#this one gave me trouble in case you couldn’t tell from me posting it days later than I planned

[biweeklyhermitcraft]

Day 50: Ranchers

[artyandink]

𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬 | 𝟏

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: You were the only one Sherlock ever truly loved, and it was true. No lady ever caught his eye, no woman stole his attention the way your wit and charm did. He supposed it was his own fault for losing you, his own fault that you walked out his door, leaving a young child with him that was now old enough. Old enough to want to find her mother. He wanted to find you. But he also didn’t want to. It meant to face his own truth.

𝐓𝐖: angst, set after Enola Holmes 2, bad father-daughter relationships, child abandonment, heartbreak, stubborn Sherlock, oc!daughter, stubborn daughter so the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, identity concealment

𝐀/𝐍: surprise! Decided to post early ;)

𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓/𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆: I MISS YOU, I’M SORRY BY GRACIE ABRAMS

𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐧

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐘, 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐇𝐀𝐃 no one learnt their lesson yet?

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He groaned, stepping past the burly police guards to get into the scene of the bank robbery— oh, now they’re stopping Watson, what was it with these blasted, bloody policemen? Guess nobody had bothered to even instate smarter policemen after Grail and his cronies got fired (in Grail’s case, a very broken neck). “Didn’t I tell you not to be ridiculous? He’s with me. Holmes and Watson.”

“Sorry, Mr Holmes, sir.” One of the policemen muttered, gesturing for Watson to pass through, the man looking a little bemused and unfamiliar with his surroundings. Ah. Right, Watson wasn’t acquainted with the life of a detective.

He stepped up beside Sherlock, looking around at the bustling room of policemen who were trampling all over the crime scene, which made his job that much more frustrating. “What are we looking for, exactly?”

“Clues.” Sherlock replied, rubbing his chin for a moment then spotting an approaching Lestrade from across the room. Oh, bother. Lestrade. “Act busy, Watson.”

The question seemed to baffle Watson, as he raised his eyebrows in confusion and bewilderment. “What? Why—”

An obnoxious laugh, followed by— “Mr Holmes? Or is there still an invitation for Sherlock?” The lack of laughter clearly told him no. “Ah. Well, apologies for the bother,” yes, you are a bother, Lestrade, “but we have someone claiming to be your daughter.”

Oh, bother. Again.

“I’ll handle it.” Sherlock muttered, knowing exactly who Lestrade was talking about. With heavy footsteps — and heart — he made his way across the room, seeing a girl who looked startlingly like her mother, something which tugged at her heartstrings. She had a scrutinising look that mirrored his often as she looked at the crime scene, but she was not meant to be here. Not at all, not now, not any day. “Clara.”

She turned around, huffing slightly at the stern tone, an eyebrow raising in response to his short and sweet sentence. “You could sound happier, you know.”

“I’ll sound happy when you’re not trodding on my crime scene.” He grimaced, gesturing around at the marbled bank. Really, what was it with people making his day more difficult? Even if Clara was his daughter, yes, he could give her more favour, but he wasn’t in the mood today.

That was the excuse he’d given for the past sixteen years of your life.

The deceivingly polite hum she gave in return mocked him, he knew it, he’d been hearing it more times than now. “I don’t see your name on it.”

“You don’t need to.” He took her arm, giving her a stern look once more, because why on this green Earth does his daughter have to trouble him so? “Clara, I highly advise that you return home. It isn’t safe to do my job.”

“And yet you let Enola do it.” Ah, that was true, but Enola was a rather frustratingly free spirit and he had less control and watch over her than he did you. So he could make that odd excuse for himself.

Couldn’t he?

Watson approached the two, which gave him the chance to divert from the rather valid point, gesturing between the two. “Ah, Watson. This is my daughter, Clara.”

“Dr John Watson.” Watson offered a friendly smile, to which Clara did too and shook his hand— this man seemed amicable, to say the least.

“Pleasure.” She replied warmly, feeling rather friendly towards this man. The firm handshake ended as Clara turned her attention back to Sherlock, a smirk playing at her lips. “Alright, Sherlock,” she began, voice laced with a playful defiance. “If it’s so unsafe, why don’t you show me? Let me see what you’re so keen on keeping me away from.” She glanced at the scattered, chaotic scene. “Maybe you need a fresher pair of eyes on this anyway.”

Sherlock’s expression tightened. He’d managed to avoid bringing her into his world all these years, and now, in the middle of a chaotic crime scene, she was pushing him to let her in. “This isn’t the time or place for amateur eyes, Clara,” he said in a low tone, already feeling the familiar pulse of frustration beginning to rise. “And I would advise you to stop before you make a fool of yourself.”

Clara shrugged, undeterred. “Just thought I’d offer. You never know, I might surprise you.”

Holmes bit back a retort as Watson watched the exchange with bemused curiosity, clearly amused by the sight of someone matching Sherlock’s intensity without a hint of deference. “I see stubbornness is a family trait,” he muttered, folding his arms as he leaned in beside Sherlock.

Lestrade, who had been standing off to the side and soaking in the drama, took the opportunity to interject. “Mr. Holmes,” he drawled, crossing his arms as he looked between father and daughter with raised eyebrows, “are we here to solve the crime or conduct a family reunion?”

Holmes’s mouth twitched in irritation, but he let it pass. “Right. Watson, you’re with me. Clara—” he pointedly ignored her expectant expression— “you’re waiting here with Lestrade.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “Oh, wonderful. I’ll stay here and learn all about the art of loitering from Inspector Lestrade.”

Lestrade opened his mouth, but Sherlock cut him off, heading toward the center of the room with Watson in tow. “Now,” he murmured as they stopped beside the broken bank vault, “let’s have a look.”

Watson peered inside the gaping vault door. “They took quite a haul, didn’t they?”

“Not just any haul,” Holmes murmured, narrowing his eyes as he took in the disturbed items, the displaced dust, the carelessly strewn stacks of paper. “This was messy—too messy.” He crouched down, scrutinizing a particular set of footprints in the dust. “It’s almost as if they wanted us to believe they were inexperienced.”

Watson frowned. “But why would they do that?”

Holmes traced a hand over the edge of the vault’s interior. “The more time we spend looking for amateurs, the less time we spend looking for professionals.”

Watson nodded thoughtfully. “So they’ve planted a false trail, hoping to throw us off their scent.”

“Precisely.” Sherlock straightened, his mind churning through the details. His gaze flicked back toward the corner of the room, where Clara stood. Against his better judgment, he motioned her over. “Alright, Clara. Since you insist on staying, why don’t you tell me what you see?”

Clara’s eyebrows shot up, surprise flashing across her face before she schooled it into an air of composed observation. She glanced around the vault, taking in the state of the room as her father had done moments before. After a few seconds, she looked back at Sherlock with a wry smile. “They’re trying to lead you down the wrong path, aren’t they?”

