he appraised his reflection, and Ella’s brows furrowed in concern.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He turned back to her and gave an unconvincing nod. “Fine.”

“Really? We don’t have to go if you’re not okay, y’know. I mean, I want to see Lane play, but in general I think parties are meaningless excuses for teenage debauchery.”

Jess didn’t look back at her when he spoke, turning off his music and going over by the door to grab his shoes. “We’re going. I know how much you wanna see Lane.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she noticed the storms brewing in his brown eyes. His face was slightly pale. He looked exhausted. When he straightened up, shoes on, she went over and put her hand to his cheek.

“Do you feel sick?” she asked, feeling him lean into her touch though he wasn’t feverish. “You were fine Thursday night, but you closed alone. Did you get to sleep afterwards? I know sometimes if you work too late you can’t get to sleep-“

“Eleanor,” he cut her off, his voice tired, “I’m fine. Let’s just go. Please.”

Raising at a hesitant brow at the shortness of his tone, she bit her tongue and nodded slowly. He certainly didn’t seem fine, but they would be late if they waited much longer. And Lane was counting on her being there. Jess grabbed her hand and led her out of the apartment. And when he felt her give his hand a reassuring squeeze, he had to swallow down the myriad of emotions which rose in his throat.

.   .   .

Lane’s band, which still had yet to earn a name, got through the first set with little to no bumps in the road. The living room was stuffy, a suburban wet dream filled to the brim with drunk students. An ever-present smile shone on Ella’s face as she watched her friend banging it out on the drums, despite how much she disliked the stickiness of the atmosphere. She knew how much Lane had always wanted this, her own band, her own instrument. As they finished up with their first thirty minutes, having announced an intermission, Dave Rygalski walked by her, Jess, and Rory with a nod. Ella was glad Jess and Dave had been getting along so well. If Jess was going to stay in Stars Hollow for the foreseeable future, he had to have some other friends besides her and Rory. As soon as Lane hopped up from her drums, she came squealing over to the three of them in excitement, engulfing Rory in a hug. However, before she had too much of a chance to babble about the set, Dave whisked her away for a private conversation.

Rory smiled over at Jess and Ella weakly when she saw Dean nearing their vicinity with his new girlfriend, Lindsey, and quickly retreated to another room. Ella leaned back against Jess, who stood behind her, near the pristine couch, with his arms wrapped around her waist. She could feel his breathing against her back, smell his pine scent. And she thought for the first time in a very long time that the future might not just be survivable, but bright. Soon, she would be a high school graduate, be (tentatively) majoring in history, which had been her second-best subject in public school, still working at the diner. It wasn’t what her wildest dreams called for, but it certainly wasn’t bleak.

Jess’s breath was hot on her neck as he spoke into her ear, which was still buzzing from the loud music and the crowd. “You wanna go?”

She shook her head against his chest. “I think we should stay for the second set. And I haven’t even gotten a chance to talk to Lane yet. She’ll probably need my sage wisdom after whatever she and Dave are talking about.”

“Elle, I don’t-”

Before he could finish, he saw Dean and Lindsey heading directly for them.  Ella could feel Jess’s muscles instantly tense, his hands tightening around her own, his face stony. She knew how the feud started, with Dean trying to pull Jess away from a fight when Jess first came to town. But, then again, she had once gotten him off of Peter Smith. Only then, he didn’t take a swing at her like he had at Dean. If Jess hadn’t changed so much since then, and Dean hadn’t been such an asshole to Rory, she probably would’ve been on Dean’s side. But in the few times she’d heard Jess and Dean speak, she knew there was fault on both sides. And she was inclined to align with one of her best friends and her boyfriend before some possessive dick from Chicago.

“Hey, guys,” Dean began, his hand in Lindsey’s grasp as they ambled over. “Have you seen Rory?”

Ella actually liked Lindsey. They’d been acquaintances in high school (though in a class of only about seventy kids, one was usually acquaintances with everyone else), and had always thought her very sweet. And she could rock the bleach blonde look like no one else in their grade. It was certainly a style choice Ella could admire.  

Ella shrugged. “She’s around here somewhere. Why?”

“Just thought I’d say hello,” Dean replied, eyes searching the room for his ex-girlfriend, while his new girlfriend stood at his side.

“How sweet of you,” Jess said, venom in his voice.

Ella cleared her throat and pivoted the conversation before Dean could shoot anything back. “Yeah, anyway, you guys like the band?”

“Oh, they were great. I can’t say I recognized a lot of the songs, though,” Lindsey smiled, her voice light.

Nodding, Ella attempted a generous smile back. “Don’t feel bad. Lane knows every song in the English language. And some in pretty much every other language, too. There are bound to be some deep cuts in their repertoire, if she has any say in the set lists.”

Lindsey chuckled.

“So, Ella, I heard you’re going to Southern Connecticut State?” Dean asked, continuing the small talk despite the thick tension in the air.

Still, Ella forced a plastic smile on her face. She knew Rory wouldn’t want her causing any trouble, as the heartbreak was still so fresh. And she’d been able to master her people-pleasing artificiality after her years of serving Taylor at the diner.

“Yeah. Managed to score a spot.”

“Me too,” Dean said. “What are you going for?”

“History.”

“Oh, cool. I’m thinking maybe business, but I’m not entirely sure yet.” Dean had at some point focused his attention away from Ella and onto Jess, who still had his arms wrapped around Ella, watching the awkwardness silently. He just wanted whatever small town, false polite nonsense which was necessary to be over. “What about you, Jess?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not going to college or anything, right? Seems like you’re not going to school at all anymore, anyway.” Dean narrowed his eyes at Jess, and a momentary staring contest ensued.

Disentangling himself from Ella, Jess decided not to humor Dean’s attempt to rile him. “I’m gonna go check out the state of that bathroom line,” he muttered to Ella before trudging off.

Brows furrowing in concern, Ella's eyes lingered on him as he went, until he turned a corner and she lost sight of him. Huffing out an angry breath, she turned back to Lindsey, and Dean, who had a pleased expression on his face. Shaking her head, mostly to herself, she excused herself to go find Lane, maneuvering through the sweaty bodies and drunken mumbles.

.   .   .

Balmy air and crickets, Ella finally found Jess again out on the back porch. Most people were inside, gearing up for the band’s second set. She’d had to spend a pretty long time pulling a drunken Lane off the phone to her mother, aided by a still-shaken Rory. The evening seemed to have come to a screeching halt in the hour since the first set, and Ella was debating grabbing Jess’s hand and dragging him out. It was doubtful Lane would be conscious enough to make it through a song, let alone a second set. When Ella didn’t see his gelled black curls in the living room sea of teenage heads, she knew right where Jess would be. The night was pleasant, not quite too warm or humid, despite it being late May.

He stood with his forearms leaned against the railing, facing the lush green backyard, and he didn’t even look back when he heard her open and close the screen door. Ambling up next to him, her boots felt heavy on her feet. The air was cool on her hot skin, and the spring breeze blew her hair from her face. Arms against the polished wooden rail, mirroring him, she waited a few moments before finally speaking in a soft tone. She tilted her head to the red solo cup Jess held in his hands.

“Penny for a sip?” she asked.

Jess smirked. Saying nothing, he held the cup out to her. Taking a gulp of his slightly warm beer, she grimaced and then handed it back to him.

“Thank you, good sir.”

“Who are you? Oliver Twist?”

She shrugged, noncommittal. “Or Little Orphan Annie. Can’t keep my broadway straight. You could probably help me out.”

“Very funny, Stevens,” he said, a ghost of a smile on his face. But it didn’t meet his eyes. They lacked their usual sardonic sparkle, even in the glowing moonlight.

Leaning into his shoulder, Ella took in another deep breath of the fresh air. “What are you doing out here, James Dean? Did you not bring your sulking book?”

“Just couldn’t handle it inside.” He took another swig of his drink, emptying the cup, and set it carefully on the railing next to him.

“Was it Dean?” Ella asked, placing a hand on the back of his neck and running her fingers through the ends of his hair.

Jess glanced down at the ground with a bitter chuckle. “You think I actually care about Frankenstein’s monster in there?”

She scoffed knowingly. “Okay, fair enough. We can go soon, if you want. Lane’s wasted and Rory’s all messed up about Dean being here. And, I think I forgot to feed the cat? I have no idea why I let him stay in our house. He showed up right after my mom died, and kept hanging around our porch. He was already so old and he was so skinny. So I started letting him in when it got colder. My dad barely even noticed. I thought he’d be grateful, but now he hates us. Guess there was a lot of yelling and crying going on when he first came to live with us. But I suppose misery loves company-”

“I just…” Jess began, cutting off her rambling voice. He knew she was still waiting for an answer, but didn’t want to ask him another question. “You work your ass off for four years, and Dean still gets into the same college as you.”

Ella shrugged. “I don’t mind. There’s lots of people there. I probably won’t ever see him.”

“At least he’s finishing high school,” Jess muttered, shaking his head to himself and looking down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them in fists.

Brows furrowed, Ella’s hand fell from his skin and she tilted her head in askance. “What do you mean?”

He heaved a big sigh, looking out into the woods beyond the yard. Somewhere through the trees, he thought he could see the shine of the lake. An ache tugged at his heart, and his stomach did a flip before he spoke again.

“I went to get prom tickets when you were in the art room at lunch today. But then I got called to the principal’s office. He said I missed too many days.”

“And?”

Chewing on his bottom lip, he shook his head again. “Don’t make me say it, Elle.”

Pursing her lips, she brought her hands to her hips and nodded. “Guess you’ll need my speech in advance, then.”

“Guess so,” he echoed flatly, finally stealing a glance at her to gauge her reaction. With her strong stance, he could practically see the gears moving inside her head. There was a crease of concentration between her eyebrows, and she began biting at her nails absently.

“And you haven’t told Luke yet?” she asked.

“Nope.”

Again, she nodded, more decisive this time. “Okay...okay. I wish you could stay with me, but my dad will have you dead inside a day. I bet if you take twelfth grade over Luke’ll let you stay. I mean, I know he tries to act all tough, but I don’t know who he thinks he’s kidding.”

Jess straightened up again, running a hand over his mouth. He turned to face her. “I’m not going back to school. I can’t.”

“Of course you can, Jess. World bites you, you bite back.”

“Fine, then. I won’t.”

“Why not? Where are you gonna go?”

He could only shrug in response, looking back down at his shoes. Sometimes her gaze was so intense, even he couldn’t handle it. Usually, though, it was because of butterflies in his stomach, not because his heart was pounding nervously in his ears.

Swallowing dryly, she tried to maintain a calm facade. “No, Jess. You can’t do that Kerouac bullshit right now. You need a plan. I mean…” she paused to sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You told me you had it under control. You told me all I had to do was trust you.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, he composed himself and then wiped all emotion from his face when he looked back up at her. “I thought I did. I didn’t know how many days I missed, alright? But who cares! I never learned anything there anyway! It was a waste of my time!”

“And driving that forklift at Walmart forever isn’t a waste of your time?” she retorted, beginning to raise her voice. “If it made you happy, I’d say go for it. But it doesn’t! You’re too fucking smart for your own good, Mariano! You’re meant to be a writer! And you’re gonna settle on wasting your brain just because you were too proud to repeat senior year?!”

“Don’t talk to me about settling!” he countered, shaking his head.

“Fuck you, Jess,” she said, eyes narrowing as more blood rushed to her face, turning her skin scarlet with frustration. “Not everyone can just go wherever they want! Live wherever they want! I have people I actually care about!”

Rubbing at his mouth again, he sighed. “Yeah, well, lucky you! My mother is a wackjob who shipped me off because her boyfriend of the week didn’t like me! And my father is a fucking loser who couldn’t say more than two words when he finally met me!”

Ella took a step back in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

Jess breathed another exhausted sigh. “On Thursday, after you left. While I was closing. My dad came in, saw me for the first time in eighteen years. He told me who he was, took a good long look at me, and then ran right back out of the diner!”

There was a seismic shift in her face, eyes softening, color draining. Shaking her head, she went to touch his shoulder. “Oh my god, Jess. I didn’t-”

He shrugged off her hand. “Yeah, you didn’t know. Because I didn’t tell you. Because I’m just your deadbeat, high school dropout boyfriend who’s gonna work at Walmart for the rest of his life! How disappointing!”

“That’s not what I said!” she exclaimed, swallowing back the sting of tears in her eyes.

“Yeah, well, I can read between the lines pretty well at this point, honey,” he shot back, with a vicious, contemptuous tone.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she tried to remain calm. She tried to remember Jess had just failed senior year and met his dad for the first time in a span of two days. But, as always, the fire in her stomach won. It was something about the way he looked at her. So cold. Like he felt nothing for her at all. Her heart dropped and she began to back away, towards the screen door.

“Fine. Fuck it! Go and find yourself. While I stay here, and think about what a fucking mistake it was to trust you when we said no cop-outs! Serves me right. Holden fucking Caulfield!” she shouted, slamming the sliding door behind her.

Raking a hand through his messy hair, Jess took no more than one moment of hesitation before rushing after her. It was crowded inside, people standing around waiting for a second set which would likely never be played. After a little frantic searching and weaving through smelly bodies, he found her. She was marching up the stairs to find Rory, who stood looking exceedingly uncomfortable speaking with Dean and Lindsey on the landing. Ella tugged on Rory’s sleeve, muttering something about finding Lane and leaving the drums to pick up later. A scowl crossed her face the moment she looked back to see Jess.

“Did he do something, Ella?” Dean piped up, towering over her and casting an authoritative glance at Jess.

Ella snorted a laugh and shook her head. “You can stand down, Dean. He did nothing. Nothing at all. Fuck off, alright, Mariano?”

Catching the finitive, vitriolic tone in Ella’s voice, Jess shook his head back at her. Apparently she had decided the conversation was over. “Right back at ya, then, Stevens.”

But as he went to leave, Dean kicked into action. Before Ella, Rory, or Lindsey, could grab him and pull him back, he went into full testosterone rage and lunged after Jess, turning him about and clocking him square across the face. Ella watched in horror, and immediately went after them. Confusion painted her face. She heard Dean muttering under his breath as he fought, about what an asshole Jess was, about how Rory’s friends were his responsibility too, and they shouldn’t be spoken to that way. About how it was time Jess got a taste of his own medicine, making him feel like an idiot in class and acting like he was too good for Stars Hollow. She’d never had any classes with Dean and Jess, but the altercation made her wonder how deeply the feud ran. Apparently, much deeper than she ever thought. If not for the urgency of the situation, Ella would have rolled her eyes harder than she had prior known was humanly possible. She couldn’t help but wonder what at all Rory or Lindsey saw in that sexist prick. In Ella’s opinion, the Donna Reed Show incident two years earlier should’ve been the end of the relationship.

All around the house, they fought, various others trying to pull them off of each other. Each time Ella thought she had an opening to grab Dean or Jess around the waist, they moved, jostling around. It was far more intense than the quarrel in the schoolyard had been. No, tonight there would be blood drawn. Finally, after a decent amount of carnage to the mid-century Connecticut two-story, someone managed to throw the two of them out onto the front lawn, still at each other’s throats. Ella yelled endlessly for them to stop, but neither listened. Only the sound of the police sirens approaching, red and blue lights flashing on the manicured grass, finally made them separate, a few boys at the party also aiding the effort.

Just as Ella started rushing over to Jess, Lane began vomiting up the shitty keg beer she’d gulped down all night long into the trimmed bushes. Rory was by her side, but ultimately Ella cast only a sympathetic glance their way before continuing after Jess. She caught up with him a few paces down the sidewalk, grabbing the sleeve of his t-shirt to finally stop him.

“Jess, Jesus, are you okay?” she demanded, trying to get a substantial glimpse at his face.

Once again, he shook off her touch. He turned back to her in the light of the sheriff’s car, eyes darker than she had ever seen them. “Get outta here, Eleanor! I don’t need your help!”