Holmes’s eyes widened, just slightly. “And what makes you say that?”

Clara pointed at the shoeprints left in the vault. “The prints are too heavy-handed, too deliberate. Someone’s been stomping around as if they wanted to make sure every detail would be noticed.” Her gaze shifted to the scattered papers on the floor, arranged just a bit too carelessly. “Almost as if they’d never done this before—and wanted to make sure we knew it.”

A proud smile tugged at the corner of Sherlock’s mouth despite himself. “Not bad, Clara. Not bad at all.”

Lestrade, who had wandered over to listen, snorted. “A chip off the old block, eh, Holmes?”

Holmes ignored him. Instead, he glanced at Clara, a faint glint of approval in his eyes. “Very well. Since you’ve already inserted yourself into this, let’s see how much you can keep up.”

“Gladly,” Clara replied with a smirk, her tone far more confident now that she’d received a sliver of approval.

Watson chuckled, nudging Holmes with his elbow. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a new apprentice, Holmes.”

Sherlock groaned, but there was a resigned acceptance in his expression. “Don’t remind me.” He turned, leading the trio out of the vault. “Lestrade, call in the forensics team, and see if they can track down anything unusual with those footprints. Watson, Clara—let’s move.”

As they began to exit the bank, Watson glanced sideways at Clara. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him that rattled,” he whispered, grinning. “You’ve a knack for keeping him on his toes.”

Clara shrugged, the glimmer of pride unmistakable in her eyes. “Someone’s got to.”

Clara adjusted her bonnet in the small, gilded mirror in the parlor, smiling at her reflection with a touch of nerves. She rarely dressed up, but today was different. She was meeting Enola—her aunt, yes, but more than that, her friend, her confidante. Enola understood Clara like no one else in her family, and Clara had looked forward to this afternoon, knowing it would be a rare moment of laughter, freedom, and truth. Besides, she had an idea that her sharp-eyed aunt wouldn’t mind a bit of teasing about her newest friendship with the charming Lord Tewkesbury.

Peeking out the window, she saw Enola striding down the street with a familiar energy, her chin tilted high and her gaze direct. Enola moved as if she belonged to no one and nothing, and watching her always made Clara feel a thrill of admiration. Moments later, her aunt burst through the parlor door, her face lighting up when she saw Clara.

“Clara, darling, you look radiant! Has something thrilling happened?” Enola asked, her tone teasing, but her gaze keen.

“Oh, nothing terribly exciting,” Clara replied, unable to keep the grin from spreading across her face. “But I could say the same for you, couldn’t I? You’ve that certain glow… perhaps from all the secret meetings with Lord Tewkesbury?”

The smile flickered from Enola’s face for just a heartbeat before she laughed it off with a wave of her hand. “Honestly, you’re incorrigible.”

They settled into the cushioned armchairs around the tea service, with the delicate china cups and a plate of scones, but Clara could see that her words had struck something in Enola. As her aunt poured tea, her movements were brisk and efficient, but Clara noticed the faintest blush on her cheeks, a telltale sign she was rarely allowed to show.

Clara let the silence linger for a beat, sipping her tea with a knowing look, until Enola finally laughed, giving in. “I ought to know better than to try hiding anything from you. Sherlock may be the great detective, but you’re the most observant one in this family, Clara.”

“Guilty as charged,” Clara replied, grinning. “And it’s hardly my fault—you’ve hardly hidden the signs. I’ve noticed that particular look in your eyes each time someone mentions his name.”

Enola’s fingers tightened slightly on her teacup, her lips pressing together for a moment as if unsure of how much to say. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. He’s just… interesting. He treats me like a person, you know? Not like I’m some delicate flower to be admired from afar.”

Clara raised her eyebrow, refusing to let her aunt off so easily. “Interesting, hmm? That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. He’s called on you half a dozen times in the last fortnight. Are you certain it’s ‘nothing’?”

A faint, wistful smile touched Enola’s lips, though she tried to disguise it with a sip of tea. “Fine, if you must know—he has expressed a certain… interest. He asked if he might call on me more formally, in fact.” Her voice softened, and Clara could see a flicker of uncertainty there that she’d rarely seen before.

Clara bit back a smile, hiding her excitement behind her teacup. “Oh, Enola! And what did you say?”

“I told him I’d… consider it,” Enola admitted, looking away for a moment, clearly conflicted. “But, Clara, it feels so dreadfully conventional, doesn’t it? I’ve never wanted to be one of those women, sitting pretty at someone’s side and pretending I’m satisfied with needlework and society visits. But… there’s something about him that feels different.”

Clara’s smile softened, and she reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Enola’s. “You’re not one of those women, Enola. You’re extraordinary. And if he’s calling on you, knowing exactly who you are, then maybe he sees that too. I don’t think you’d have to change a thing.”

Enola looked down at Clara’s hand on hers, her expression thoughtful. “You really think so? I’ve always told myself there was no room in my life for courtships, for the expectations that come with it all. But with him… I feel as though I could just be myself.”

“Exactly,” Clara said softly. “Maybe he’s more than just ‘interesting,’ after all.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, both of them lost in their thoughts. Clara watched her aunt carefully, seeing the subtle changes in her face as she considered her words. She’d never seen Enola uncertain about anything before; her aunt had always been fiercely independent, but there was a tenderness in her expression that was new.

After a moment, Enola broke the silence, smiling at Clara with a touch of mischief. “But enough about me. What about you, Clara? Surely there must be some gentleman interested in the great Sherlock Holmes’s daughter?”

Clara nearly choked on her tea, laughing. “Oh, absolutely not. For one, I doubt any man in his right mind would willingly subject himself to Father’s scrutiny. He’d investigate everything about him before we’d even finished tea.”

Enola chuckled, nodding. “I can only imagine. Sherlock would be positively unbearable if he suspected someone was pursuing his daughter. But you mustn’t let that stop you from living, Clara. I can tell he’s proud of you, even if he doesn’t say it outright.”

Clara’s gaze softened, and she let out a small sigh. “I know he is, in his way. But sometimes I feel like he’s more protective than proud, almost possessive. As if he’s afraid I’ll leave him somehow.”

Enola’s face softened, and she reached out, squeezing Clara’s hand gently. “I understand. Sherlock has always struggled with connecting to people, even family. But you’ve done more than anyone to draw him out of himself. Even if it is merely an inch.”

Clara looked down, trying to hide the sudden rush of emotion. “It’s comforting to hear that. And it’s a relief to talk to you about these things, Enola. I can’t say them to anyone else.”

For a moment, they sat in quiet understanding, sipping their tea and watching the afternoon light filter through the lace curtains. Finally, Enola’s voice broke the silence, her tone soft.

“You know, I’ve often wondered what it must have been like, growing up as Sherlock’s daughter,” she said gently. “Did you ever feel lonely?”