“But, your-”

“Stop, Elle, just stop!” he interrupted, gesturing with his arms and practically bursting with anger. “Stop chasing after me! Stop trying to help me! That’s over! I don’t need it, alright? You can just fucking stop!”

Clutching at her necklace, she felt a heavy weight settle in her stomach, gluing her to the spot where she stood, hazel eyes impossibly wide. Watching him go, watching him disappear around a corner, watching him walk away. And the worst part was how unsurprised she felt. Had it always been this way? Him ready to leave at a moment’s notice, and her stuck in her old, familiar ways? Were they bound to end the moment they began? She should have seen it sooner. Suddenly, the sounds of the siren and the singing of late spring crickets overwhelmed her ears, and she could do nothing but stand motionless, feeling a sharp crack in her heart.

[tacticalchokehold]

After Ever After

Rating:

Not Rated

Archive Warning

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

F/F

Fandom:

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)

Relationship:

Adora/Catra (She-Ra)

Read Here on AO3

Summary: Post-Finale fluff, restoring magic to the universe, Catra and Adora exploring their relationship, other characters appear. Etheria healing from Horde Prime's occupation, dealing with the planet's magic being restored. Is anyone going to put Hordak on trial for his war crimes? Yes, no? Ok.

How do you discover what normal is when all you've known your entire life is war and conflict?

Chapter 1: One Week Later

For the first time in a very long time, Adora awoke peacefully .

A week after defeating Horde Prime, the Best Friend Squad and the Princess Alliance had elected to take a vacation of sorts -- time off now that their largest threat any of them had ever could have even conceived in their lifetimes had been vanquished. Glimmer was taking this time to reacquaint herself and catch up with Micah; they had a lot to discuss. The other princesses returned to their kingdoms to rebuild and recoup, Entrapta accompanying Scorpia back to the Fright Zone to tackle the idea of rebuilding her kingdom. Not a prospect anyone thought Hordak would conform with, but the fact that he hadn’t been met with the same fate as Horde Prime, all things considered, he wasn’t in much position to object to the will of the Princesses without fear of obliteration.

Bow had left for the Whispering Woods after a couple of days to help his dads restore the library, their home, and move their supplies and equipment back out of the First Ones ruins they’d been hiding out in. Brightmoon Castle was… quiet, as of late, a stark contrast to the chaos that had been engulfing all of Etheria not even a month prior.

Laying on her back, Adora’s eyes fluttered open to stare up at the ceiling of her room in the castle. Sometimes even now, it still never felt exactly like home. But right then, she couldn’t have felt more at home, the sound of soft purring reaching her ears, a comforting weight on her chest and shoulder, a soft arm draped across her middle underneath the blankets. Groggy with sleep, she lifted a hand, arm half asleep with Catra’s head on the crook between her shoulder and left bicep. She started to card her fingers through Catra’s hair, nails gently scraping along her scalp, causing the relaxed rumbling coming from the other girl to kick up like a motor starting.

She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing, and lifted her head to look down at the foot of the bed, Melog curled up and downsized to its smaller blue form, still snoozing away just as its master was. Adora let her head fall back down onto her pillow with a soft sigh, taking a few more minutes just to… enjoy this. No battles to fight. No armies to dismantle. No interstellar conquerors to defeat. Just the early morning light filtering through the purple curtains, the smell of morning dew drifting to her nose from the partially open window.

Mornings in Brightmoon were so different from mornings in the Fright Zone. For starters, you wouldn’t even be able to see the sun through the industrial smog covering the skyline. The only way to tell time would be the digital clocks dotted over the doors of the barracks, mess hall, locker room, and nearly every other door down every other corridor. The Horde wanted to make sure you knew that time was a very precious commodity, and yours was limited if one didn’t bend to Hordak’s will. Nearly every morning started in the barracks with a CO hollering at the top of his lungs to wake the cadets up.

Adora recalled scrambling for her clothes, tying her hair up and shoveling a morning protein bar in her mouth, all while jogging to get to training. More often than not she’d have to stop to really make sure Catra woke up, shaking the girl at the foot of her bed by her shoulders and near-dragging her out the door.

But here? Now? They didn’t have to go anywhere. They didn’t have to answer to anyone. They had sort of just saved all of Etheria, and freed the entire universe from Horde Prime’s tyranny. They could afford to take a little break for the first time in their lives.

Adora was pulled from her thoughts by a stirring at her side. Her hand in Catra’s hair stilled, watching as she opened her mouth and yawned wide, brow furrowing and closed eyes scrunching up further. Sharp fangs gleamed, her ears twitching under Adora’s fingers. Catra blinked open her eyes, bleary and searching, landing on Adora’s face. They went wide for a moment, and she could feel her tense up, the arm around her middle tightening, claws pricking her skin through her tank top, the fur along her shoulders rising before Adora smiled wide.

“You’ve got awful morning breath, you know that?” Adora asked with a laugh, settling her arm around Catra’s shoulders and drawing her back in, hoping the touch would soothe her gut-reaction of fleeing. Seemed they both still couldn’t quite… believe it. Almost immediately Catra’s disbelief melted away, and she lifted a hand, pushing a palm into Adora’s cheek and shoving her face away.

“You’re one to talk,” she grumbled back, her voice rough with sleep as Melog got up from the foot of the bed and wandered up the bed towards the two of them. He laid across Catra’s hip as she rolled up onto her side, retrieving her arm from around Adora’s middle to prop herself up on her elbow. Adora mirrored her posture, pulling her arm back to rest her head in her palm, rolling onto her side to bring herself closer to her again, bumping their foreheads together briefly.

“Sleep okay?” she asked, letting blue eyes close to simply feel the peace in the air around them, quiet and tucked away from the rest of the world in their own little corner of paradise. A small smile curved Catra’s lips, and she leaned up, brushing the tip of her nose against hers, humming a simple affirmative response. Adora felt her heart leap when her face got closer, a modicum of disbelief still present every day that Catra loved her.

“You? You didn’t wake up thrashing at all,” Catra noted. Normally she woke up long before Adora did due to her tossing and turning, even occasionally on the receiving end of an unlucky swing in the dead of night.

“Yeah, actually. I feel… really well rested, actually,” Adora admitted with a short laugh, dropping her free hand between them. Catra’s touch reached for hers at the same time, their fingers finding each other on the mattress between them, folding her hand over the back of Adora’s and interlacing their fingers together. Adora lifted her hand to her mouth, letting her lips brush over Catra’s knuckles without much thought to it, glancing up at her face in time to see her blush at the motion, ears dropping back against her head.

“Ugh, you’re so gross,” Catra scoffed, pulling her hand away and giving her a light shove in the shoulder back before she sat up. Adroa grinned, sitting up behind her and getting up on her knees, draping her arms around Catra’s middle and resting her chin on her shoulder. She let her body rest against her back, leaning her weight onto Catra’s frame.

“This coming from the girl who licks stuff to claim it as hers?” Adora countered, giving her a light squeeze as Melog dropped from Catra’s lap onto the floor to wander over to the window and get a look outside. Catra was quiet for a moment, before she turned her head, licking the side of Adora’s face with an indignant noise.

“Catra!” Adora yelped, falling back slightly in her shock; but really, she should’ve seen that one coming. She wiped at her cheek with her arm, laughing, as Catra turned around and leapt on her, pushing her onto her back further. They devolved into tickling each other between Adora’s attempts to shove Catra’s face with her tongue sticking out away from her own, rolling back and forth. They only stopped when their wrestling landed them on the floor, breaking apart with a light “oof” before they both laughed it off.

“C’mon,” Adora said, getting to her feet, extending a hand down to Catra,”Let’s go grab breakfast.”

- - -

The large double doors to the dining room opened with a shove. Cleaned up and dressed, Adora was happy to see Glimmer and Micah already at the table, talking excitedly over full plates of breakfast. Micah straightened when the doors opened, and gave a light wave to the two as they entered, a warm smile on his face. He had taken to tying his long hair back rather than cutting it, dressed in relaxed regalia considering his daughter was officially the Queen. The Queen in question turned when he waved, and Glimmer grinned, a burst of glitter and light popping as she teleported over between Catra and Adora. Slinging her arms around their shoulders, she pulled them down slightly as she was shorter, saying,”Good morning sleepyheads! Come and sit, there’s lots to eat!”

Catra bristled, slipping back out of the hold with a huff, Adora grinning at her predictable reaction. Glimmer had never been a morning person before; it was usually Bow’s job to wake them up and get them moving, but ever since she’d been reunited with Micah, Glimmer seemed to be bursting with energy. As they took their seats beside each other and started loading up their plates with the veritable buffet spread on the table, Glimmer teleported back over to her seat beside her father.

“You’re just in time,” Micah said, taking a sip from his cup of coffee,”We were just talking about the idea you had to bring magic back to the universe.”

Adora paused, halfway lifting a large bite of breakfast sausage to her mouth. She set her fork back down, her eyes drawn to Catra seated at her side. She was watching her, waiting for her reply just as intently as Micah and Glimmer seemed to be, but otherwise her expression didn’t betray her feelings on the idea. Under the table however, Adora felt Catra’s hand rest on her knee, giving a reassuring squeeze.

Taking a breath, Adora said,”Right. The thing is, when I said that, I didn’t exactly have any idea how to do that. She-Ra was only able to restore Etheria’s magic because it already had magic reserves, dormant deep beneath the surface. If a planet has been completely sapped of magical energy, I’m not sure she’d be able to do it. I don’t want to give the people of those planets false hope, promising something I’m not sure I can accomplish.”

“You defeated Horde Prime!” Glimmer reminded her,”I’m sure even if for some reason you can’t restore a planet’s magic, the people living there won’t stop being grateful for that ! I was already thinking we could visit the Star Siblings’ planet. They knew what magic was, and those stories must have come from somewhere. Not to mention they probably have more experience with interstellar travel than we do, and could probably provide a better idea of where to start than just running off in a random direction and hoping for the best.”

“Isn’t that what you guys normally do though?” Catra asked with an arched brow, grin on her face showing the jab was in good humor. Glimmer stuck her tongue out at her in response, earning a chuckle from Micah at the gesture perhaps unbecoming of the Queen of Brightmoon.

“It always worked out for us before,” Adora said with a shrug,”Besides, even when we did try to make a plan, they usually fell apart within the first ten minutes.” For all her tactical and strategic planning skills learned from the Horde, when applied on actual missions with the Rebellion, the ideas never seemed to stick. An unexpected circumstance always seemed to pop up and throw everything out of whack. The hand on her knee gave another squeeze, and she was pleasantly surprised to find Catra looking at her with earnest, open encouragement.

“You didn’t have me before,” she said,”I said I’d be coming with you. If… when we go, I’ll make sure your plans stay on track.”

Adora felt her chest swell with warmth, and she laid her hand over Catra’s, unable to fight the smile on her face.

“That sounds perfect.”

“Great! That just leaves us Bow,” Glimmer said, pushing her now empty plate forward,”I’ll have to check in with the other Princesses too. See how everyone’s doing before we start mapping this out. This is so exciting!”

She stood, and with another burst of magic, teleported out of the room. Micah smiled into his cup of coffee, before setting the now empty mug down. He leaned back in his seat, sighing contentedly,”It’s good to be home.”

Catra nudged Adora in the side, nodding at their food then tipping her head towards the door. Adora blinked once then stood, picking up her plate and saying,”Uhh, King Micah-- your Highness-- we’re uh, going to take our breakfast outside.”

He seemed a bit surprised, mostly by the fact that she’d inform him, sounding as if she were asking permission. She was She-Ra after all. And after liberating all of Etheria from the magical constraints the First Ones had put in place and defeating Horde Prime, it’s not as if anyone would really object to her taking her breakfast outside with her girlfriend.

Catra gathered up her own plate, Melog winding back and forth between their legs as they ducked out of the dining hall and down through the castle corridors to one of the gardens outside. They bumped into each other purposefully along the way, trying to get the other to drop their food, until they found a nice shaded spot underneath a fruit tree, plopping down in a heap to eat, leaning against each other while Melog chased butterflies back and forth through the courtyard.

The rest of the castle seemed to still be asleep, and it was these quiet moments together, Adora resting her head on Catra’s shoulder while they leaned back against the trunk of the tree together, shoveling food into their mouths, not saying a word while they ate; she was really happy . Honestly and truly happy.

And that made her nervous.

She knew it made Catra nervous, too. The way they both would keep looking over their shoulders for the next threat, the next danger. Listening for sounds of conflict late into the night before sleep took them, needing to distract each other by staying up and whispering about whatever , and up until last night, Adora still waking up ready to fight, heart thudding and adrenaline lancing through her veins. She still had a knife under her pillow. Catra had her claws, of course, so she didn’t need a knife, but the way she bristled at nearly every little sound was obvious. Melog would have to lay on her chest while she took deep breaths to calm herself down, Adora stroking her hair back and reassuring her they were safe. Reassuring herself they were safe, that the fight was over.

How were they supposed to live normal lives now, never knowing a normal other than conflict and war? It was exhausting, to say the least, so the prospect of pursuing another mission brought a strange sense of calm. Having a task to complete, with a clear line drawn for success or failure, a goal to accomplish… that they could work with. Brightmoon forces had their hands full reestablishing trade routes, and Glimmer had insisted they stay out of it, and take the time to relax and recuperate. It was driving them both a little stir-crazy, itching to get into the war room and sit in on meetings, even if it was difficult to concentrate on the map of Etheria when they kept distracting each other.

Little touches, the brush of Catra’s tail over her leg, arms bumping where they sat next to one another. It didn’t make anyone else in attendance uncomfortable, long used to Spinerella and Netossa flirting over planning sessions, just not quite as hopelessly obvious as the two former Horde members. Netossa had teased them, calling them lovebirds, asking if the meeting was distracting them, if they needed some “alone time”, and they had had the wherewithal to be embarrassed at least but not at all ashamed otherwise when Catra seated herself square in Adora’s lap to listen to Glimmer talk about sending an emissary to Dryll to help reopen the kingdom in Entrapta’s absence to the Fright Zone.

Adora smirked at the memory just as she felt Catra shift, turning her head to press an absent kiss to the top of her head. She lifted her face in response, brushing her lips over hers in a casual display of affection, leaning up after a moment to kiss her fully. She was still ecstatic that she could just do that now, no fear or uncertainty freezing her heart in her chest. When she pulled away, she found Catra looking down to meet her gaze, heterochromic eyes alight with this soft expression that she didn’t think she could ever get tired of seeing on her face.

“Hey Catra,” Adora giggled, giggled , their food finished and set aside. She was warm and sleepy again from a full stomach, but with just one kiss her energy had been refreshed once more, restless and eager for some sort of action. Catra’s laugh in response was like music to her ears, a clawed hand lifting to cup her jaw with the utmost care, other arm sliding around her middle to pull her back in.

The sound of wingbeats and a greeting whinny made Catra startle, head whipping skyward to the sound. Adora reached a hand up to soothe her thumb over her cheek, saying,”Hey! Hey, it’s okay, it’s just Swift Wind.”

Sure enough, the pegasus was touching down in the clearing moments later, Melog darting out from the grass and racing to stand in front of Catra as his form shifted, large and red and hissing, hackles raised. Adora peeled herself away to stand up, stepping forward to greet her steed and hopefully placate the ruffled felines behind her. Swift Wind folded his wings back, shuffling his hooves nervously in place at the hostility behind his bonded partner.

Catra smoothed a hand back through her bristling hair, taking a deep breath in through her nose. Adora had turned, hand outstretched to her and Melog, her other patting Swift Wind’s neck.

“I’m not scary,” Swift Wind insisted, lowering his head, though the sunlight catching on the long, very pointy horn on his head potentially betrayed that statement. Melog’s “fur” shifted slowly back to blue, and Catra stood up from where she had been glued to the spot. She took a few tentative steps forward, before placing her hand in Adora’s, only to yelp as she grinned and yanked her forward. She put Catra’s hand on Swift Wind’s nose, the both of them startling, but Adora’s hand on his neck and hold over Catra’s hand seemed to calm them both.

The first friendly meeting between Catra and Swift Wind had been less than ideal. His loud, bombastic energy had been very sudden and surprising to the standoffish and aloof girl, and his oddly charming jealousy at her relationship with Adora had led to an amusing argument between them about his and Adora’s “sacred bond” as She-Ra and noble steed. Adora hadn’t been able to help but burst into laughter at the display, and since then a sort of truce had been found at least. But Swift Wind being Swift Wind still meant he was loud and energetic and didn’t often make his entrances subtle enough not to spook her and Melog, meaning most of the time Adora had to play mediator for a couple of minutes to calm things back down again.

He huffed out hot breath from his nose on Catra’s hand, and she pulled it back with a light hiss, wiping it off on her pants. Adora smiled, shaking her head before saying,”Think you two can play nice long enough to make it to Mystacor?” To get away from the castle and further enjoy their vacation of sorts, they’d decided to spend the day at Mystacor. The beach had been incredibly relaxing when Glimmer and Bow had taken her, and it being made of clouds rather than ocean, she hoped it would help Catra find some peace as well.

Castaspella had insisted they were all welcome any time, and Adora planned on using that to her advantage. They had packed for the trip the night before, bags waiting up in her-- their room, ready to go.

“As long as he doesn’t drop me,” Catra grumbled, folding her arms across her chest, tail flicking back and forth as she glared up at Swift Wind. He puffed out his chest, drawing his head back up to his full height, saying,”I would never!” Adora rolled her eyes and patted his flank once, before taking Catra’s hand in hers, saying,”We’re just gonna go grab our stuff, ok Swifty?” He gave a salute with one of his wings, before settling down to eat some grass during the wait for their return.

“Isn’t there another way to get to Mystacor?” Catra groaned as she let Adora walk her back up through the castle halls, passing a few guards along the way with a nod. Adora arched a brow back over her shoulder at her, replying,”If you’d like, I could ask Glimmer to teleport us there…”

Catra frowned at that, not a fan of the Queen’s teleportation magic. In that short moment of transdimensional relocation, her righting reflex was thrown off by the second of there not being an up or down sense. Just the memory pitched her stomach, and she swallowed down the nauseous sensation with a shake of her head. Swift Wind knew the way, and it would cut their travel time down by more than half.

“No-- ugh, fine, whatever,” Catra conceded with a shake of her head, before falling quiet again. Her eyes drifted down to their linked hands, smiling softly to herself after a moment, only letting go once they were at their room doors.

“You’ll be fine,” Adora insisted, going to where she had two packed bags waiting packed by the wardrobe. “I’ll be with you the whole time, and Swift Wind really won’t drop you. I promise.” She slung one bag over her shoulder, and turned around to hold the other out to Catra, who approached with a huff and slipped her arms through the straps. She gripped them tight to ground herself, still pouting at the prospect of riding around on that thing .

“Seriously, it can’t be much different than when you ride on Melog’s back,” Adora said, circling around in front of her, a reassuring smile on her face. Her hands went to cup Catra’s face, gently at first before her grin turned teasing and she squished her cheeks between her palms. Catra slapped her hands away with a snort, only for Adora to catch her wrist before she could pull away completely.

“Hey. I mean it. You’ll be alright,” Adora reassured her, much less teasing this time as she took her hand in both of hers, squeezing gently. She took a step closer, cradling her touch to her chest like a precious gem between them. Catra bumped her forehead to hers with a low sigh, taking a deep breath after to further steel her nerves.

“Ok. I trust you,” Catra exhaled, before guiding her closer with her hand in hers, her free arm draping around her waist. Even as her eyes closed, she could practically feel Adora’s smile, especially so when they both closed the gap further.

Catra was always wary of her fangs when they kissed, worried they would catch on Adora’s soft mouth. She would be tentative, not wanting to hurt her more than she already had in the past. Adora didn’t seem to have any such qualms, sighing happily into the embrace and leaning fully into it. Her lips were insistent against Catra’s, seeking out her warmth and comfort, grinning still.

“Mmmh…”

Catra’s ears fluttered at the noise from the other girl’s throat, feeling a pitch in her stomach completely unrelated to any memory of teleportation. Carefully, carefully, she opened her mouth slowly, inviting Adora to deepen the kiss if she desired. An offer that was quickly snatched up, though she didn’t know why she bothered being surprised anymore. Adora was reckless and impulsive and often acted without thinking, but at long last she finally seemed to be thinking about what she wanted. It just so happened to be Catra, a fact that had her heart soaring.

“C-Careful,” Catra gasped, muffled, feeling her tongue skirt along her lower lip,”S’sharp--”

“I know,” Adora hummed, pulling back just enough to reply before tipping her head and diving back in. Heat flared up the back of Catra’s neck, and her hand around Adora’s middle clung onto the material of her shirt, getting lost in the sensation of Adora’s tongue in her mouth, her lips on hers, dizzying and overwhelming almost all of her senses from a kiss alone.

Her knees were just starting to go weak when they separated, a goofy smile on Adora’s face when Catra’s eyes opened to look at her in still mild disbelief. Hand still in hers, Catra could feel how sweaty Adora’s palms had gotten, and it was a small comfort to know they were both still getting used to this, together.

“Come on, better not keep Swift Wind waiting too long.”

- - -

Adora didn’t do anything to try and loosen Catra’s death grip. Turned out, riding on Melog’s back on the ground was very different from soaring through the air on a winged horse. She had both arms wrapped crushingly tight around Adora’s middle, pressing her face into her back, her claws nearly tearing through her top where she clung to her shirt. Touching down along the coastal edge of Mystacor’s floating island was a godsend, but she still didn’t move, clinging to Adora like a cat stuck in a tree clinging to a branch.

“Catra, we’re here,” Adora said tentatively, reaching a hand down to pat one of her arms squeezing around her waist. When Catra didn’t lift her head up, hissing, Adora sighed and slid down off Swift Wind’s back. She looped her hands under Catra’s thighs as she hopped down, holding her on her back, Catra quickly adjusting her hold to go up around her neck and shoulders, yanking her off-balance a moment before Adora righted herself with a grunt. Between their bags and Catra hanging off of her, it was a bit difficult to maneuver, but taking a second to reaffirm her grip made it relatively simple enough to start the walk towards the beach.

Castaspella normally would have greeted them at the runway, on any other day, but since Horde Prime’s occupation, everyone seemed to be busy with rebuilding efforts. Hopefully that meant they could enjoy their beach day relatively uninterrupted. It was hard to fight the desire to go and check in and ask if they needed any help, but today was supposed to be a day for her and Catra to spend together and relax. About halfway through the walk, Catra finally lifted her head up, looking around them in surprise. On the one side, the secret magical college of Mystacor; spires reaching even further to the heavens they floated above, and on the other, rolling tides of clouds as the grass under foot turned to pure white sand.

“Whoa…” she breathed, her tensed shoulders relaxing a bit as she stared out at the pink and white waves. Adora smiled, breathing coming a bit harder, a loose strand of hair falling in front of her face as she found a good spot to set up. Well, as good a spot as any. This was really only her second time coming to the beach, so she wouldn’t consider herself an expert.

When she stopped, Catra hesitated before finally loosening her grip and sliding off Adora’s back. The sand beneath her feet felt so strange, curling clawed toes in the grains experimentally as she crouched down. Melog hopped out of her bag, returning to his full size now that they were no longer in transit. He shoved his snout into the sand, only to pull back with a start and sneeze, parroting one of Catra’s sneezes before shaking his head rapidly. Adora smiled to herself, laying out a large beach towel from her bag before she sat down on it, kicking off her boots and stuffing her socks in them. She pushed her feet into the cool sand, peeling off her jacket and loosely hugging her knees halfway to her chest, rolling up her shirt sleeves to better feel the warm sun and cool breeze on her skin.

Feeling Catra’s eyes on her, she turned her head to confirm she was indeed staring, and shifted slightly where she sat, blush coloring her cheeks. Adora reached up and tucked that stray lock of blond hair behind her ear, shoulders curving upward as she looked away, asking,”W-What?”

“N-Nothing! Nothing, I just-- you--” Catra started, stumbling over her words, having been caught being very obviously transfixed. Normally Adora couldn’t relax to save her life, but here she was reclining on a beach, enjoying the sun and fresh air, seeming at peace and calm and it… it looked good on her, ok? Catra wouldn’t mind seeing more of it. Seeing her happy, a soft smile on her face. Blushing herself, Catra scratched the back of her neck lightly, before she slunk over from her crouch to join her on the large beach towel, obviously brought with the intent for them to share. She bumped Adora’s shoulder with her own, stretching her legs out in front of herself, one crossed over the other as she leaned back on her arms.

“... This is nice,” Catra said, feeling Adora relaxing again at her side now that she had joined her. Adora sat up, only to lean back on her arms and mirror Catra’s posture, placing her hand on top of hers. Catra tilted her head, resting it on Adora’s shoulder as they both watched the clouds roll in and out, lapping at the shore lazily. Adora hummed her agreement, tipping her own head to rest atop Catra’s, basking in the moment.

It was a good way to spend the day.

[sticky-nits]

The Story of the Reclusive Mule

As written down sometime after the event by Matt’s Cousin.

In the early days of the band, we travelled much of the world - not gigging, that was only secondary at the time. To even call us a band when this story is set may be somewhat inappropriate, and a little overly optimistic. In fact, we were not much more than scraggly buskers, unkempt and out of work court jesters hoping to please a few passers-by to afford a scrap of food to placate the grumbles of our bellies that we thought of as band members plagued with Tourette’s. We were only just at the very beginning, just starting to write songs, still yet to develop our sound, still to refine our act to something that someone may wish to occupy their spare time with rather than gambling, drinking, smoking opium, or sleeping with porcelain skinned concubine, being the popular past times of the age.

No, our main purpose, our mission, our raison d’etre as it were, was enlightenment. We had studied the religions and beliefs from all corners of the earth, read the time-worn scriptures and volumes of thinkers past, listened to some of the most respected gurus of the generation, and considered the views of the noted men and women of all the intangible professions, be they religious, philosophical, scientific, artistic, or just plain mad.

It was in a foothill some thousand feet above sea level overlooking an Okinawan prefecture when we had an encounter that would change our very lives and, needless to say, the very future course of our musical aspirations. We had just finished supping on a veritable feast of fresh assorted shellfish and purple sweet potato that was afforded to us by a travelling group of Buddhist monks who had recently received a bountiful token of gratitude from the local warlord who had been quite impressed with their philosophical enunciations and sedating chants. Although of course the Buddhists wanted nothing in return for their philanthropical generosity, we felt indebted, and indeed quite compelled, to play them some songs that they may enjoy before their routine meditation prior to retiring for the night.

We played some of our older material, took some short breaks to chat with the monks, and played some more. During one of the breaks, we got into a discussion with them about the true nature of our journey, our search, our explorative passion for the elusive and intangible grail of enlightenment. Though they were indeed pronounced and unyielding Buddhists, we found them quite amenable in discourse on a wide range of differing belief systems and philosophical view points, and then, to our surprise and incredulity, they had a tale to tell of something that drifted into the unlikely realms of the paranormal. Now whether this tale was a local legend, a myth, a ghost story, or something altogether outside the bounds of categorisation, it kept us entranced as they told it. Now it must be stressed, it is not my intention to reveal to you the peculiar details of this particular tale, and nor could I even share it no matter how much I wanted to. We promised that night that we would never repeat the odd circumstances of their story, and though I have never been in any way especially superstitious in nature, it is like many stories of its kind, told in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, one that comes with a warning, an ominously fatal premonition to any who dare to reveal the secrets of the legend anywhere outside of the myth’s locale of origin.

There is however one element of the story that I do wish to divulge, for it is in fact the element that changed the course of our lives, altered the direction of our musical and creative sensibilities, and is the very reason why I am writing this, and why you are reading it. That element was a character that the monks described as a reclusive Zen Master Samurai. He had no name that any knew of, nor had the monks ever seen him and, judging by the nature of the story that I cannot retell, it would seem anecdotally evident that no person had ever seen him. He was a true man of myth, an unknown legend, a nobody, and a somebody or, again from the nature of the supernatural story, he could have been a ghost, or maybe he didn’t exist at all. ‘Did it matter?’ I remembered asking, as I strummed my guitar. It is often the way with creativity that one can be thinking of something else, or most likely, nothing at all, and have in your hands the tools that facilitate the transfer of artistic creation from the greater collective sub-consciousness to the realm of the senses, the emanation of a tangible quantity into the form of the world from the intangible energy of the universal unformed. It is at moments like this that something unique can be birthed, something it seems that the universe wants to create, in the same way that it wanted to create matter, the same way it wanted to create life, to create us.

In this particular moment, on that particular night, a new song began to stem from my guitar, from my fingers, from my mortal coil’s link to the deathless and the timeless. The other members of the band seemed to be synchronising on the same frequency and joined in on their instruments and we began to create something new, a sound that we as a group had not yet explored, a song that would change us forever, not in the future, not in the past, but now, in the present moment, that night, right where we were. Now whether the nature of the story that we had just heard had any bearing on our sudden creative impulse and our innovative improvisational acuity, I would do best to refer you to the academics to discuss and confer, but what happened next, I can only implore you to take my word, as sure as I stand here today, relating these happenings in honest and impartial writing. As we played, the monks also began to chant, a low drone that united effortlessly and sublimely with our instrument’s tonal discharges. As our music continued and intensified, I felt the whole world opening up around us, our bodies evaporating, our spirits dissolving, combining as one with the environment around us, into the air, into the nothingness. As the music swirled around us and carried up the mountain, we saw a shape moving from a higher elevation, a figure walking down toward us. The monks stopped chanting, leant, and knelt forward on the ground and began whispering, ‘It is him; it is him; he is here…’

As the figure approached nearer, it became clear that it was not a man. It was a four-legged animal, a quadruped in stature and stride. ‘It is his steed; he sends his steed,’ some of the monks whispered. Was it a steed? Who am I to judge, categorise, or possibly even worse, assume? I do know though that it was a beast…a beast of burden…a donkey? An ass? …no, it was a mule.

The animal came right up to us where we were now circled in curiosity and amazement, having finished playing the song to gaze in wonder at our newfound apparition. I would add a note here to say that although I and many others there that night didn’t see it, some of the monks claim they saw a ghostly figure atop the mule, a Zen Master Samurai. I would have to kindly and respectfully say that although these people were devout and near-enlightened Buddhist monks, they were still human, with human minds, human minds that can trick and deceive at any moment, but none more so than in times of extremes, times of unusual and unpredictable circumstances.

The mule stopped and lowered its head. It had strapped lightly to the base of its neck a rolled parchment, a scroll. I cannot tell you a time when I have been more nervous, more anxious, than that moment; how eager I was to know the contents of that scroll, to grasp and understand the meaning that its content possibly held within. One of the monks, outstretched hand shaking like a frightened leaf trembling in exigency from the mere potential thought of wrath from the gods of wind, managed with all his courage and inner resolve to lift the scroll from the beast’s neck and unroll the parchment. He then read:

“Your music…you know how I would describe your music? When foraging for food, always let the hippopotamus go first…unless you're just after the teriyaki beef.”

Now as I’ve said, I can only relate to you part of this tale. The story of some supernatural suspicions I cannot respectfully tell, but I do stand by the tale above, in all its detail, to every aspect. Now whether one believes or doesn’t believe one thing or another is for each and their own, in fact to each their own mind, but suffice to say that as we are all united by the one universal emanation into a form from a formless, it would seem to be of little consequence and much in the realm of triviality to argue over details such as those that seem to haunt our minds on a daily basis. ‘Are our minds even ours?’ you may ask, and if you claim them to be so, how much control do we really have over them? As much as the mind may be said to be a source of trickery, the devil itself even, all I know is, to this day, on that night, I heard an odd tale about a reclusive enlightened man, possibly even a ghost. I did not see a man…I did not see a ghost…but I saw a mule…and its message was not clear.