Clara hesitated, letting the question settle around her. “Sometimes, yes,” she admitted. “Sherlock’s mind is always working, and it was hard to reach him. I grew up thinking that was normal, that fathers were supposed to be distant and distracted. But it wasn’t until I grew older that I realized how unique he is—and how much I love him for it, even if it’s difficult at times.”

Enola smiled, understanding. “You’re right to love him. He’s a complicated man, but I think he knows he has something precious in you.”

Clara returned the smile, feeling a warmth in her chest. She leaned back, looking at her aunt with a thoughtful expression. “Sometimes I wonder if we women of the Holmes family are destined to lead lives more complicated than most.”

Enola chuckled, raising her teacup in a playful toast. “Perhaps so. But we’re Holmes women—we’ve always known how to rise to a challenge.”

“To the Holmes women,” Clara echoed, tapping her cup against Enola’s. They drank, sharing a smile that held years of understanding and unspoken support.

The dim, late-afternoon light was fading through the frosted windows of Clara’s modest flat as she unlocked the door and stepped inside, letting out a long sigh. Her day had gone from thrilling to exhausting in a matter of hours, thanks to her father’s stubbornness and the chaotic mess at the bank. She barely had time to set down her bag when she heard a faint knock at her door. Opening it, she found the postman standing there with a single letter in hand.

“Afternoon, Miss Holmes,” he said, tipping his cap.

She accepted the letter, thanking him politely, and shut the door, examining the envelope in her hand. It was thicker than usual, her name written in swirling emerald ink. Something about it felt… unusual. She moved to her small kitchen table, where she gently broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

My dearest Clara,

You must be wondering who I am. I am your mother, and this letter is long overdue. I left when you were only a year old—not out of a lack of love, but out of circumstances I could not control. It has been one of the deepest regrets of my life, and not a day has passed without thoughts of you.

I am certain you have many questions, perhaps even anger, and I will understand if you do. But know this, Clara: I loved you then, and I love you now. Your father and I… well, things grew complicated, but I miss him as well, even though I know his heart is not easily won back.

With all my love,

Your mother.

Clara read the letter twice, her hands still. She was unsure how to process the surge of emotions. Her mother… a woman she had no memory of, yet had spent years wondering about, had suddenly reappeared in her life with only this brief, tantalizing message.

Her mother was alive. And she missed her.

Her fingers traced the elegant, swirling letters as her mind raced. She felt a strange mix of excitement, anger, and wariness that left her stomach knotted. She’d spent her entire life wondering about this mysterious figure, and here was the chance to finally know more. But, at the same time, there was a gnawing sense of resentment—the feeling of abandonment, the ache of growing up without even the smallest memory of her mother.

But this was not a decision she could make lightly. Sherlock had always been tight-lipped on the subject, dismissing questions or deflecting with wit or cold silence. Now, she’d received more about her mother in a few sentences than her father had given in sixteen years.

Clara’s thoughts were interrupted as she realized she hadn’t moved in nearly ten minutes, still clutching the letter as if it might vanish. She quickly slid it back into the envelope, setting it down on the table. Then she paced back and forth in her cramped flat, glancing every so often at the envelope as though it might hold all the answers she needed.

Finally, she sank into a chair, the letter held in both hands as she tried to calm her mind. She recalled moments over the years—questions she’d asked Sherlock, the clipped answers, the discomfort that shadowed his otherwise composed demeanor whenever the subject of her mother arose. A part of her wanted to storm back to Baker Street and demand answers, but she knew he’d only retreat behind a wall of indifference.

For now, she’d have to rely on the letter itself, on the words her mother had chosen so carefully.

The hours slipped by as Clara turned the letter over in her mind, running her fingers over the rich green ink and wondering if the faint scent of lavender clinging to the page was intentional or a mere coincidence. When she finally managed to pull herself away from the letter, it was nearly dusk, and the world outside her window was settling into the quiet hum of evening.

There was something raw and earnest there, a vulnerability that felt deeply out of place in her life—something almost… foreign.

She was almost startled when the knock at the door echoed again. Her mind raced, wondering if somehow her mother was on the other side. Heart pounding, she went to open it, but it was only Mrs. Donahue, the elderly woman from down the hall, who’d come to check in on her, as she often did.

Clara managed a smile, exchanging small talk and listening patiently to the latest updates on Mrs. Donahue’s collection of pet cats. All the while, though, her mind drifted back to the letter. Once her neighbor had left, she sat down with her notebook and pen, beginning to draft a response.

Dear Mother,

Thank you for reaching out to me. I must admit, receiving your letter has been… unexpected. I have questions, certainly, and perhaps even some anger that I cannot yet name. I grew up knowing only my father, and while he was… well, Sherlock, he raised me alone, and I had few memories or even stories of you.

I don’t know what to think about your leaving or how I’m supposed to feel now that you want to see me. You��ve said you miss me, but I need to know more—about you, about the circumstances that led to your departure.

I really do want to meet you again.

Yours sincerely,

Clara.

As she finished, Clara took a deep breath, sealing the letter and addressing it to the return address her mother had provided in the countryside. It felt surreal, sending a reply out into the unknown, as though reaching through a foggy past. She didn’t know what would come of it, or even if she wanted a relationship with this woman who had so suddenly re-entered her life. But she did want answers—and she knew she couldn’t ignore this chance, however strange it felt.

With her reply tucked away, Clara took one last glance at her mother’s letter before extinguishing the light and preparing for bed. She lay awake, the darkness only sharpening the conflicted feelings swirling within her. It was a strange mixture of curiosity and trepidation, mingled with the faintest glimmer of hope she was almost afraid to acknowledge.

The morning was cold and gray as Sherlock stepped out into the brisk London air, tugging the collar of his coat up against the biting wind. He’d been summoned by Mycroft, and, though he didn’t care much for such meetings, he’d decided it was best to comply this time. The man never summoned anyone without purpose—especially not his own brother.

Arriving at Whitehall, he was ushered through the labyrinthine halls with all the formalities expected of government offices. The building loomed around him, its thick stone walls and tall, narrow windows giving the place a sense of unyielding authority. Everything here was impeccably neat, everything in its place—a stark contrast to the chaos of Baker Street, with its cluttered stacks of books, scattered notes, and curious relics from cases past.

Sherlock reached the last corridor, a long, dimly lit stretch of polished wood and brass fixtures. Mycroft’s office lay at the end, an austere and intimidating corner of the building, its large oak door carved with intricate designs. Sherlock paused, his hand on the brass doorknob, glancing at his own reflection in the polished surface. His face was calm, but there was a hint of weariness around his eyes—a faint remnant of the sleepless nights spent on the latest string of cases. But here, he needed to wear the veneer of composure. Mycroft would tolerate nothing less.

He opened the door, stepping into his brother’s domain. The office was vast, with tall ceilings and large windows draped in heavy burgundy curtains that framed the muted gray light outside. Shelves lined the walls, filled with meticulously ordered files and ledgers, the dark wood glistening from years of polish. A massive mahogany desk dominated the room, its surface immaculate, save for a single crystal inkpot, a brass letter opener, and several neatly stacked documents.

Behind the desk sat Mycroft, every inch the imposing government official. His perfectly tailored suit, his carefully manicured hands folded on the desktop, and his steely, inscrutable gaze all contributed to an air of detached authority. He watched as Sherlock entered, his expression giving nothing away.

“Sherlock,” he greeted, his tone cool and measured.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock replied with a slight nod, crossing the room to stand before the desk.

For a moment, neither spoke, each studying the other. There was an old, familiar tension between them, a silent rivalry that had never quite faded. Though Sherlock prided himself on his ability to remain unfazed by most things, Mycroft’s scrutiny always had a peculiar effect on him, as if he were a schoolboy called to account.

“Sit,” Mycroft finally said, gesturing to the leather armchair opposite him.

Sherlock lowered himself into the chair, crossing his legs and lacing his fingers together. He kept his gaze steady, waiting for Mycroft to state his purpose.

“I trust you know why you’re here,” Mycroft began, his voice carrying the quiet authority of a man used to being obeyed.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “An assumption, Mycroft. I would have thought you’d know better.”

A flicker of annoyance passed over Mycroft’s face before he leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk. “I called you here because of Clara.”

The mention of his daughter’s name caused a subtle shift in Sherlock’s expression, though he quickly masked it. He inclined his head slightly, waiting for Mycroft to continue.

“I received reports that she recently received a… peculiar letter,” Mycroft said, his tone carefully neutral. “From her mother.”

The words struck Sherlock like a physical blow, though he refused to let it show. He had spent years building walls around that part of his life, shutting away the memories of his former wife with a determination that bordered on ruthless. Yet, here they were, dragged back into the light, as if the mere mention of her name could summon a past he had tried so diligently to bury.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, his voice cool, almost detached. “A letter arrived for Clara recently. Written in emerald ink, her mother’s handwriting unmistakable.” He paused, the memory of the letter fresh in his mind. The flowing, ornate script, the words carefully chosen yet laced with sentiments he had long since ceased to indulge. “It seems she wishes to reconnect.”

Mycroft leaned back in his chair, his gaze never wavering. “And what are you planning to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock replied. “The matter is for Clara to decide. She’s old enough to form her own judgments.”

A slight frown creased Mycroft’s brow, his expression hardening. “Sherlock, we both know that allowing Clara to engage with such… sentimentality would be unwise. You cannot afford to be swayed by remnants of a life you abandoned long ago. I need you to remember the person you are now, the clarity you’ve achieved. Falling back into old patterns would be… detrimental.”

Sherlock held his brother’s gaze, his own expression growing colder. “I’m not a fool, Mycroft. I’m aware of what’s at stake. I haven’t forgotten the reasons for that chapter’s closure.”

Mycroft studied him in silence, and in that silence, Sherlock could feel the weight of his brother’s unspoken expectations. He knew that Mycroft regarded sentiment as a weakness—a flaw that had no place in their carefully constructed lives. And Sherlock had once shared that view, perhaps even more fiercely than Mycroft himself. But Clara had changed things. Clara, with her sharp mind and fierce independence, was a constant reminder of the life he had built after severing ties with his past.

“My point,” Mycroft continued, his tone colder, “is that you have responsibilities—both to Clara and to yourself. Indulging her curiosity could lead to complications that neither of you are equipped to handle. And as for… her mother…” He paused, his face hardening, as if even the mention of the woman was distasteful. “Reopening that door would only invite chaos. I trust you haven’t forgotten that.”

Sherlock’s jaw tightened, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. “I am perfectly aware of the risks, Mycroft. But I won’t dictate Clara’s choices. She is her own person.”

“Her autonomy is not the issue here,” Mycroft countered sharply. “The issue is that she is a Holmes, and that comes with expectations. Emotions and nostalgia have no place in this family. We were raised to understand that.”

For a moment, a surge of resentment flared within Sherlock, memories of his own emotionally barren upbringing surfacing unbidden. He had learned early on that sentiment was something to be kept under lock and key, that any display of vulnerability was a liability. Yet he had fought against that conditioning for Clara’s sake, wanting to shield her from the colder aspects of the Holmes legacy.

But now, sitting across from Mycroft in this austere office, he felt the weight of that legacy press down on him once more, suffocating and inescapable.

“I understand your concerns,” Sherlock said finally, his tone measured, carefully devoid of emotion. “But I will handle this situation in my own way. Clara is not a child, and I refuse to impose limitations on her merely because they suit your sensibilities.”

Mycroft’s gaze grew colder still, but he remained silent, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the surface of the desk. The room felt heavy, the air thick with unspoken tensions that seemed to settle over them like a shroud.

“Very well,” Mycroft said at last, his tone clipped. “But consider this your only warning, Sherlock. I won’t tolerate any lapses in judgment where she is concerned. Sentiment is a distraction, and distractions lead to vulnerabilities. And vulnerabilities, in our line of work, can be fatal.”

Sherlock held his gaze, feeling a pang of resentment at the admonishment. He knew Mycroft’s words were rooted in a twisted sense of duty, but they grated against the part of him that wanted, however reluctantly, to trust Clara’s ability to navigate her own path.

“Understood,” he replied curtly, rising from the chair. He cast a final, lingering glance around the office—the shelves stacked with secrets, the air thick with the scent of leather and ink, the oppressive quiet that seemed to permeate every corner of this place. It was a stark reminder of the life he had chosen, of the sacrifices he had made, and of the distance that now separated him from the man he had once been.

As he turned to leave, Mycroft’s voice stopped him.

“Sherlock.” The tone was softer this time, almost a warning. “Don’t let sentiment blind you. You know what it cost you the last time.”

Sherlock paused, the words hanging heavily in the air. He knew, all too well, the price he had paid. And yet, for all his resolve, he felt a flicker of doubt—a faint, nagging whisper that refused to be silenced. But he crushed it down, turning his gaze to the door.

“Yes, Mycroft,” he said quietly, his voice a cold, measured echo in the stillness. “I remember.”

“Father.” It was one word which caught Sherlock’s attention as his daughter simply burst into his flat as he was working the details of the bank robbery with Watson the next day.

Oh, go ahead, just sweep into his apartment like a small tornado right when he’s busy. His daughter summarised in just one sentence. “Clara.”

“Clara.” Watson piped up, probably to not feel left out of the cold exchange and to make it a little more friendly.

Clara smiled at Watson, clearly more accustomed to him than Sherlock. “John.” That raised Sherlock’s brow, as what just happened? That wasn’t normal, that wasn’t ever normal.

“John?” He repeated incredulously, glancing between the two of them to try and fathom the use of first names. “Since when was it John, pray tell?”