[a-bit-too-much-of-a-zelda-fan]

LinkedUniverse Fanfic Ch. 4: The Beach pt. 2

Stop! You’ve Violated the Law!

So, you’ve stumbled upon this original post for my Linked Universe fanfiction. That’s okay, it happens to everyone. As of March 2021, I’ve uploaded the entirety of this fanfic to my Archive of Our Own page. Along with finally giving the story a name--Oops! All Links: A Linked Universe Story--I made substantial edits to some of the chapters. These range from minor stylistic revisions to fixing a gaping plot hole that kinda completely broke the character conflict in the earlier chapters. I also renamed and renumbered (but not reordered) the chapters. Specifically, this is now Chapter 5: Stars and Stories.

The AO3 iterations of these chapters are the definitive versions. So, if you would like to read this fanfiction, please do so on AO3, right here. With this embedded link. Hehe. Geddit? Link?

Note: My screen name on AO3 is FrancisDuFresne. Yes, that is me. I am not plagiarizing myself.

Anyway, for posterity’s sake, the rest of the original post is below the cut.

Continuation of my @linkeduniverse narrative you can find here Thank you again @jojo56830 for creating this AU that is so inspiring to write for! Word count is 2143.

Wild checked his Sheikah Slate. The map function was finally working again, having lost reception in the cave. The village the nine heroes were traveling to was still a day’s walk away. He looked up from the slate and stared into the distance. The beach faded into rolling hills, obscuring their destination. He turned back to his companions.

They were drying off from their swim. Hyrule found wood washed up on the shore and started a fire with it. The orange flames complemented the purple dusk as the sun set. Wind and Twilight sat together facing the ocean. Wind was splayed out, enjoying the view that reminded him of home. Twilight had his knees tucked close to his chest, hugging his shins.

The younger of them turned to the older. He was about to compliment him on his Great Spin Attack back in the water but stopped when he saw his face. An odd expression played across Twilight’s features. Was it sadness? Contemplation? Regret? Wind couldn’t tell but decided against asking. It was probably better, he reasoned, to let Twilight be.

Wild started walking back to the fire. Legend looked up at him, opening his mouth as if about to say something. Wild shot him a glare, then spoke. “Before you ask me rudely, I’ll just say it. The village is a day’s walk away. Once we leave this beach, it’ll be hills for a few hours, a brief walk through light woods, then flatlands to finish it off. If we don’t hit any snags, we’ll be there by sundown.”

A general murmur of acknowledgment passed around the circle. Wild sat down between Four and Warrior and lowered his head. He felt awful for letting his friends down in the cave. “Guys,” he began. “I’m sorry about back there. I didn’t think that would happen.”

No one spoke for a moment. Warrior spoke up. “Don’t worry about it. Luckily, Sky here kept a cool head and was able to guide us out. Just warn us when that might happen again. It always pays to have a contingency.”

“Wait a moment,” Sky piped up. “What do you mean ‘if we don’t hit any snags?’”

Wild sighed. “There may or may not be enemy camps in that forest. My map can’t say for sure. I’d say we’re well-prepared for a fight, though. How’s our arrow count?”

Legend shuffled through his pouch. “Forty-two. We’re going to want to stock up when we hit that village. You sure your weapons are battle-ready?”

He was referring to the chipped sword and dented stalfos shield lying by Wild’s pouch. He was going to ask Wild about the shield but figured that the fight damaged his original shield beyond repair. Wild wasn’t very selective about the weapons he used. “Yes,” Wild said sharply. “They’ll be fine.”

“So, monsters,” Warrior said. “What are we looking at?”

“I can’t tell. Could be moblins, bokoblins, who knows? At least this time we’re walking through the woods during the day. I’ve had enough fights in the dark for a while.”

“Hm. Well, we’ll just have to be on full alert. Which also means we should get some shuteye.”

Wind patted Twilight on the shoulder, got up, and strolled over to the fire. “Wait,” he said. “I still want to know about Four’s power.”

The shortest Link’s Four Sword had the power to split him into four separate heroes. Prior to using it in desperation during the stalfos fight, he had never mentioned it to any of his companions. It took so much energy out of him that he fainted immediately after becoming whole again. He only woke up hours later, when they had reached the beach.

Four sighed. “Well, it’s my sword. It was gifted to the Hylians by the Minish race. It was originally called the Picori Blade. The sorcerer Vaati shattered it when he unleashed evil upon Hyrule. I journeyed the kingdom finding four sacred elements. With the help of the Minish, I forged it into this.”

He raised the Four Sword, firelight playing off the blade. Like Sky’s Master Sword, it somehow seemed to reflect light brighter than anything else around it. “The Four Sword,” the hero continued. “It has the power to split me into four people. They’re fragments, not copies. My personality splits between them. We used to argue a lot, but now we can fight in perfect unison.”

Sky, Wind, and Legend exchanged glances. They had all gone through a similar process to make their swords. They used sacred flames, pure metals, and dwarven blacksmiths and a great fairy, respectively. It occurred to them that there seemed to be a pattern.

Four continued: “It takes a lot of energy out of me to use that power. I didn’t want the burden of you all pressuring me to use it. I’m sorry.”

“Like I said earlier,” Legend spoke up. “Don’t worry about it. Without that, we would have kicked the bucket back there.”

A moment of silence passed. Legend scanned the group. “So, that being said, anyone else have any powers they haven’t mentioned? Now would be an opportune time to tell us.”

Wind perked up. “You know that my sword can stop time, right?”

“Yes. How could we forget with you always telling us? It would help if you actually remembered that when we’re in combat. I seem to remember Twi needed to save your hide in the cave because you forgot. Again.”

“Geez, I get it. Don’t have to rub it in.”

Time froze. He did indeed have powers he had never told anyone but Malon of. The masks he acquired in Termina were instrumental in stopping Majora’s Mask, but he hated wearing them with a passion. Wearing a dead person’s soul had always made him feel sick. The Fierce Deity’s Mask terrified him. Its power was so great that he feared if he ever put it on again, he might not want to take it off.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by Legend pointed flourishing his left wrist. Everyone looked at it expectantly, figuring some transformation would happen. It didn’t. “This bracelet here is a gift from my counterpart in an alternate world,” he said. “His name is Ravio. Dunno where he got the thing, but I can use it to transform myself into a painting.”

This was met by a mix of mild surprise and indifference. “What?” Legend asked. “No big reaction?”

Sky shrugged. “Well, that sounds cool and all, but how useful can it really be?”

Legend snorted and cocked an eyebrow. “You’d be surprised. It’s gotten me out of many a sticky spot.”

“Why haven’t you used it around us yet, then?” Hyrule prodded.

Silence. Legend flushed and sat there a moment, then admitted: “I… haven’t had a good chance to use it.”

“You probably could have used it in the cave,” Sky suggested. “We were surrounded by walls. Could’ve pulled a sneaky on the Stalfos.”

“Well, I haven’t used it for so long that I… kinda forgot about it.”

Wind shouted out, “Ah ha! Look who’s forgetting useful powers in the middle of combat, now!”

Time chuckled. “You do have to take it off and put it back on every time you get dressed. You’d think you would remember of it.”

“Listen!” Legend growled. “I just wanted to tell… urgh, whatever.”

The Links had a good laugh over this all. Time sighed in relief. No attention had fallen on him after all. As much as he hated keeping secrets from his friends, he was still afraid they would ask him to use the masks. Worse still, if they would become afraid of him. Fortunately, that discussion could wait until another day. A day that might never come, Time hoped.

After the laughter subsided, Four remembered the question that had been nagging at him all day. “Alright, so after I rejoined and fainted, Legend carried my weapons. Who carried me?”

“It was Twi. Not really a shock, is it?” Warrior said. “He picked you up as soon as I made sure you weren’t dead.”

It didn’t occur to Four that it wouldn’t be obvious that he fainted, that they might think he died. They had never seen anything like that before. “Oh. Thanks. Didn’t mean to give you guys a scare like that.”

Warrior shrugged. “Eh, you’re good.”

“Thanks. But what about Twi? Is he okay? He’s been sitting there by the water since we got out.”

Time was facing away from the water. He turned around to face his friend. Twilight was in the same position as before, staring off into the ocean. The sun had long set, so all that could be seen out there was the stars and their reflections. Still facing Twilight, Time said to the rest of them: “It’s probably not the first time he’s carried a fallen friend on his back. Maybe he’s reliving bad memories?”

Wild bowed his head fraction and sighed. “He wouldn’t be the first. Someone ought to check on him.”

“I will,” Time said. “Don’t wait on us to get some rest. We have a long day ahead.”

“When is it ever not a long day?” Wind muttered. This got a few giggles.

With a grunt, Time pushed himself off the sand. He turned and strolled over to Twilight. He paused a moment to appreciate the beautiful ocean view. The breeze was getting chilly. Content, he lowered himself to the ground next to Twilight.

“Twi.” Time said. “What’s wrong?”

Twilight kept staring ahead, but Time could tell his eyes were red and his cheeks damp. Time had never seen him this upset; it was a tad unnerving. “I need a minute,” he choked out, “okay?”

Time shook his head. “You’ve had plenty of minutes. What’s wrong?”

“It’s just… carrying Four out of there reminded me of a really terrible thing that happened… At one point, Midna was mortally wounded by a light spirit. As a wolf, I ran all the way to Hyrule Castle with her on my back. She barely managed to say that we needed Zelda.

“I was terrified that she wouldn’t make it. It was pouring that night. By the time I reached Castletown, my fur was sopping wet. I couldn’t get into the castle through the gate, so I had to take the sewers in. Every detour, every obstacle, every monster slowed me down. I felt like there was a clock ticking in my head, reminding me that Midna was on borrowed time.”

Clock ticking in his head, Time thought. If only he knew.

“Once we reached Zelda, she said that it wasn’t her duty to save Hyrule. It was up to Midna and me. Then she held Midna’s hand in hers and…”

Twilight choked up again. He didn’t bother to wipe the fresh tears off his face. After staying silent for almost a minute, he continued. “Zelda gave her life force to Midna, reviving her. By the time Midna realized what was happening, it was too late. She was screaming, begging Zelda to stop, but before we know it, Zelda was just… gone.

“Of course, it ended up working out for us all. For the most part. But that was awful. Carrying Four wasn’t really that bad. We knew he was okay, and I only needed to carry him until he woke up. But—”

“But,” Time interrupted, “the strangest things can trigger these awful memories. Trust me, I know… I’m sorry. About what happened that night.”

With a sniffle, Twilight finally looked up at Time. Between the puffy eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and wind-disheveled hair, Twilight was an utter wreck. Time gazed into his eyes. They had a certain depth to them that he saw every time he looked in a mirror. His expression softened.

“Come here,” Time said as he put an arm around his friend and pulled him closer. They sat there a while in silence. The only sound was the gentle surf moving to and fro ahead of them. The breeze brought a biting chill now, and Time could feel Twilight shiver under his arm.

Time withdrew his arm and stood. He turned to face the fire. It was starting to die off. The Links seemed to either be asleep or falling so. Wind was snoring softly. Wild was rolled on his side and could have been asleep had the faint light of his Slate not been glowing. Time remembered their earlier exchange about Twilight not being the only one to relive bad memories.

Twilight stood as well, and the two heroes walked forward together. They laid down in the company of their other selves, their friends. It was a beautiful scene: nine young heroes circled around a dying fire on a secluded beach, starlight glittering off the ocean. As the embers cooled and flickered to darkness, so were the Links stolen by sleep.

[vipclifford]

dazed and confused pt.4

A/N: this was very self indulgent but idc

Calum’s fingers bounced upon the keyboard, none being pressed, leaving the document blank before his eyes. His copy of Les Miserables laid open by the side of his laptop, endless annotations and highlights filling up the novel. He flicked through its pages, looking for a suitable topic to write his essay about. Literature was fucking difficult.

Most thought to focus on the revolution, or Valjean’s character development over the chapters, but Calum wanted something else. Something creative. Something to show his professor he was truly invested in the course.

His phone buzzed, Calum’s brows furrowing st the sound. He was certain he had turned the sound off as an attempt to remove distractions. On the screen was a message from his mother. His daily Bible quote.

Calum sighed, hand rubbing over his face before setting the phone back down where he found it. He still hadn’t told his mother about Noah.

It was only natural, he thought. His mother was a devout catholic, attending mass every Sunday morning and helping out her Christian community whenever she could. A necklace with a wooden cross rested permanently on her collarbone. Growing up, his mother had started a small group with her close friends who had children around his age, making them meet weekly to discuss the word of God. He didn’t hate it, having eventually found friendship between the other teenagers in the group. It just wasn’t his favourite thing to do.

But now Calum was in college and he had just turned 19, and he felt so different from the young boy who had his communion for the first time.

He knew that his mother finding out about Noah would shatter her heart. He knew of the disappointment and shame he would bring onto his family. He knew that it could also sever the ties he had with them. He would be alone.

“Calum,” Michael spoke excitedly as he barged into his room. “My bro, my best friend, the coolest guy I know.”

“What do you want,” he replied monotonously, not looking up from the pages of his book. He was clever enough to see through his endless string of compliments.

“Crystal’s coming over tonight,” he explained, sitting down on the edge of his roommate’s bed. “So, you know. I think you might rather sleep somewhere else tonight, if you know what I mean,” Michael smirked, meeting Calum’s unamused look.

“You guys are like rabbits,” he complained, nose scrunching up in disgust .

“Trust me when I say that if you liked women you’d understand.” Calum simply rolled his eyes at his words, saving his blank word document before closing his laptop. “So?”

“I could probably crash at Noah’s if he’s not busy, I don’t know,” he shrugged, grabbing his phone. He swiped left on the notification from his mother, leaving his lockscreen on display. It was a picture of himself and Noah. His lips were happily pressed against Noah’s cheek as his boyfriend laughed about something he couldn’t quite remember. It was one of his favourite pictures.

“He’s literally in love with you, of course he’ll let you stay over,” Michael said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was.

“No he’s not,” Calum answered all too quickly. It was Michael’s turn to roll his own eyes, unwilling to listen to his weekly speech about how much he rejected love. How it’s all just chemicals in the brain, loading you up with enough serotonin to make you delusional.

“Whatever, just piss off tonight, yeah?”

Calum twirled the metal spoon mechanically around in his cup of coffee. It was barely considered a coffee, for it was loaded up with enough milk and sugar to mask its bitter taste. Whatever Noah was talking about was going in one ear and out of the other, completely merging into background noise. Instead he watched the small tornado in his drink.

“You alright?”

He looked up to meet concerned eyes staring back at him. Calum nodded, taking a sip from the hot drink. ‘Still bitter,’ he thought, nose scrunching up slightly in disgust.

“My mind is just elsewhere, sorry,” he explained with a careless shrug, eyes scanning their small table for a small packet of sugar.

“Here,” said Noah, handing Calum a small packet of sweetener. He always scolded Calum for opting for sugar, telling him sweetener was a much healthier option that still got the job done. He took it defeatedly, too lazy to stand up to get the sugar he wanted. “You want to talk about it or be distracted from it?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered, pouring the sweetener into his drink. He swirled the powder around, refusing to look up and meet Noah’s gaze. “It’s something I should probably talk about but I don’t want to.”

“Maybe you’ll feel better if you talk about it?” Noah suggested, unsure of how to handle the situation. Instead they sat quietly for the next few minutes as Calum debated whether or not to speak.

“What was it like for you when you came out to your parents?”

“Uh, I was fifteen I’m pretty sure, and the three of us were sat at the table. They were both on their phones or reading a book or whatever. And then I said that I had something to tell them, and my mum asked me if I had a girlfriend. I said no, obviously,” he clarified with a small chuckle. “Then I just said ‘I’m gay,’ and they were like ‘okay.’ They didn’t even look up from what they were doing. They were just completely fine with it, acting as if I had just told them my favourite colour.”