Clara rolled her eyes; trust her father to be a nosy busybody about all her business. She looked pointedly to Watson, who got the hint, gathering up his things. “I’ll have a cuppa with Mrs Hudson.” He muttered as he hurried.

“No, Watson, ask her to make me…” The door slammed shut, a heavy sigh from Sherlock fading into a pensive expression that spoke many volumes, his hand dropping to his side. “Mrs Hudson makes… wonderful tea.”

“I’m sure she does.” She replied dryly, inviting a glare of incredulity from Sherlock— Mrs Hudson deserved the world, she was an exemplary landlady, why the tone which sounded like it had been through a substantial drought. “Now, we have to talk.”

He frowned slightly, taking a puff from his pipe and setting it aside. What could you possibly want from him? “Yes? What about?”

“Mother.” The word stiffened him up, everything rushing back. He never thought he’d find the day, but he supposed you were inevitable.

You. It was always you, it always came back to you.

You were Sherlock’s one exception, his only mistake, but it was a mistake that he’d most likely make a million times over. It had felt like his vision was in dull noir before it burst into glorious colour the moment he laid eyes on you, the witty, oh-so-charming woman who’d stolen his heart so effortlessly. You were beauty in its finest form and good Lord, you had a brilliant mind that rivalled his own.

In truth, you were the enigma he took true pleasure in decoding.

He had been young, foolish, and he’d fallen for you, courted you, and you’d done the same. It had come to the point where even a few hours spent away from one another made your hearts ache and experience pain greater than the most devastating blow. So he’d married you, loved you, cherished you, and it felt like a whirlwind. His mind, his cases had become nothing more than a speck of dust and you had consumed him— mind, body and soul.

It wasn’t extensive to say that no matter who he saw or who attempted to have him, he’d always be yours.

Barely a few months after the marriage, you had turned out to be with child, and he had never been happier, never been more elated, more protective of you, abandoning all cases that came his way to keep you safe, to focus on you. And what’s more is that he became a new man once Clara was born. The second light of his life, and everything seemed so vibrant, so surreal, sublime, and he knew that he’d never find a love like this. A love that made him feel alive.

Good things were never meant to last, however, for a month after Clara’s first birthday, things had seemingly got too dangerous for you once you and Sherlock had resumed taking cases while Mrs Hudson cared for Clara. You’d left with only one conversation, not allowing room for him to plead with you, to tell you to stay, that you were his driving force.

To no avail, for you left, and you left him a broken man, unable to look at his child — your child — without seeing you. It hardened him, forced tunnel vision in front of his eyes as he no longer saw Clara, just the woman he’d loved and lost because he hadn’t fought hard enough. He couldn’t bear to see you in his daughter. Mycroft called it sentimentality.

Sentimentality was his sin.

He muttered your name, his thumb moving to rub over his wedding band, every small memory you both shared seared into his vision and into his being. Sometimes he wished he had a lesser mind, at least then he could forget you. Or stop loving you.

He couldn’t let Clara suffer the same.

“What about her?” His voice had gotten sharper, he noticed, almost like the dagger that had twisted in his heart the day you left. To this day, his heart still bled, like a dead man walking.

Clara showed him the letter, and yes, he immediately knew it was you. Your handwriting was unforgettable, the way you wrote the letter ‘S’, the small teardrop next to his name and the emerald green ink that had always stained your pointer finger on the page in beautiful lettering. “She wrote to me. I want to find her, Sherlock.”

Oh, dear Lord. No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t have his heart broken again.

“No.” He shook his head.

The air in Sherlock’s flat felt thick, and every nerve in his body tensed as he faced his daughter, the letter clutched in her hand like a weapon ready to break open old wounds. Sherlock's fingers gripped the edge of his chair until his knuckles turned white, as if holding on for balance against an emotional tide that threatened to pull him under.

"No," he repeated, his tone colder than he intended. "I won’t allow it."

Clara’s eyes narrowed, and her face twisted in a mixture of disbelief and anger. "What do you mean, 'won’t allow it'? I’m not a child, Sherlock. I can make my own choices."

Sherlock felt the familiar pang of guilt gnawing at him. His gaze flickered to the letter, the one written in that all-too-familiar handwriting. It was as if just seeing her words, her distinctive, elegant hand, brought every memory flooding back, each one pressing down on him until he could hardly breathe. But he forced himself to maintain composure, his voice sharp and unwavering. “You don’t understand the implications, Clara. She left for a reason. Digging into that past—” He stopped himself, taking a steadying breath. “It’s not wise.”

Clara stared at him, eyes wide with anger and hurt. “Not wise?” she echoed, her voice thick with emotion. “What isn’t wise, Sherlock, is to keep avoiding this. She’s my mother, and you can’t just erase her from my life because you’re afraid of facing whatever it is that happened between you two.”

“Afraid?” Sherlock’s lips curled in an incredulous sneer, but it was a mask, thin and brittle. “You think this is fear? I am protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” Clara repeated, her tone scathing. “No, you’re protecting yourself. This has nothing to do with me, or what’s good for me. You’ve never even told me anything about her, Sherlock—not one detail. I know more about John and Mrs. Hudson than I do about my own mother, and that’s because of you. You never gave me the chance to know her.”

Sherlock’s jaw clenched as Clara’s words hit him like a series of blows, each one harder than the last. He knew she was right—she deserved to know about her mother, about the woman who had left them both behind. But every time he’d considered it, his heart had balked, resisting the idea of opening himself to the pain he had buried so deeply. To speak of her was to relive the joy and the anguish, and it felt like reopening a wound that had never fully healed.

“This isn’t about denying you knowledge,” he said, but his voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears. “Some things are better left in the past.”

“Because you say so?” Clara shot back, her hands shaking slightly. “I have the right to find her, Sherlock. She’s the one who reached out to me, not you, and I’m not going to let you stand in my way.”

He rose from his chair, the motion sudden and forceful. “Clara, you don’t know what you’re dealing with. Your mother isn’t the person you imagine her to be. You were a baby when she left. You don’t understand the complexity, the danger—”

“The danger?” Clara’s voice trembled, and she laughed bitterly. “There you go again, always shrouding everything in mystery and secrets. Do you ever think that maybe I’d be better equipped to handle things if you’d just told me the truth from the beginning?”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was filled with unspoken words, regrets, and the weight of years spent in avoidance. Sherlock’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second, and he considered, for the briefest of moments, telling her everything. But the years of habit, of training himself to keep his heart locked away, proved stronger.

“This discussion is over,” he said finally, the words cutting like ice. “I won’t permit it.”

Clara stared at him, disbelief and hurt flashing across her face. “You really are heartless, aren’t you?” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. “All that intelligence, all those brilliant deductions, and yet you can’t see what’s right in front of you.” She took a step back, shaking her head. “I thought, maybe, there was a part of you that could care… that there was some semblance of family left between us. But I was wrong.”