“That’s good though,” Calum mumbled. “That’s exactly how people should react. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.”

Noah grasped his boyfriend’s hand, fingers lacing before giving it a gentle squeeze. He stood up from his seat suddenly, fingers still interlocked as he suggested to ‘go for a walk.’

Calum’s arm was swung over Noah’s chest, bare leg tucked between his. The thin layer of sweat over his body made the sheets stick to his skin. A lazy smile pulled on his lips as he thought of what they were doing five minutes prior, fingers tracing the purple bruises on Noah’s collarbones. His boyfriend would occasionally press kisses to his neck, the stubble he sported tickling his skin.

“I don’t think I could ever come out to my parents.”

“Why not,” Noah asked a few seconds later, after letting his heavy confession simmer in the air.

“I can’t imagine a single positive outcome that would come from it. My family is very Catholic, they’d excommunicate me themselves,” he chuckled bitterly, his way of trying to make deep discussions feel less serious. “My parents would never speak to me again and I don’t want to lose them because of something I can’t even control. I didn’t choose to be attracted to men and I didn’t choose to be born into a Christian family. It feels like no matter what I do I can’t win.”

“Nobody is pressuring you to come out right now. You do that when you’re ready, when you feel mentally strong enough to deal with whatever consequences that may come,” Noah explained, fingers threading methodically through Calum’s hair. “And your pessimistic ass is only thinking about the worst possible outcome.”

“It feels like it’s the only one,” he murmured, rolling onto his back. Noah grabbed Calum’s hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“Whatever happens, remember that you’ve got me, and all of your friends, and whatever future boyfriends you may have by your side to deal with it.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Imply that we’re going to break up,” Calum said with an obvious tone. He could see Noah’s lips stretch into a cheeky smile from the corner of his eye, instead choosing to focus on the ceiling.

“You don’t want to break up?” Noah grinned, rolling over onto his side face him.

“If I did I wouldn’t be lying here in your bed, babe,” he replied easily, ears burning red. Noah smiled at his words, deep dimples indenting his rosy cheeks. He placed a hand on Calum’s jaw and turned his head, forcing their eyes to meet. “What? Do you think we’re going to break up eventually?”

“I don’t want us to break up either,” he confessed before rolling over closer to Calum, joining their lips together in a sweet kiss. “You just don’t tend to talk about your feelings. So anything you let slip about how you feel about me makes me really happy.”

Calum found himself back in front of that same blank word document a few days later. His phone buzzed with a message from his mother, a Bible quote about perseverance.

He thought back to his conversation with Noah while his fingers typed and deleted a reply like a scratched vinyl. He threw his phone gently across the room and onto his bed as soon as he hit send, the device burning his hands like acid. Now he just had to wait for a reply.

‘Hi, mum. I’ve been dating a boy for the past few months. I know that you believe in God and that it says in the Bible that it’s a sin, but you don’t have to be scared because it also says that God created everyone in his image and that everyone is of equal worth. I’m sorry if this upsets you. Hugs from Calum.’

tag list: @aftermidnightclifford @alongcamethedevil @5sobsessed @rainingcal @calssunflower

[ffxivaltaholic]

LF-RP - Makael Vari - Balmung | Crystal Server

THE BASICS ––– –– –

Occupation: Assassin for the Garlean military, Freelance Assassin for the right coin. 

Hobbies: Lavishly spending gil, collecting weapons, alchemy, studying people.

Race: Viera 

Sexuality: Unknown

Relationship Status: Single

Languages: Eorzean (Common), Bits of other languages

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Color-Wheel: Black, White, Orange, Purple, Red, Gold

 PERSONAL ––– –– –

Residence: Garlemald

Place of Work: Everywhere, he rarely stays in one place.

Birthplace: Golmore Jungle

Travel Experience:  Allot.  He’s been all through Eorzea, Othard, Garlemald and various other places.

APPEARANCE ––– –– –

Height: 6′4 ft.

Build: Toned but slender

Age: 28

Gender: Male (A bit androgynous looking)

Skin tone: Dark ashy grey

Eye color: White  

Hair color: Black

Distinguishing Marks: Tattoos on his face and back, various scars from combat and training, multiple piercings on his ears.

Common Accessories:  Weapons (primarily his throwing knives and Senbon Needles), various poisons and alchemist ingredients, gil.  

 BODY LANGUAGE ––– –– –

Walk: Silent, very smooth and elegant

Voice: Somewhat androgynous depending on what he wants to get out of a conversation. Naturally it’s very smooth and slightly masculine, but lowers in tone depending on his mood and situation. He is capable of fluctuating the tones and pitch to sound more feminine if the situation calls for it.

Tics or Mannerisms: Has a habit of fiddling with a coin or weapon in his hand when waiting for something. Highly observant and will analyze every person in a room before acting. Can come off very confident and a bit arrogant.  Very specific about his appearance, especially his grooming and accessories (Earrings are a big one).

Smells After: Has a slight scent of chemicals. 

Posture: Depends on the situation, but usually relaxed or confident.

Disabilities: None

RELATIONSHIPS ––– –– –

Partner: None

Parents: Mother and Father - Both deceased as far as he knows. Adopted parents are alive and well. 

Siblings: None

Children: None

Extended Family: None

Pets: A black raven-like bird that follows him around.

Other: He has no interest in relationships and considers the idea simply a tool to complete his work and a convenient way to get others to drop their guard.  Anything that can be seen as interest is purely an act and there is most definitely an underhanded reason for him to take interest in anyone but himself.

 PERSONALITY TRAITS ––– –– –

* Allot of these are going to fall in the ‘In Between” category because they highly depend on the situation, whether he is working, and whether acting a certain way will benefit him. He is a sociopath, and while he has a conscience, it’s very very weak and he lacks general empathy towards others. 

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Addictive / In Between / Nonaddictive

 RP HOOKS ––– –– –

Garleans:  Kael was raised in Garlemald and quite comfortable around Garleans and conscripts (though he does look down on them a bit as he’s a citizen). More often than not he’ll be quite welcoming to other Garleans and citizens though.

Freelance Work:  Need someone to disappear? Want to settle a dispute without getting your hands dirty? With enough gil he can take care of those issues.  Kael has little care for the type of work if it pays well, even if it’s simply a job to frighten someone, or full on murder, so long as it doesn’t turn him against his home.  (Need a villain for a plot? This would be a suitable hook for that. He doesn’t need a large role, I’m quite happy to have him a supportive role to the plot.)

Alchemists:  A fair portion of his work involves alchemy and poisons, which he needs to restock as well as improve upon.  Meeting and trading ideas with other alchemists is a pivotal advantage to his work and general life style, so Kael will often seek out those well known and talented in the field.

Other Criminals in the Shadows:  One can never have to many connection in the underworld.  While he prefers to work alone, if the pay is right, he has no issue completing a job with others so long as they don’t try to remove him from the equation after to take his share of the profit.

Plots:  This option is available for discussion.  I quite enjoy playing a role in the story and plots of others.  If you need a villain or a threat in your plot, he can certainly fill that roll!  His involvement is subject to the discussion however as I will not involve the character in inappropriate scenes.

 LOOKING FOR ––– –– –

Plot Heavy RP:  In either a main or supporting role. (See above) 

Connections in the Underworld:  Always a benefit, and interesting encounters, not to mention good for work.

Entertainment: Kael gets bored easily, and sometimes likes to screw around with random people, playing mind games and digging for information that may be useful. For some the interaction could be completely harmless, especially if he finds them amusing, for others it could be a risky encounter. 

Slice of life:  Even an assassin needs a day off, and if caught in a good mood, he can be somewhat pleasant to be around... In small doses.

Garleans: Kael was raised in Garlemald, he’s a proud citizen and will often seek the company of other Garleans when he’s bored and wants to merely socialize.  Many of his tricks and antics are mellowed around his brethren and interactions with him can actually be quite pleasant and friendly. It’s always good to make friends on the right side of the war.

 ABOUT THE MUN ––– –– –

Who I am: A smol nerd who works allot (Customer service yay... LOL), but try to make time to log in and do stuff.

Server: Balmung, Crystal Datacenter (Always up to visiting other servers)

Time Zone: MST (Mountain Standard Time - Prairies) 

Availability: Random. My work gives me different shifts all the time, so I tend to set up rp like an appointment. On the positive, no matter your schedule, at some point I can match it. 

Writing Style: It can vary, depending on what is going on. I try to be detailed and descriptive, but it depends what I have to work off of from a response. I prefer 1-2 paragraphs, but I’m not overly picky. 

Platforms: In Game and In Discord. I don’t mind either since I can check discord at work.

 Restrictions ––– –– –

No to ERP, No to Smut, No to immediate shipping. This character is not meant for that and I would prefer to avoid the subject over all.  He’s an egotistical narcissist, other people mean little to him, and I wish to build him more as an active role in plots and character development for both himself and others. The chance of him actually warming up to someone enough to form a relationship is incredibly slim and would take a great deal of time and rp to even consider.

If you and/or your character are under aged, I would prefer you avoid this character and look at some of my others.  He’s a villain of sorts, he does bad things and he’s not the type to involve yourself with, especially in regards to any mature content.  (This is excluding plot situations that do not have any mature content, for example, as a minor role in a plot involving a kidnapping and rescuing by other players, but it would have to be clarified in detail prior to my agreement to join, and contain no sexual content whatsoever.)  

No permanent death.  I am certainly open to injuries, including life threatening, he is a bad guy after all, but he’s new and I would like to enjoy playing him for a while before I even consider the idea of killing him off.

Contact: Direct Message here, or in game if you catch me online. I don’t give my Discord out until I’ve at least spoken to you a few times.

[kaiju-z]

Seon Adventures Episode 10: “Family and Friends and Fond Farewells.”

Soooo, stuff happened last session, huh?

Coming right back from the heartwarming moment, of a group hug and concilatory pat, the party now must dispose of the elf wizard, Felaern Krissel,’s charred remains.

After a quick round up discussion, they come to the conclusion of weighing the body down into a nearby bog. Really, planning it out takes much longer than actually doing it.

With Luctan gearing himself up again and disguising himself, Belli has to wonder how the ring actually works, since once he puts it back on, he returns to the shaven human look , no peachfuzz on his face, no nothing. From what Luctan could guess, there is a specific recorded charm to it, but he is no magical expert, so he cannot be so sure.

They decide to leave town. But not at once. They first must make some appearances, look around, ask for a possible job opening or something. Look as little suspicious as they can.

Returning to Victrum, part of the party goes back to the Silver Hammer’s Inn, where they try to dissuade Gorruk from even an inkling of an idea that they may have done something to one of his tavern’s patrons.

There follows a lot of bluffing and headaching, faceplanting on the bar and groaning on the subject of shattered perspectives on people and heroes. And yet, somehow??? Luctan lives up to his chosen previous name and bluffs Gorruk into believing them (i.e. the DM was rolling low during the conversation).

A question comes up regarding the meaning of “suggar daddy”,and Gorruk just. Doesn’t answer the disguised tiefling.

With a successful negation of a disaster, the gang get some drinks and Luctan plays matchmaker for Mournimar and Gorruk, which leaves the half-orc man a-blushin’. Gorruk does show interest in a possible date. But Mournimar evidently was not in the right mindset to get together with the man, who’s customer he only recently saw on fire. But he does promiss to return eventually and have that date with the saddened and confused hunk of a man.

We also learn that Gorruk has had this bar for 4-5 years now, having it passed down to him by a man called Medive, who currently resides in Sa Doma, coincidentally, having opened a different establishment called the “Queen Nightingale”. Should the party meet him, they will be sure to tell the man that Gorruk and the Silver Hammer’s Inn are doing wonderfully.

Or. As a Nat 20 Deception Luctan put it: “ What do you mean, Gorruk? This place is a Palace. “

The party reunite with Samson, who had been cuddling up to Morgan, the Dire Wolf, during all this drama, non-the wiser of what had transpired. The lot of them get on the carriage and take off on a long road trip to Sa Doma, where Belli is to meet with Kit and her Brother.

And where Samson is to split from the party and fulfil his own, personal quest.

Night 1: 

As everyone gets to their sleeping time, Luctan finds himself having a dream. Feeling his hand get warm, due to an item he had collected about a month prior... And in his dreams, things occur.

Back in the waking world, Burk is the reigns holder as the others sleep. Rimefang happily at his side.

Felaern Krissel’s personal belongings:  89 gold pieces, 75 silver, expensive robes. Luctan holds onto these... for now.

On the second day of their travels, the highest perception people in the party notice something. A sign. Faded words spell “Love Shack, 50 miles away”.

There is not much discussion as the lot agree to follow the sign...

Along the way Belli helps Mournimar with his hair.

They reach the opening to an empty field with a small shack in the middle. As the tiefling two leave the carriage for the shack itself, everyone hears whooping and cheering coming from a carriage, coming close behind them. Lead by 3 horses, the carriage’s passangers  They’re dancing, singing, playing instruments and are all around having a good time.

The in-coming patrons look the party over:

- Like half the people wink at Mournimar

- barely few show interest for Belli.

- Luctan soaks in all of the attention once eyes fall on the “human” fighter.

- Amelia gets none of the spotlight, sadly, but Burk does get at least two people to show interest.

The enthusiasting group wave and gesture for The Cultbusters to come along. But Luck and Mournimar are way ahead of them as they are down right swaggering towards the entrance of the Love Shack.

“Stay away fools, ‘cause love rules at the Love Shack.”

Luctan rushes in, Mourni follows.

“IF you’re looking for fun, you’ve come for the right place.” A very funky tune is coming from the shack as the duo come on in.

This place is a hot spot for Ebriosus (Banned God of Forbidden Mortal Pleasures) worship . As well as for some of Fornas (God of Luck, Fate and Destiny)’ more lenient followers.

While the boys have their fun inside, Amelia and Belli keep to the carriage with the others...

Though Samson does eventually join in the shack, looking quite relaxed and blazed by the time he comes back with Luctan (wearing a Flower Crown) and Mournimar. Double thumbs up are thrown in the air. Friendship with Samson, acquired in the most weirdest of ways. High five between the tieflings.

And on that day, Luctan became a man (TM).

(There’s a green half orc, who yells “Eldritch Blaaaast” inside the Shack).

As the party takes off, Luctan blows an air kiss to the building. And a  half-elf dude catches his air kiss. Luctan swears to return one day. Maybe. Totally.

By the night of the 5th day, as the party is settling in for the night, around a campfire, they get joined by a wild looking woman, carrying three rabbits.

Thaks to Belli’s Zone of Truth, used with the woman’s consent, we learn that her name is Elouise and that she is a hunter, of sorts. She’s definitely not a serial killer or a cannibal. NO siree.

Not a townie, she is someone, who prefers life in the forest, as her appearance expresses, evidently.  Elouise is about as tall as Amelia. Ruffled hair. They introduce themselves and talk of Sa Doma. According to her, there’s a rampant problem with people of the trade. Something illegal? Criminals of all variety. Thieves, assassins, forgers, counterfitters.

As they go on in their talk, the party offers her a spot at their campfire. In exchange, and in grattitude, she prepares the rabbits and the party have a nice feast with this new friend, who they encourage to try the adventuring life out.

They discuss their journey so far and surprise Elouise with the tale of how they met a representation of Dyunificus; a golden stag. She eventually believes them (and Mourni gets the piss taken for giving away his gift from Dyunificus).

Shifts are taken during sleep. During Luctan’s, he takes the 75 silver pieces he had collected and Sleight of Hands them on Elouise’s person. Having decided not to let the opportunity of helping out someone, who was kind to them.

After Belli’s wonderful Breakfast making skills, the party and Elouise part ways. (AND WE LEARN OUT OF CHARACTER THAT SHE WAS A WEREWOLF! MY INNER TRAVIS WILLINGHAM IS SO DISAPPOINTED IN ME!)