Without another word, Clara turned on her heel and stormed out of the flat, the door slamming behind her with a force that rattled the windows. Sherlock flinched, a rare, unguarded reaction breaking through his normally stoic expression.

For a moment, he stood there, the silence of the flat pressing in on him like a weight. The letter sat on the table, the emerald ink glistening faintly in the dim light, taunting him. He resisted the urge to reach for it, to read the words he knew would cut deeper than any blade.

“Sherlock?” The soft voice broke the silence, and he looked up to see Mrs. Hudson standing hesitantly in the doorway, having been drawn by the commotion. She took one look at his face, and her expression softened with concern.

“Oh, dear,” she murmured, her eyes drifting toward the letter on the table. “Would you like some tea?”

Sherlock took a deep, steadying breath, forcing his composure back into place. He nodded, though his voice sounded distant, as if it belonged to someone else. “Yes, Mrs. Hudson… I think I would.”

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

@dob-4-life @marcis-mixtapez @nonoreas0n @gabrielasilva1510

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[lov-eable]

TELL ME  ֗ ˖ ࣪ ᩠ ༉‧₊˚ ✿ #00

━━ a filmmaker decides to follow and document the lives of the worst and best students at your school for a month, unfortunately, those students are you and chishiya, the most annoying guy on earth.

masterlist ◌*ꕤ

word count ✦ 541

A/N: wasn’t supposed to publish this today but i got excited wjsnjesjwbj, all the enemies to lovers fics with chishiya are about academic rivals and we girlies who dont do well in school need rep!! im sorry about any grammar mistakes <3

03/24/17 15:27, previous records

Everyone gathered around except for two students who were quite sure about their grades, you and Chishiya. An outsider would expect both of you to have a streak of perfect scores by how calmly you were waiting, and that might have been Chishiya’s case but not yours, especially not yours. You just knew your rank was the worst, your name plastered in the last place. You were nervous deep inside even though it wasn’t a shock to you or your parents. 

It had been like this your entire high school. You were the worst student in school and your parents never cared about it. Sure, they would argue with you sometimes, maybe ask why you couldn't show the same interest in your textbooks while you were reading, but they didn't need you to have adequate performance at school. They already had your older sister, Mira, an outstanding student who most assuredly would make herself and her family a name out there. You were the funny little sister who had the opportunity to fuck up whenever she liked to.

“It seems our scores are not so different from before” his insufferable voice was heard next to you, making you assume his comment was directed towards you. How could you forget about Chishiya? The smartest yet most annoying man you have ever met. He could maintain his greatest grades throughout his whole life. However, he lacked any social skills or maybe he didn’t want people around him, you weren’t so sure about it.

His exceptional GPA gave him this weird and irritating sense of superiority, always speaking down to others or straight up ignoring them when they asked for something. Still, he was pretty much surrounded by people all the time, girls chased him around hoping to get his number with little to no results and guys hung with him even if he wasn’t a big fan of them. Damn it, even some of your closest friends, such as Arisu and Kuina hung out with him and would often try to get you to like him, it wouldn’t happen though, there wasn’t anything you disliked more than a condescending jerk. 

“What? The cat got your tongue?” the most unbearable smirk had appeared on his face and you were just about to lose it, you simply couldn’t stand him and felt the need to punch him. But you didn’t, you usually acted on your instincts but this one time, it could get you in trouble. He eyed you with a smile-like grin on his face as you stood in front of the ranks and conducted yourself away from the group of students. 

The bell had already rung some minutes ago and you were now completely free, at least for 10 days or so. The fearful rays of springtime sunlight greeted your face as you walked away from the school. The screams of your friends asking you to wait for them became more and more distant, but you needed to get home as soon as possible to get your post-school nap, and knowing them, they would delay that journey. The soft breeze gave a peaceful atmosphere, walking through your old small town, the tree branches, who were witnesses of your childhood and now teenagehood, laughed seeing you so naive before the future semester.

tag list: @surshica @enslique @httpsimmy

[blackcatruse]

𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔰

«prev. ❃ next» ❃ first chapter ❃ m.list ❃ ao3 pairing: r. haitani/fem!reader ↳ she/her, fem descriptors, nickname ❃ chapter synopsis: brunch with the haitanis and trying to figure out who's after the three deities. a normal day, actually. word count: 1.9k chapter cw(s): swearing, possible ooc a/n: you'll never guess who was so excited to start posting ashes on tumblr that she forgot to mention that this is an AU if you couldn't already tell :'D it loosely follows the Three Deities and Kanto Manji → Bonten pipeline. there is no timeleaping

You weren’t a stranger to emotional whiplash, but if someone told you that you’d be casually lounging with the Haitani brothers on their turf, you’d laugh in their face. Yet, here you were. To any normal person, hanging out with people that had beat you bloody a few weeks ago was an incomprehensible thought, but to you it was just another Tuesday.

Were you suspicious of their motives? Undoubtedly. Did you care? Not when the older Haitani had offered to buy you food. You may be a fuck up, but you weren’t an idiot. Free food was free food. And that’s how you ended up here at a quaint little bakery sitting across from the Haitani brothers. Ran was at least trying to make conversation between savoring bites of his mont blanc. Rindou stared out the window like he’d rather be anywhere else. If you were being honest, you wished he was too. But Ran and Rindou were a package deal whether you liked it or not. Couldn’t find one without encountering the other.

Your fork clinked against your plate as you cut into the crepe you had ordered. The sweetness permeated in your mouth as you took a bite and the tang of berries countered with a tart harmony. It took everything in you to not moan at the taste. After living off of cup noodles and prepackaged bento, something like this was a delicacy you wouldn’t take for granted. Part of you started to dream about everything you’d eat once you were free.

A jarring ring disrupted the quiet air and tamped down the beginnings of your daydream. Sighing, you grabbed your phone from your pocket and stared at the unknown caller ID. “Gotta take this,” you said, flipping your phone open and pinning the phone between your ear and shoulder.

“Suzaku, what’s up?” You twiddled with your fork between your fingers.

“Lotus what the hell are you doing?”

“Pleasant as always,” you remarked. “I told you, I’m following a lead on this case. I think it could be important.”

“You have three days.”

“Yeah, so keep it cool for three days,” you told him, rolling your eyes. You tapped the prongs of your fork against the plate and you bounced your leg. “I don’t know why you’re rushing me, it’s not like it’s your ass on the line.”

“And you’re my subordinate. Do you know how hard it was to convince Kirin to let you do whatever the hell it is you’re doing?”

It was true that Suzaku was sticking his neck out for you, but it didn’t change the fact that at the end of the day, all the fault would fall on you. As it always did. You sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’ll meet with you tomorrow and let you know what I find.”

Suzaku was cut off as you ended the call. You stabbed at your crepe again before looking up to see both Haitani brothers looking at you. Right. Well, it wasn’t like you gave anything away.

“Trouble in paradise?” Ran asked, resting his chin in his hand.