“On the road again!”

About a week has passed since the Solstice festival. By now Luctan and Burk have spent some time training with each other. Sparring matches, working on strength and blade work. Or axe work, in Burk’s case.

They reach Baborum. The starting point of this whole journey that brought them together to begin with.

It is the Eve of The New Dawn (New Year’s Eve).

There is nostalgia in the air. It hasn’t been long, but they’ve accomplished so much since they met. And so much to come. 

In the sky, Mournimar can see them. There are many a constillations. Chuckling gnomes scurry about, doing their thing, everyone gathering i nthe center of the town and prepare for what comes next. 

There’s a brief thick silence as everyone stops speaking, before a flash of light, a crack , shimmer and fireworks. Purple, yellow and green. The sleepy eyed kids look in wonder.

“You’re doing alright, kids. You’re doing alright.” (Our DM)

As the fireworks are going off, Amelia checks for a child she had seen when they previously had been here. A boy, who’s father had passed. She sees him, with his mother. The boy sits atop the shoulders of a man, familiar to the mother, surely.

The boy is healing. For tonight, at least, he is happy.

And they are all content.

Belli makes eye contact with the tavern owners that capitalized on their capture of the cultist. Said tavernitestry to avoid eye contact with her. So much nostalgia in the air.

Samson learns from Luctan about the party’s start.

And that is the New Dawn celebration.

The morning of the 11th day, Kevin and Killer bring the carriage to Sa Doma, a massive city. FREAKING HUGE, OK?!

We make our entrance from the South-Western gate, passing by the evident buildings between the outside and the city walls. Temples, quite evident from the outside alone.

And when they go in... Half the party, all the boys at least, have certainly never been to a town like this before. So big. So thick. So filthy.

Pulling his hood up, Samson tells his fellows to keep an eye out for their stuff, lest pickpockets rob them blind.

They make their preparations and go on in. 

The others notice that this portion of the city is littered with Qorin and Embriosus symbols... Keeping an eye out, they can tell that shadyness is the norm. And anything outside of it, will catch attention. Like most of the party.

Goblins, Tieflings, Golliaths, Centaurs... Yeah. Burk is the “normal one” here.

Someone bumps into Belli as they go along. She receives a parchment from Kit. “The Lean peacock, north-east.”

They walk past some guard barracks, a dodgy looking tavern called “The scattered heart”, a guild hall for the DarkbBane Army. “The Brave Fighters standing against evil” and past the “Warmaster’s office”

There’s a city hall, currently being guarded by two almost identical tieflings. Luctan takes note of them. The male and female tieflings are red skinned, they have long black hair both. One has a figure, the female?! The male one’s got his arms folded and being way more macho than usual.

They pass through Peppery Pete’s, they spot the guild hall for the Lawyer’s Guild.

It is here, where they part with Samson. There are hugs, there are handshakes and there are salutes.

And there are finger gun genstures. Whatever a “gun” is, anyways. (We seriously question whether Luctan is The Fonz by this point, with his “Eyyyyy!”  routine).

Luctan offers Samson their services if trouble arrises.

The last place they pass by is “Liliana’s Bath house.”  (Jokes are made, as we wonder if it’s an actual bath house or just a kink thing).

They make it to the tavern. There’s a very elegantly painted bright bird. “The Lean peacock.” Anxiety is in the air. They can feel it. Hell, Belli and Mournimar embody it.

They scan the room and see Kit with the pink ribbon. A very inconspicuous looking redheaded half-elf. Sat next to her is a face they seem to recognize, but not sure where. (It’s Ficus. He looks similar to Belli. They are siblings after all.)

Ficus is a tattooed gray half-orc with red and blue tattoos on his person, a number of rings on his fingers and blue highlights in his darker shade of brown hair.

They recognize each other, Bellia and Ficus. They recognize each other.

Belli goes over to Kit and Ficus, being awkward, while the rest of the party go to the bar. Mournimar takes a seat nearby and just watches, willing to jump in the conversation if things go bad.

Kit smiles up, but she gives a half-glare, a negative emotion directed towards Ficus.  She gestures to Belli to sit. Ficus looks terrified.

“It’s nice to see you again, Kit.”  - Belli.

“It’s a fantastically tense surrounding, isn’t it?” - Kit.

“it’s certainly been a while. That was a bad start, that was a bad start. Oh God.” - Ficus.

As they talk, Kit, sitting beside Ficus, becomes something of an awkward intermediary

I thought you were dead. We thought someone had kidnapped you in the middle of the night and you were dead.” - Belli speaks, her voice evident with a mix of emotions.

I tried to leave some kind of note. I don’t-I guess-“

“Yes, a rock and you think a note is a good thing to disappear with.”

“If they had known I was going to go, they wouldn’t have let me.”

“They did everything to try and find you. They never stopped looking. Why did you leave? You’re family and you just left?! Didn’t eeven say goodbye”

“I was scared. Is that so hard to believe?”

“I was scared and I never did what you did.”

“I didn’t want what they wanted me to be.”

“They didn’t want me as a son. They wanted someone lively and fun, someone who could play the instruments and I was not this.”

“We’re bards, Ficus.”

“I’m not.”

As they continue, Mournimar subtly moves closer, by a table. Luctan keeps his eyes on the other tiefling, giving him a look of pure “WTF-ery”.

Ficus didn’t want to be like them. He didn’t want to be a “clown”. He wanted to do something bigger than perform.

“There’s more to being a bard than performing and throwing glitter about.”

He wanted to be there, be at the front. And he did. He fought in the wa of years prior. And left. 

He admits he became a thief, after being pressed to answer, by Belli. “I’ve taken contracts to hurt-to kil people. I’ve killed people.”

It’s what the bands on his neck mean.

“If you were that desperate for money, why didn’t you go back home and ask for help?”

“Because they wouldn’t understand.“

Ficus wants to make amends. He’s hidden for too long and needs to see them again. He was selfish to leave, but couldn’t take it anymore and had to go.

And it is with this OOF. That Belli spills the beans on her own witnessed OOF.

On the story of how she found her parents frozen in stone, when returning with supplies to fix the carriage.

Ficus’ face goes through many negative emotions. But the superior one that bursts through like a damn dam is grief and sorrow as he starts to cry.

Belli’s had to do a lot of things to survive. She is angry with him. BUT!

As pissed as she is at Ficus, she still wants him in her life.  He is openly weeping. There is sadness in the air. Kit doesn’t know how to comfort people. She uses one of Belli’s hands and pats Ficus with it.

At this time, Mournimar joins the conversation.  Belli introduces Mournimar to Ficus. In a hell of a way. He’s better than Ficus. But Belli still loves him and doesn’t want to lose him.

Ficus immediatelly goes invisible, much to Belli’s frustration with her older brother.

From below the table, a small tabbycat hops on the table.  Mournimar pats it, but it feels like Ficus is petting it.  Belli demands he show himself again. And he does. He is a total mess.

Kit is panicking by this point, the poor Changeling, as she doesn’t know what to do. But she will see this through. For both Narahs’ sake, she must!

Mournimar tries to encourage Ficus, but man, it doesn’t go well for the drow born tiefling. Luctan has to pull him out of the conversation and scene itself, much to Mournimar’s dismay as he desperately wants to comfort the two half-orcs.

But ultimately, he submits and steps out, towards the  “Obnoxious Bee inn”, opposite of “The Lean Peacock”. As they leave, Burk hands Rimefang over to Mournimar for emotional support, (aww), while Amelia has not stopped drinking since the whole conversation started.

The poor Air Genasi has been stressed out beyond words.

The boys go in and look around the place, but don’t find anyone recognizable.

Mournimar drinks, while Luctan gives him a sober pep talk, giving him assurance that everything will turn out well with the Narahs. After all. They’re family.

Mournimar mentions a drow named Lazarus and Luctan seems to recognize that name... Strange.

Mournimar elaborates on his history with this person and why they’d evidently be in this town.

2 years prior to all this, Mournimar got in a relationship with a drow-elf named Lazarus. Tall guy, charming, very nice to him and they hit it off. He ended up distancing himself. Next thing he knew, he found him passed out, bloodied at a shrine to FUCKING POTENCIA, after he knew what she did to Mournimar...

“He had the balls to say “It wasn’t Potencia’s fault!”“

Once the older tiefling gets this off his chest, Luctan drops another pep talk. He may not be the brightest yarnball in the oven, but even he can see things from a certain perspective.

Mournimar sighs and is getting his composure back together.

Back with the Narahs.... Emotions are a bitch.

By now, Ficus starts to calm down.  “Well, where are they?”

Belli explains that she had left them at home.  Ficus has a lot to make up for and it may  take him the rest of his life to make up for it. 

Do you kind of understand, or was this all for nothing?”

They talk well and Ficus almost smiles. He elaborates that he’s had friends keep tabs on Belli, during her recent travels.

“Do you remember what today is?”Belli’s 17th Birthday

Ficus remembers, of course. And even has a present for Belli. A necklace container shaped box.

“Yes. You’re not completely hopeless as a brother, then.”  The Sibling bonding is exciting and cavity enducing as we learn about their past shenanigans, involving pools of water, mud pies and the like.

Kit asks if they’ll go to Keemas for Night Cap?

Ficus shares that he has a place, somewhere in town. But isn’t that good with words, the poor awkward half-orc.

(From their interaction, this player can only discern that Kit is Ficus’ Belli as Mournimar is Belli’s Ficus.)

The cat that Ficus has with him is, as he puts it, his Fae familiar. One very pettible boy named “Bumpkin”. Which surprises Belli, to say the least.

There are kazoo puns made and laughter is had between the siblings as they hug it out. They missed each other.

Belli proceeds to introduce her brother to her friends, startign with Amelia and Burk. Amelia is drunk, but constute enough to handle herself. She gets to meet Bumpkin, who’s form is that of a tabby cat.

Burk is not impressed with Ficus and lets the evidently scared half-orc know this fact. And he asks if Ficus threw a rock at him.  He makes sure to let Burk know that omeone else threw a rock at him. Ficus doesn’t want Burk to kick his teeth out.

Belli drops some truthbombs, while Ficus tries to explain that the necklace he got her can do the same thing that brought Bumpkin to the Material plane.

Belli basically gets to have her own familiar! Belli has a friend necklace, which she is very excited about. A very drunk Amelia points out the boys went to the other tavern and that’s where the gray half-orcs take to.

Amelia has an emotional breakdown. Existential crisis.

Amelia gets more Rum. Burk gets another Tequila slammer.

There is further sibling bonding as they head to the Bee inn. Talk of chair theft. So much chair theft. It’s wild.

Mournimar hasn’t drunken that much, thus he is but tipsy as the two enter. Via belli kicking the door in, to announce their presence.  Mourni freezes immediately. “Oh, Fuck!” He panicks.

But the situation looks much resolved, compared to earlier. very much resolved.

The two meet Ficus and shake his hand.

Luctan having to shake it in motions to where it looks like a normal one, countering th shiver the taller man has. He oozes that charisma in ways to calm down the male Narah, while Ficus apologizes to Mournimar.

The awkward handshake ensues between the awkward boys and Mournimar asks of Sa Doma.

“To summrise it politely, it’s a shithole.” There are lovely people here. The lady at the bathhouse is one of them.  Liliana is a lovely old lady. The bathhouse is nice. 

Mournimar asks about Lazarus  When he mentions the sword, Luctan just stares, his interest peacked.

Ficus hasn’t seen this guy. Nor heard of him. His surname is fairly common.

There are sex jokes that ensue. Yes, things have definitely gone to a good vibe again.

Ficus then proceeds to tell them about sights they could partake in, depending on their disposition. And on things to avoid.

There’s a battle axe and a half woman around. Don’t tangle with her.

A brewery.

He mentions The “Queen Nightingale”, Medive’s place, where he apparently gambles???

And, should they look for them, there are many a brothels.

There are temples and the like.

Belli mentions their meeting with Dyunficus. But Ficus doesn’t believe them.

Somehow. Someway the conversation leads them to Belli barring Ficus from having a “go” at Luctan. (Yes. In ;)  way).

Much to her bro’s dismay. Ficus finds Luctan attractive. That 15 charisma, man. It’s really something.

Should they be interested, there is a school of the arcane to look into for study.

At the temple of Keemas there’s some good shit that’s not exactly legal. (Light the previously mentioned stuff).

There’s a market and there are many a shops. Including a library/tavern mashup.

And should they look for it, there is a fight club. Around the corner, behind, if you come out a door and go straight past 3 buildings, there’s an open area, where fights occur occasionally. Something to share with Burk, definitely. 

After some accidental and “accidental” flirting with Ficus, the boys return Rimefang to Burk, having decided to go to that library tavern, afterwards.

Amelia, by this point, is pretty out of it. No barfing, but she does throw a glass across the room. Luctan decides to carry her to a room, tries to buy one and is told to take her out of the establishment.

So he goes back to the Bee’s inn and tries there, with better luck as the brunette half-elven woman running the bar points him to a storage closet, where Amelia can take a well deserved nap.

“Everyone’s a little fucked up.”  - The Half-Elven woman.

“Mood, sister.” - Luctan.

Ficus even lends her Bumpkin as a cuddle buddy.

(YES, HE HAS A B! IT IS MY HEADCANON!)

As the boys leave, they agree they are horrible to Amelia, accidnetally as it is.

“This is our truth. We are horrible.”

And as the two head to the library, we reach an ending point.

Previous Episode / Next Episode

[toasttz]

Photon Breaker Zechs: Through the Window

Chapter 2: Video games are best enjoyed with your friends. After composing myself from my initial shock, I realized I was able to call up the familiar menus and interfaces as I saw them in-game. A swipe of my hand and a little willpower would call up my inventory, status menu, skill tree, and anything else I could normally access at button prompt. Once I was aware of this, I tried to find the “Log Off” or “Exit Game” option but was unable to call up that one submenu despite having all others at my disposal. Silently cursing, I called up my friend list and saw a few active profiles – namely that of Deegal. If Dieter was playing, then I would at least be in good company to figure out the situation. If he was outside the game, perhaps he could give me valuable insight for how I would get out of this mess or, if he too were suddenly in a similar situation, we could at least bask in a shared misery. I tapped his name in my list and saw he was in Strattburg as well. Which was good, as this new body felt awkward, like I was standing on stilts that I couldn't remove, as they were now my own legs. I had made my avatar as tall as a Loppo could possibly be – not counting his... my... ears I believe the game told me I was about 6'10”, or about 8 inches taller than I was in the real world. This made my gait clumsy and awkward, so I wasn't in any rush to go bolting out of the village on some half-baked effort to find him. Then the options came up: Message, Voice Chat... Wait, voice chat? How would that even work without a headset or a mic, I pondered. Either way, it would at least work to grab his attention and I could think of something else. I pressed the option and heard a strange ringing sound, like a telephone I could hear but not see had begun to ring for him. After waiting for what felt like a small eternity, but was really just a few seconds, I heard the other side answer. “Hi?” I heard a... weirdly feminine voice chime in answer. “Uh, Dieter?” I hesitated. “Jake,” the woman's voice confirmed. At this point, the only thought that ran through my mind was, Hell with it. I'm just gonna roll with this. “Can you come over here? We have some things we need to discuss,” I tried to play it off like I was in control of the situation, even though it was apparent to all involved I totally wasn't. “Okay,” the woman's voice replied, “But there's one thing...” “What's that?” I pried, beginning to walk down the main street of Strattburg, moving my eyes from side to side as I went. “Where are you?!” they snapped. That confirmed it for me – female voice or no, that was Dieter's usual level of patience. I recalled he had made a female avatar and, while the idea repulsed me in every way humanly possible, I had to conclude that his vocal chords were now physically different, much as my legs were now. “We're both in Strattburg, so we can easily meet up,” I said, as reassuringly as I could. Just as the words left my mouth, my eye took note of a player character with green text over her – the color the player's text would appear to those on one's friend list. “Deegal”. That was her... or rather, him. “How do you know that?!” he barked. “Dieter, I can see you. Turn around,” I explained. He turned around, revealing his avatar as I recall him building her – a ludicrously voluptuous Floof clan woman, barely passing for PG-13 with a karate gi that seemed to desperately strain against physics and logic to stay covering her body. Like Neeku, she had pointed, animal ears atop her head and a bushy tail waving behind her – which I would later learn wagged when Dieter was excited about something – with brown hair and bright eyes. The fact that this form was easy on the eyes made me want to throw up a little. It made sense, of course. No anime-inspired MMO would make characters less than at least conventionally attractiveness. I recall I gave my own avatar ridiculously huge, flowing golden blond hair as a joke before it immediately was concealed below the bucket helmet that all Bunkers began with. Around this time, I noticed someone had been following me and with a quick glance I was able to identify it as Seamus. It wasn't hard, not only did the green nametag prove it, but also that, unlike Dieter and myself, he made himself a human avatar and then went to great pains to make it look as much like his actual real-world self as the system allowed for, though with some embellishments all his own. I silently wished he hadn't added the weird, whispy mustache to his avatar. It was creepy and unsettling but I didn't have the heart to say so at the moment. I nodded to him, a gesture he returned as we all seemed to arrive at the same conclusion. “Well, why didn't you tell me sooner?!” Dieter grumbled as he approached us. The call, once we stopped focusing on it, seemed to hang itself up. What a courteous invisible phone line. “I was trying to,” I returned with a half-truth. As if I had any idea what the hell was going on in the first place, “It seems we're all of the same opinion,” I trailed off, unable or unwilling to state the obvious. We made an odd trio, a modestly short, immodestly-dressed Floof woman, a towering giant made up of plate-mail to the point where my sex and species were, frankly, irrelevant, and a dark-haired anime protagonist with a long, flowing white coat and the mustache one would associate with wanted posters. We really could've passed as a trio of estranged characters from an anime. “Oh, hey, Dieter! It looks like you’re here, too! Fancy that!” He beamed with entirely too much enthusiasm granted our current situation, “I woke up from a cheese poof nap and here I am. I don’t think I’m dreaming, am I?” “No, Seamus, I don't think so,” Dieter frowned dramatically at his junior. Dieter always complained of Seamus's high-pitched voice, but I just didn't have it in me to tell him that was actually deeper now than it had been in years prior. Not that I think he'd believe that assertion anyways... “Oh boy! Does this mean you’re going to call me by my actual name from now on?!” Seamus beamed, pulling his hands up to his chest in surprise and elation. “Don't count on it, Zechs!” Dieter grinned, baring fangs, “Anyways, do you guys have any idea why or what we’re doing here?” Before I could posit my theory about Satan being alive and well in the world, or monkey's paw wishes, or gypsy curses, I was headed off by a newfound intruder, “Isn’t it obvious? You play the game,” a woman, clad in a flowy, purple robe approached us. “And... who might you be...?” I became incredibly aware of the weight of the warhammer slung over my back and felt a need to have it ready, just in case. Something about her just never did sit right with me, but I maintained my stance. “I’m the administrator of Slidelands. It is by my power that you’re here now, as you are,” she explained simply. The three of us stood opposite her, at a loss for words. I could think of nothing else but to beg for whatever she had done to be undone but before I could even get that far, it was Seamus, or rather his avatar, Zechs, who spoke first. “Whoo-hoo! Thank you! I love Slidelands, and now you need us to save the world or fight some great evil, or take on a nearly impossible quest, right?” he whooped with joy. It was everything in my power not to deck him for that. Dieter seemed to share my frustrations, but I held my silence, hoping that some good news would come of this exchange. The strange woman grinned slyly at us, “See? I knew it, ever since I met you, that you’d be perfect for my purposes,” She reached out, patting Zechs's shoulder, which would later cause Dieter to joke about it being 'the first time a girl touched him' but I awaited her answer with baited breath, “No, my dear Zechs, your task before you that I wish you to complete is to conquer this world. Defeat all others with your group and realize your potential as your titles as No-Life Kings,” I was visibly crestfallen – or would have been had my helmet not hidden my face – as I let out a sigh. Ultimately, all that told me was that we were screwed and she lacked either the will or ability to set things to right if we didn't cooperate with her sick little game. “That’s pretty flowery language,” Dieter observed, making a rude gesture with his off-hand. “That's hardly the problem here,” I growled, barely above a whisper. Come to think of it, I doubt anyone heard it outside my helmet... “It’s critical to your mission. Death has no hold over you now, not that you were paragons of life anyways,” the admin smirked in a truly obnoxious fashion. She held the power in this struggle and knew it too, the smug snake. I grit my teeth in response, willfully ignoring the inherent futility. Dieter folded his (her? Never mind. Not thinking about that anymore.) arms across his chest, “Is that so?” “I guess you’ll have to see!” she again grinned at us, “In any case, I hope you’ll enjoy and explore my world, and eventually, fulfill my task,” She then, without warning, faded from view, becoming little more than a hologram before vanishing completely. So that was our challenge. We were being asked to complete an MMORPG. She might as well have handed us a spade and asked us to count the grains of sand on a beach. Online games are, by design, endless. They are designed to be unbeatable, not because you'll hit a wall at the opposite end, but because you'll never run out of doors and hallways. As I said before, Slidelands has undergone over 15 major expansions and add-ons not to mention smaller bugfixes and minor content upgrades. Even if a player soldiered through the enormous swaths of content – or simply cherry picked their favorite bits and focused primarily on the story quests – the difficulty eventually begins to scale on a logarithmic basis, meaning no amount of grinding will ever be enough to satisfy the difficulty demands of the next steps. In short, you either undergo, frankly, ungodly amounts of side content, spending enormous amounts of your life doing quests that are, by and large, unnecessary, or you get hard denied by the obscenely high numbers of late game content. Most players simply reach a saturation point and drop off, stop paying their monthly fees, and allow their accounts to be soft-locked by the administration until they either pick it up again or delete it from their hard drives. Telling me to “beat an MMORPG” is akin to telling me to tear down Mt. Everest with a shovel. Doable only in theory. My theory-crafting train of thought was derailed when Zechs pumped both fists skyward and shouted, “Well! Time for us to explore, you guys!” His boundless optimism would be admirable, were it not so misplaced. Dieter mumbled something incoherent, prompting Zechs to ask him what was wrong. “I… don’t know how really to play this game,” he confessed. “You serious?” I was incredulous, “But you spent like four hours on it before, didn’t you?” “Well, yeah, but I spent most of that time actually making my character. I only actually played the real game for about twenty minutes. Well, twenty minutes after I finished the tutorial. I know how to use items and all, but I’ve seen combat tutorials online, and I am not ready to say I would wager my life on the byzantine, comprehensively dense pile that is Slidelands combat,” Dieter had a bad habit of stuffing 20 dollar words into 10 cent conversations, but it was a welcome change from the 2-bits one was more liable to receive in an MMO. But I digress. Placing an armored hand to the helmet-equivalent of my chin, I said, “Well, I guess the best way to understand it is to undergo it yourself, then!” “Hey, yeah, we can go out into the forests,” Zechs suggested, “You can level up and learn the ropes. We’ll be nearby and there’s nothing that could possibly hurt us there. Well, not hurt me. There are still elite critters who can give you a hard time, there, Jake,” I shot him a look, but I doubt the meaning found its mark as he just grinned in response. “Fine, fine, I suppose, if I’m going to be stuck here for the time being, I may as well get the low-down from the “expert” here. First things first, though, I, uh...” Dieter trailed off again, looking awkward for a moment. Again, Zechs had to prompt the follow-up, “I…uh, need to powder my nose, or whatever!” “Is that it, why didn’t you just say so? There’s one over there. Although, it’s cool. Why didn’t you just say you needed to go?” Zechs managed between his hysteric laughter. “Because dude or no, I’m not going to out and say I need to take a crap to you, Zechs,” Dieter demanded, then hurried off, clearly not perfectly in control of his new frame. “We have to use the bathroom in an MMO?” I pondered aloud. “Well, since we're in the game world now, I guess we still need to do those things. Y'know, like eat and sleep,” Zechs returned, “What are you gonna do with all those layers of armor when nature calls, anyway?” “Hardly seems like your concern,” I growled, “Moreover, I can just open the interface and unequip anything, as needed. Though I suppose since I can fiddle with the latches, I could do it the old school way,” I reasoned, best as I could. It's not that Zechs's logic was wrong. It's more that I just couldn't put my head around this 'world' being 'real'. As far as I was concerned, this world was a game, a 'fake' world that somehow impeded me from returning to the 'real' world. We stood idly. Or, rather, Zechs leaned against a fence and I practiced walking in my new body by pacing, trying to adapt to just how bizarre it felt to suddenly be as tall as I was. I had been the same height since I was 13 years old – to suddenly have 18 years of muscle memory pulled out from under me was quite a shock. “Sure is takin' her sweet time,” Zechs observed. “His time,” I corrected his nomenclature, aware of how much triggering that would cause, should it have been broadcast in the server's public chat feed. But honestly, I couldn't say I would've cared, as I tended to mute that when this was all just a game. “Looks like a duck, quacks like a duck...” Zechs giggled. “Eww. Gross. Barf,” I replied, “I'm putting a moratorium on that line of thought right now,” As I was practicing my steps, I felt one leg fail to connect and I went face-first to the ground. I sighed deeply as I glanced up towards a densely wooded area, just behind a nearby tent. I then witnessed Dieter walk into the bushes and... offer up a prayer to the porcelain god there. Well, never getting that image out of my head, no matter how hard I try. I pushed myself to my feet and walked back to Zechs, pretending I hadn't just seen that as Dieter quickly jogged back to us. “Okay, okay, I’m good, let’s go,” Dieter said, looking quite flustered. Zechs nodded and I offered Dieter an unheeded glance of pity. We ventured into the first forested zone outside the town, where Dieter had briefly started doing some simple quests and got to level 3 before losing interest in the game. Dieter was a Jetter, a class that specialized in speed and attack at the expense of all other stats, and it suited his impatient, impulsive personality type quite well. Explaining to Dieter the Three Rings Theory of party formation was just a waste of breath, as he would just rush all of his problems and hope that the limited sustain talents of the class could carry him. Not that Zechs was any better, but at least the Breaker wore medium-class armors and therefore could soak hits better. But what do I know, I'm just the party tank. I suppose now is the time to explain Slidelands and her namesake. Imagine a slider puzzle, made up of square pieces that can be rearranged to form a picture. That's how the map of the game looks, when taken as a whole. The game is made up of moving 'pieces' that follow set rotations, linked by warp gates at the extreme edges of each. On each tile are a series of zones, broken up into towns (safe zones), field zones (like the forest, where monsters spawn), dungeon zones (small, self-contained areas full of monsters and loot), and raid zones (essentially, super dungeons). If it sounds like this game has entirely too many systems crowbarred into it... well... you're right. Once in the forest, Dieter set to work, randomly punching and kicking critters, screaming his attack names like a man possessed. Or perhaps, a woman possessed by a man, I guess? I chose to ignore him in order to check a theory he caused me to consider. That, instead of using an interface, we could use our abilities by simple verbal command. Zechs and I tried this a little while Dieter sent furry bodies sailing through the air. I found a spot in the menu called 'Journal' I had previously ignored while playing the game where I could focus my thought on it and they would manifest as text memos. I thought about making a memo about it, but reconsidered when I realized it might come off as redundant. “So, uh, guys, I see some squares in my vision,” Dieter shouted over to us, “Whenever I do attacks they fill in. They seem to erase themselves after a few seconds, though?” “Oh, those?” I looked up from my memo, “Those are your Art Cells,” “And what are those...?” Zechs raised a hand to emphasize his point and began to explain, not unlike a college professor, “It’s a way that the developers found to halt the excessively fast attacks of the Jetter. In vanilla Slidelands, the Jetter’s actions were limited only by the action speed of the user. Because of this, people would overdose on coffee, ritalin, and sometimes… other things, in order to increase their reaction speeds and solo even the strongest known raid bosses. To counter this, the 1.1 patch replaced the Jetter’s action set with the Art Cells, forcing them to pause every so often and wait for further attacks,” “So, I got nerfed then?” Dieter balked. I rolled my eyes. Only he would view something that stopped players from actively breaking their finger bones as 'I got nerfed'. “Well, not really? This was back like… twelve years ago? I doubt you would’ve cared back then,” Zechs nervously grinned with a shrug. Dieter then went back to punching the squirrels as I briefly removed my gauntlets using the interface. “What're you doing, Jake?” Zechs pried. I silently grabbed a fistful of grass from the forest floor and let the blades cascade into the breeze as they wafted by. “I couldn't do this when it was a game,” I observed, seeing small amounts of the chlorophyll stain the white fur of my paw-like hand, “Weird,” “Uh, are you getting existential or something?” Zechs was clearly uncomfortable with this. I sighed. My attempts at parsing this world piece by piece was soundly defeated by someone who simply chose to embrace a world with no real accountability like a manchild. “Uh, guys? I found this weird monster statue. It also has a weird exclamation point over it,” Dieter shouted over to us. “Monster statue?” I wondered, sliding through some of the in-game menus in front of me over to the in-game encyclopedia, a disgustingly comprehensive guide to anything one is liable to encounter in the game. After using the search function, I found it. “Ah. Here it is. It must be a Master Statue. Given location, probably the World-Devouring Ogre subclass,” Oh, right, subclasses. Those are yet another means by which to customize your characters. You can level them up to your heart's content, but you can only have one active at a time – thereby only receive the stat bonuses of one at a time. Broadly speaking, these fall into one of four families: crafting, collection, combat, and hobbyist. Crafting classes, like blacksmith and seamstress, create useful tools, weapons, armors, and other things adventurers can immediately put to use. Collection subclasses, like miner and woodcutter, are for the gathering of raw materials. Since raw materials will be used in recipes well into the endgame sections, there is always a demand for their services. Combat subclasses, like the World-Devouring Ogre and Vampire, supplement combat talents and can even grant additional combat skills. And hobbyist classes, like Beekeeper and Qwibon Rider, each have unique abilities all their own. “Are you sure?” Dieter called back. “Yeah, dude,” I returned, re-equipping my gauntlets, “You like massive damage dealing, this subclass’ll give you that. Go for it!” I looked back down to my memo-to-self as I jotted down my