“Ew, gross,” you snorted. “Suzaku’s been hounding me for results or else he’s shipping me back to where I came from.”

“Hell?”

You and Ran turned your heads to look at the younger Haitani. He didn’t look smug or tired or anything. His face was unreadable. You blinked a few times and a grin broke out on Ran’s face. You didn’t miss the glare that Rindou gave his older brother.

“Ha! You’re funny,” you said, pointing your fork at Rindou. “I wish he was sending me to hell instead. It’d probably be way cozier.”

You set the fork down before they could realize your hands had started shaking. You had a persona you had to keep up, after all. Putting a hand over your face, you groaned in exasperation before regaining your composure. “So,” you said, looking the brothers in the eye. “Why call me out here?”

“What? We can’t be friendly?” Ran’s shit-eating grin was borderline antagonistic.

“No, actually,” you deadpanned.

“That’s probably the smartest thing that’s come out of your mouth,” Rindou muttered, barely loud enough for you to catch.

You picked up your fork and jabbed it at him. “Shut it.” Another breath to rein in your irritation. “The job still doesn’t have a date, so something else is going on here.”

Ran tilted his head. Annoyance flashed behind his eyes as a lazy smile returned to his face. Rindou kept on glaring at you. Truly the peace between enemies could never remain. Not that it was surprising, but it did take longer than you’d originally thought for things to get this tense. They couldn’t kill you yet and you couldn’t tell if you should lament or exalt the fact.

“Did you find anything on your faux deals?” you asked, returning to your crepe.

“Nothing,” Ran answered. “They said they didn’t know who hired them. Whoever it was covered their tracks too well.”

“Yeah, our guys said the same. But they had an extra layer of people in between the people they were blackmailing and the ones who gave the orders. I tracked down the blackmailers but they didn’t know anything. They met at odd hours and never came face to face with the boss.”

You wouldn’t say that you had expected this to be easy, but you’d at least hoped for something. You had gotten ahold of Kichiro and that’s how you’d found the people blackmailing him and Hifumi, but those people didn’t get you any further. Without information, you were going to have to move to Plan B, which was risky. You wanted to avoid involving Kichiro and Hifumi more than necessary, but in order to get the one pulling the strings, you’d have to fall into the web.

Imagining that meeting with the Four Symbols made you chuckle. You doubted they’d approve of it. Hell, three of them didn’t even believe that there was a plot to get rid of the Three Deities. They would be stupid to try anything, you could hear Byakko’s snide comments. You could feel his eyes roam over your body without him being there. A shiver ran through your body. Yeah, this was ridiculous. You bit off more than you could chew. You would die before you got your freedom.

Ran snapped his fingers in front of your face, bringing you out of your spiraling thoughts. “What’s going on in that pretty little head?”

“Just thinkin’ about how much shit I’m gonna be in,” you answered honestly. You didn’t really see a point in lying to them. You didn’t possess any knowledge that would be of use. “Though,” you laughed at yourself bitterly, “that’s no different than how things have been.”

“Can we help?”

This time, you and Rindou snapped your attention to Ran. “What?!” Rindou all but screeched.

“Why the fuck are you offering? What’s the catch?” you asked warily.

“Consider it something like insurance,” Ran said lazily. “We can’t get our big jobs done if you’re out of commission. If we can’t do the jobs, we won’t get the money that would bring us to the top. The logical thing would be to help you overcome this so our plans don’t get messed up. It also works in our favor because more than likely, your setup and our phony deals are connected.”

You certainly didn’t doubt that. Having the Haitani brothers’ help on this investigation could give you promising results, but there was no more time for sleuthing. You had to weave a delicate trap and get answers that way. You would have to use Kichiro and Hifumi as bait, and you’d really hoped to avoid that.

“I can’t promise your safety,” you admitted to the two teens sitting across from you. “I’ve minimized your role as much as possible, and hopefully once you’re done, they’ll leave you alone.”

“They’ve been hounding us since our negotiations came to a standstill. I don’t think they had much patience to begin with, but it’s wearing thinner and thinner.”

This was the first time you’d met Hifumi, and you thought that he was gloomy. Dark, unkempt hair and even darker eye bags were his most distinguishing features. Kichiro sat next to his friend and kept wringing his hands. You wished you could tell them that it would be okay, but you weren’t about to lie to them. Even with your best efforts, there was the looming possibility that these two boys could be killed before they reached adulthood. Would this plan only prolong the inevitable?

You shook your head. No, you couldn’t let yourself think that. “All right, you can tell them that a deal has finally been made. I wrote some random numbers that you can give them to make it sound better. Don’t give any sort of hint away that we know what’s going on.” You handed a scrap of paper over to Hifumi, who took it with trembling hands.

Continuing on, you debriefed them, “There will be three other runners besides me. They’re among the top in Suzaku’s division, so your client doesn’t need to worry about the job getting done. When talking to them, be sure to get the locations they want the deal to occur, how much we’ll be carrying, passwords, who we’ll be meeting with, and whatnot. The more detailed the better, but whatever they give us will be useful.”

“Will it work?” Kichiro asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” you said plainly. “I’m trying to get as much of the burden off you as possible, but if whoever’s pulling the strings gets suspicious, there isn’t much I can do.”

“And Wuxing agreed to this?” Hifumi looked you in the eyes. There was nothing behind the depths of his eternal stare.

“It took some convincing,” you told him. “But they’re willing to cooperate. If this goes awry, then it’s my fault. I’ll take the brunt of it.”

You didn’t really want to be a hero or a savior or a martyr. If you were a more selfish person, you’d just let the stupid kids get what they had coming. But you weren’t a more selfish person. Your stupid bleeding heart took too much pity on kids who shouldn’t be tangled in this transition from delinquency to crime syndicates. You would do everything you could to make sure that Kichiro and Hifumi never see the underworld of Tokyo again, but there was truly no guarantee anything would work. If something happened to them... Well, you weren’t a stranger to guilt either. You’d just carry it like you always do.

“When you get what we need to know, call me. Once everything is coordinated between us, you guys stay out of it. Lay low. Skip town. I don’t care, just get out of here.” You snapped your gum loudly and put your feet up on the table.

“If we leave, won’t that tip them off that we’re up to something?” Kichiro finally looked up at you as he asked his question.

“Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t look the best.” You rubbed the back of your head. “Well, we’re just gonna have to hope that when we get to the bottom of things, you’ll be left alone.”

Hifumi snorted with a cynical scoff. Normally you’d snap at someone who did that to you, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to blame him. Everything was a gamble here and even if the risks felt low, anything was possible out on the streets. Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. It was almost your mantra at this point.

Please do not reupload, translate, or steal my work! If it isn't here or on my ao3, it's not me! Likes & reblogs appreciated! <3 Dividers courtesy of @/cafekitsune & @/firefly-graphics

[rivetgoth]

i just got top surgery, if you can could you tell me about the whole process for you? i dont have any specific questions i need answered

Omg congrats on your surgery first of all!!