observations. “Wow, look at them go,” Zechs admired, evidently watching Dieter's battle against low-level fauna with great interest. I hummed a reply, wondering vaguely if our memos could be seen by other players. Last thing I'd want was for some passers-by to read that I had been sucked into a game and assume I was crazy. “Up and down and up and down and...” Zechs chanted rhythmically for a time. “Uh-huh,” I managed. “It's like watching gelatin bounce!” he sputtered and salivated. “Yeah, well, I would assume... Wait, gelatin?” That was what commanded me to look up at the fight again, as Dieter was dancing furiously against a crimson-colored critter. I then watched on as it sunk its teeth into Dieter's arm and I saw a green bar sink slowly downward and change to an equally-red color as the monster in question. “The hell?” I whispered. I watched as he activated some buff or the other, punching the critter out of the air and throwing it back as it unleashed a mortifying scream. “Dieter! That cry! That’s a roaming boss! Oooh, I was afraid of this!” Zechs exclaimed, running towards our companion, “Don't worry, we'll help you!” A boss? Surely Zechs had misspoke. Could boss-tier monsters spawn in the very first field zone?! I briefly pondered just how sadistic the devs of Fairy Land were in their design philosophy, but then I remembered these were the people who sent a giant crab riding atop a giant turtle after Neeku and I for sitting in the shade for too long, and I quickly pursued after Zechs. When I caught up, I bent down, halting his advance, “No, no. He's... he's got this. I think,” He and I took a step back to watch what would happen next. What unfurled next was a truly impressive and acrobatic display of combat prowess. Not hindered at all by his new physique, Dieter deftly dodged and dished out damage with deadly devastating decisiveness. I was legitimately impressed. At one point, it seemed like he had the monster on the ropes and would force it to retreat – many monsters in the game were actually given pretty advanced AI routines to dynamically react to how a battle was going – but Dieter would not grant it the opportunity. He brutally grabbed it out of the air and began squeezing the life out of the thing by crumpling it into a ball as it was originally a piece of furry origami art. And, much to my horror, stuffed the thing in his mouth and ate the damned thing. I don't know if it's the fact that the taste of paper triggers my gag reflex or if I was just too stunned to even comprehend this, but I just stood there, stunned at the display. Dieter then turned to us, a crazed bloodlust burning in his eyes as he unleashed a fell and terrible howl, throwing his head back like a wolf. Just in time for his oversized chest to follow-through and bash him in his own face, throwing him head-first to the floor below. “Whoa,” I heard Zechs admire, barely above a whisper. I sighed and walked over to my stunned companion and glanced down at him. He blinked a few times, presumably trying to shake the haze off, as he groaned, “C-can you help me up?” he weakly offered. “Got a bite to eat and you think you could take me on?” I chuckled, then gestured with my free hand to the area on my helmet where my mouth would otherwise have been, “Oh, you got some Critter in your teeth,” I heard him mumble his reply, “Oh, good. I could still take you. I'm level 75 now!” “Oh, well, that’s good.” I nodded as I called up my menu before my hand and flipped a few settings, “However, still, let me put my profile on public,” Windowz, Proton Bunker, Level 237. “Oh. Wait, levels in the hundreds? What the heck is up with that?!” he grunted, in a way not entirely dissimilar from how I had reacted to the same realization. Zechs walked closer to us to explain, “This is a MMORPG, and one of the worst about grind. Of course this game is going to have a stupidly high level cap. In fact, in the fifteen years that Slidelands has been up and running, no one has hit the level cap. Ever,” I didn't have it in me to mention I heard previously heard rumors about the game's level cap going up with each expansion, either, so I simply assisted Dieter in getting to his feet and helpfully said, “Here, let’s get you back to town,” Not long after, we sat down in the biggest tavern of the first town. I was skimming menus still as we found a table and sat down together. I admit I was only half-paying attention as Zechs and Dieter engaged into a conversation about the latter's recent stat point gain and his wanting advice on where to distribute them. Like there was any doubt, since the min-maxing scrub was already following a meta build I had heard of – where the Neutron and Jetter had insane power/speed builds that had surprising amounts of self-sustain. It struck me as absurd that he'd follow a guide and then suddenly stop midway in. In the back of my head, I could hear Neeku's condescension of “But... but the meta!!” I chuckled when the thought crossed my mind. My focus returned midway into the discussion with Zechs gawking, “So, you're telling me that you made a nearly perfect min-maxed character without trying to do so?” “I guess?” Diegal shrugged. “Wow, man, just, wow,” Zechs shook his head in disbelief. “Like you have room to talk,” I scoffed, “Your build is a Photon Breaker, a middling all-rounder 'Tron alongside a middling all-rounder front line combat class. Face it, Zechs, you're a jack of all trades, master of none,” The Photon Breaker lacked major, crippling weaknesses, which made it noob-friendly and a 'safe' choice for the noncommittal sort. “So? What's your build then?” Deegal challenged. I sighed, pressing the tips of my gloved fingers together before my helmet. I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off, “Dude, you seriously need to take off your helmet. At least in here. You can't be a big, scary space marine guy all the time!” I sighed again. I guessed he couldn't see my nonverbal cues and figured he might have had a point. I yanked the bucket off my head and shook my sweaty hair free as it carelessly tumbled down around my head. As I mentioned earlier, my hairline in the real world was... unsatisfactory. So as a bit of an in-joke, I gave my character a ludicrously massive pompadour worth of blond hair that flared a bit in the front, in traditional anime-esque fashion. Deegal made a strange face at me, perhaps surprised I was playing a loppo race, but allowed me to speak, “I, Jake,” I deliberately hammed up my delivery, “am a Proton Bunker. Proton is a physically inclined 'Tron, while Bunker is the epitome of defensive field control and enemy direction. I ensure that enemies focus on me and me alone,” He nodded wordlessly at me, but seemed a bit startled by something. He knew I played a tank, so I guess it was the loppo thing. Weird. “Here are your orders, sirs and madams,” the waitress stepped over to our table. She smiled at me, almost apologetically, as she spoke, “The, erm, meatball sandwich for you, sir Loppo,” “Indeed,” I chirped merrily, “Excellent!” I was excited at the prospect, having not eaten at all this day and, frankly, I figured fake food could tide me over until I figured out what was going on. Right up until the blinding, searing agony surged through my entire being with a force that felt as if a heavy weight boxer had just checked my solar plexus. Every iota of willpower in my entire being had to be forced to a singular point in the back of my throat to stop myself from vomiting what contents may have been in my stomach prior. I spat out the sandwich in a mixture of feral terror and mortal shock. What the hell had just happened?! I cursed and sputtered desperately. I think I managed to get some words out, but couldn't swear to it at the time. Zechs shrugged and grinned nervously, “W-well, buddy, I didn't want to tell you this, but Loppo, your rabbitman race, are all strictly vegetarian. They can't digest meat, like at all,” I struggled to recover my breathing as Dieter riotously cackled at me, “Hey, can you get my friend a new sandwich, with... Hmm. Kale, pickles, oh, lots of pickles, lettuce, and tomatoes? Oh, and some carrots on the side, too?” I barked something obscene under my breath that, in retrospect, shouldn't be transcribed here. As if I need to explain further, I don't care for bitter tastes or certain textures – of which the above order falls neatly under. The only reason I didn't say more was because I stopped to run my tongue along the tops of my teeth. In the front were pronounced, sharp teeth for cutting. Next to them in the human jaw would be canines – designed for tearing. But in place of them were flattened teeth, like a vegetable-eating species would have. I was unsettled by this, to say the least. The waitress was uneasy, simply giving us an, “Okay,” before pulling something from her pocket, “Oh, and before I forget. I was told to give this to you.” She then handed Diegal an envelope. Out of reflex, I shot her a nasty glare, indicating that her presence was no longer welcomed at our table. I then extended the same to the laughing hyena-bitch who sat opposite me. I must have said something, as Diegal fired at me, “Don't hate me, hate yourself for opting for a vegetarian race. I'll be taking your sandwich, now, too,” As he slid the plate across the way. “You wanna fight?” I whispered, as I felt Zechs grab my shoulder, clearly telling me to knock it off. I knew he was right but in that moment, I was pretty mad, to put it gently. “Who's it from?” Zechs cut me off. “Does it matter?” Dieter shrugged carelessly. I snatched the letter from him and opened it forcefully. I scanned it for a second before reading it aloud, “Dear Zechs, Windowz and Deegal, My apologies for earlier. I didn't realize I hadn't installed proper toiletries for you before. Hopefully, everything is fine and dandy now that the latest patch-mancy has been implemented. Well, I wish you luck and hope for your success, Sincerely, Administrator Catalina Ur-Grafzou,” As I finished I thought back to what I saw and decided to take jab back at my dear friend, with the opening now presenting itself, “Wait, toiletries weren't implemented before? What the heck? Was everything right before, Dieter?” I saw the color drain from his face, “Uh, sure?” he offered, biting into my sandwich anew, “Why do you ask?” “Oh,” I hummed, “No reason. It just seemed odd she'd send us a message for that if everything was fine before, but whatev—Ohgodammit.” The waitress returned, having taken Dieter's faux-order seriously. I swear to whatever demon rules over this world, the NPCs were just as stupid when I was trapped with them than when I skipped their dialog with the Escape key. I said some... words one really should not say to someone in a service industry job to make her leave. The weird part about it was... I think I made the NPC cry? I told myself it was a trick of the lighting. Nothing that rock-stupid would happen in this world. My appetite completely destroyed by what just happened and my enthusiasm a distant memory, I put my mug to my mouth to the good old reliable taste of city tap water. Well, it tasted like the tap water of the town I lived in. I stopped halfway. This is all fake anyway, so who really cares? I reasoned. Diegal and Zechs continued talking but I had stopped listening. It was immature and stupid and I should've let it go, but I sat there and stewed in my anger instead. Setting my cup down, I interceded into their conversation, “Anyways, enough of this stupidity, let's get out there. We need to get ourselves up to snuff so we can complete this dumb quest thrust on us,” I went to stand, only to see the damned waitress was back again, but this time to hand me a bill. God damn NPCs... I fished for the coins, dropped them and cursed the brainless AI one last time for good measure. Afterward, we were heading back to the Forest of Beginnings. Putting my helmet back on and getting to move around freely helped me burn off some of the stress – in addition to the primitive catharsis that was smashing monsters who we hopelessly outclassed in single blows. I must say, it made me feel pretty cool to know I'd come such a long ways in a short time, for what it was worth. However, the resounding gong of falling hammer blows came to a stand-still – in fact, all three of us did – when we heard a sudden cry: “He-e-elp!!!” “Did you all hear that?” Dieter cried out. “It's coming from ahead of us, by about a mile,” Zechs reasoned with startling levels of precision. Dieter seemed to think so too, as he shot back, “That's pretty impressive. How did you figure that out so quickly?” “Oh,” Zechs sheepishly grinned, “I took ten levels in the Stalker subclass, and I can track anyone I've ever messaged, and that's coming from one of my friends.” Dieter and I awkwardly exchanged glances as I offered a shrug, “All the more reason to help. Let's go!” I brandished my hammer and shield, as something occurred to me. An odd bug I discovered in the game due to my particular build. And it didn't take long for my friends to notice it either. “Uh, Jake, man? You're, um, how do I put this... You're running backwards,” my floof companion offered. “I know. Because I can't move that fast forward. My armor load is too high for my weight bearing, and so my walking speed is cut in half. You could give me a five minute head start and you'd probably still beat me in the hundred yard dash as I am now. However, movement speed doesn't factor into defensive evasive maneuvers, so...” I trailed off. I learned the trick while goofing around, finding my back-step dodge command, which was technically on a 1-second cooldown, moved my avatar faster than walking forward. Weird ninja-solutions to these kinds of problems were lauded by Fairy Land developers and, thus, usually were not patched out. He seemed satisfied with my explanation, “I see, then. Well, don't hit any trees.” I swiftly explained a talisman I used for 360 vision. While the game was viewed 3rd-person style, wearing certain equipment would have secondary effects and bucket helms would shadow the world behind my character as a means of expanded role playing. The talisman in question was a reward for tank classes who reached certain level thresholds and did a particular questline. But it worked for my needs. Which is good, as we soon ran into a complication in our impromptu search-n-rescue mission. There, at a lake somewhere near the forest's center (where subsequently stronger monsters tended to gather) was a Boss monster. Zechs broke the awkward silence, “Oh, geez. I didn't realize it was the new moon,” There before us, center of the lake was a truly impressive sight to behold: from the waist up, one could be forgiven for mistaking it for a 30 foot tall woman, blessed by her creator with an unnaturally acute beauty and an otherwise-inviting smile and posture. The devs even rendered her a belly button, which barely floated above the waterline. However, there was no mistaking the lower half for what it was – a terrifying amalgamation of aquatic animal body parts. Where hips should have been was the body of a cuttlefish or a particularly sponge-like snail, with tentacles extending every which way not unlike a squid. Around the water's edge were smaller, cuttlefish-squid monsters, called Lesser Omens, patrolling nearby. When Dieter demanded to know what the lunar phase had to do with anything, Zechs shouted back, “That's because that's the only time that this monster, the Neptunine Omen, appears. Be on your guard, Dieter!” “Yeah, yeah, I've seen enough weird Japanese porn to know what to expect if I fail,” Dieter, in a bout of infinite class, responded coolly. Surrounded by the Lesser Omens, there stood a lone adventurer: a Squerran female who looked to be some sort of mage-class based on her ill-fitting, baggy robes that made her already-petite frame look even smaller. My natural instinct was to protect her first, but if we broke rank and got swarmed, we wouldn't be doing her any help at all, so I motioned for Zechs to stay close as we advanced. I dropped my hammer down atop a Lesser Omen as Zechs stayed by my side, slashing wildly at the slimy little piles. I figured we could stay in standard 3-Ring formation and force the upper hand by weeding out the smaller ones faster than the big mama could generate them. Dieter, of course, had other plans. She leaped over us, sailing into direct contact. Zechs briefly reached his free hand out, as if to call for him, but I motioned for him to... let it unfold. There was no use in trying to stop him now. “Dude, if she dies, there goes my chance!” my short friend hissed at my side. “It was funny the first time. Now it's just creepy, man,” I shot back. I had to admit, his surprise attack gambit caught the boss off-guard, so I saluted Dieter somewhat for taking initiative. Or, rather, I did up until one of the tendrils grabbed him around his midsection and began slamming him to the ground, much akin to the old Saturday morning cartoon slapstick sketches I used to watch. I admit it: I smiled a little. “I'll help you!” The Squerran girl suddenly started, “I call upon the Gnosis of the Soldonna! Tiny Puttirim!” I glanced over just in time to see a tiny, cherubic angel figure appear and began shooting small jolts of lightning into the horde. This served to provoke every last one of them – including ones that I had previously focused on me – as they dog-piled onto the poor thing. As I looked back to see Dieter's health (unsurprisingly in the red) ticking downward, as he unleashed a roar, fell and terrible, as he proceeded to tear the tentacle from its original owner and began bashing the lessers into oblivion. I was a bit at a loss as I watched the scene unfold. Just then, I heard the boss's low laugh echo again and looked her way, just in time for Zechs to take to the air, slashing wildly. Before I knew it, he had pureed a hole straight through her, dropping the boss where she floated. “WHOO-HOO! Oh, yeah, Dieter! Good job on distracting her so I could finish her off!” Zechs cheered wildly. “What?” I heard Dieter barely mumble. “You think you won? Lady Neptune will devour your... guts,” the barely-hanging-in-there boss gurgled. Feeling the day's mounting frustrations and my own helplessness mounting up, I whipped out my hammer and proceeded to exert all those feelings all over the boss's skull, quickly demolishing it into a semi-consistent pudding-like mixture. “My heroes,” The Squrran mage teased as she approached us. Zechs took it to the mug like a champ with a big grin, “No worries, there, Errin. Say, how have you been?” She shook her head, “Not terribly good, I'm afraid. At first, I was enjoying myself being so immersed into the game, as I was collected quite a bit of excellent data, and then... I realized I couldn't get out. Is this what they call losing touch with reality?” “Dude, who is this?” I asked, leaning down closer to Zechs. “Oh, my apologies. I am Dr. Erin Sanderson. You may call me Erri or Errin, too, if you prefer,” She introduced herself politely. I was considering why the name rang a bell, but Dieter beat me to it. “Really?! You know Erin Sanderson?” he growled. “Is that a problem?” Zechs squeaked. “She only wrote the most inflammatory documents on the internet, only after that one guy who wrote the hilariously incendiary 'Everything you like is shit' trollpost,” I had heard of her. I had actually even watched a couple of her ZoomTube videos where she talked about social systems in games. Sure, I disagreed with her take that every game needed social elements crammed into them, but I didn't find her all that offensive. Compared to how my day had been so far, I considered her a step up. “Yes, well, please, forgive Seamus, or Zechs. He was quite a gentleman to help me before as he did, and now. He has been invaluable to my research into online interactions, and now, what with this bizarre happenings before me, I'm sure his help will be invaluable once more,” “Now, you need to fill me in,” I offered. I wanted to hear the other side too, just to be sure I didn't step into a minefield. “I'll tell you when we get back to town. I need some new clothes. I got squid slime all over these ones,” Dieter wrinkled his nose in distaste. Which was fine by me. I was already exhausted after the day we'd had.