And sure!

I’m not sure which specific part of the process you’re curious about but I’m gonna focus on aftercare and recovery since I assume that would be your main focus right now.

I got double incision with free nipple grafts and drains. The moment I saw my chest for the first time I just remember feeling this sort of contentment and relief. Like “Oh, this is how it’s supposed to look.” The hospital I went to required patients to stay overnight so my first ~24 hours post-op were in a hospital bed hooked up to IV. I’m extremely grateful for this because by coincidence (the overnight stay was already planned in advance) I had a bad reaction to the anesthetic. I was entirely safe, nothing scary, but it causes me severe nausea and exhaustion and I didn’t feel loopy at all, just absolutely awful. I didn’t really sleep at all that night, I lay there falling asleep in weird short intervals, waking up, needing to pee, then stumbling back to bed. At one point I walked into the bathroom and it was covered in blood. I was so drugged out of my mind that I couldn’t really process it, it felt like I was dreaming.

After that the healing process was pretty easy though. I was prescribed antibiotics for like 10 days, oxycodone for half that time, and some really strong ibuprofen. They also gave me one of those anti-nausea patches on the back of my neck. I struggled with a bunch of nausea for the first day after getting out of the hospital but never threw up. I was pretty functional right away. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend this but within the first 48 hours out of the hospital I was walking a few blocks to the closest grocery store and carrying groceries back. Felt like shit but survivable. About 4 days post-op I took a train 4-5 hours north to see family on my own then was in a car for another 4ish hours back home a couple days later. Just took a shitload of oxycodone and ibuprofen and played video games and listened to music the whole way, totally survivable. So it really wasn’t all that bad.

About 3 weeks post-op I went back to school and work. At the time I was on a pretty walking-heavy campus with tons of hills. I applied for short term disability just in case I had trouble carrying my textbooks around or walking up hills or something but tbh I never needed to utilize it, it was fine. I was super tired but fully functional. So overall I’d say recovery was pretty easy. I had limited mobility for a couple of weeks, it hurt to raise my arms above my head, needed help reaching some things and showering was a bit tricky, but over time that went away.

I’d say without a doubt the worst parts of recovery were:

Not being able to shower for the first week. This absolutely fucking sucked lol. I was so greasy it’s not even funny. I would try to rinse my hair with Angel’s help over the tub and do like sponge baths basically but it was NOT the same. Definitely recommend dry shampoo (we didn’t think of it until after). 

Sleeping on my back. I am NOT naturally a back sleeper. I really struggled with this. Having a dick piercing now I’ve gotten better at it lol but at the time especially it was so incredibly difficult to sleep this way, I was already crazy uncomfortable from surgery and being greasy and tired and sore and then on top of that I could NOT get comfortable to fall asleep.

I had some weird emotional and hormonal responses to the surgery. My period returned in full force about two weeks after my surgery for the first and only time since it stopped on T. At that time I also experienced some pretty nasty post-op depression. I think it was a mixture of weird dysphoria (mostly a sort of existential frustration that I had to go through the procedure in the first place), hormonal imbalances (again, my period returning…), and just general emotional response to recovering from a surgery and frustration with the minutia of the recovery process. I just felt really, really low. Tired and tired of being tired. This passed over time, but it was not fun.

Pettier complaints: Nipple grafts suck to heal and look disgusting at first. Trust the process lol. Wearing the compression vest is kind of annoying. I was like, dude, I got this surgery so I don’t have to bind anymore! 😭 Anesthetic can (and did) cause constipation. I had to buy laxatives. None of this was unbearable but it definitely all added up and contributed to the post-op depression.

Stay hydrated, eat well, take probiotics, take vitamins and supplements, take vitamin C and zinc, a small amount of exercise/physical movement is good but don’t overdo it, get lots of rest, and listen to your surgeon’s advice. If you’re not sure, ask.

I think my biggest advice is to remember that our bodies are pretty primitive things—Injury is injury to them. You’re getting a surgery you wanted to better your life longterm, your body is purely focused on healing, and is responding to awareness of an injury. It’s hard to feel super excited about the surgery right away, you’ll be too deep in your body’s healing response to physical trauma. It’s exhausting at times and it can almost feel like your body is working against you. It’s NOT. I found undergoing top surgery (and transitioning in general) to be an amazing meditative process in aligning your brain to your body better, but that’s a process, a relationship you form through work the same as any other. You need to trust your body’s natural healing process.

Bodies are weird and healing is messy. I had weird inexplicable symptoms that I’d tell myself I’d contact my surgeon about if they persisted or worsened and they didn’t. I had UTI-like symptoms for a day that went away on their own. I had really uncomfortable weird restless leg syndrome for a night or two. One of my drains came detached from the tape holding it down and it had no negative effect. One of my nipples looked vaguely infected but my surgeon was unconcerned and it healed fine. None of this was serious, try not to worry if things seem a little odd, unless symptoms get progressively worse, show no signs of getting better, or are really, really obvious signs of infection/complication. Just listen to your body and take care of it. 

I felt comfortable going out shirtless after about… a year or so? It took about that much time for things to settle. For a few months it almost looked like I had excess skin sagging on the sides, this went away by the 12ish month mark. Nowadays I don’t do any body building but I try to do some push ups every day to keep my chest somewhat fit. 4 years in and sensation is still minimal, definitely doesn’t have the same sensitivity as the rest of my body, but it also continues to return every day! Literally to this day I notice new shooting nerve sensations growing deep in my chest now and again. A few months ago I had notable nipple sensation for the first time since the surgery. My scars are still fading, although my chest generally seems to pass for cis irl which is awesome.

I could go on and on about all the small details but I think I’ve talked your head off enough for now hahaha. I love my results and I’d do the whole process over again a thousand times if it meant having what I have now. Literally changed (and saved) my life.

[themaladaptivewriter12]

Title: Friend? Or Foe?

Part 3 of my “The Lion's Den” series! Part 1 and 2 here!

Parings: None

Summary:

Days passed, and Leona continued this weird behavior. One day Leona was in Mirai’s space, and one day he wasn’t. One day they were bickering, fighting like they hated each other, and the next Mirai was crushing hard as Leona helped him study for his Potionology test. It was weird. And he did visit often, even sometimes when Grim and Mirai weren’t there. And he could always tell he had been there. Mirai could tell from the way the cushions were rumpled, or by the way the throw was placed. Things were always a little out of place but never missing, and never messy.

cw: Arguments, light angst, bloody noses mentioned , fist fights (aftermath described), biting (references to my previous work in this series), smoking

a/n: Please Read: I don't wanna say this was graphic, but it all depends on your comfort levels as readers, so the warning is there. They do fight, but I wanna put it out there that Mirai is okay, he can hold his own.

a/n: This is not a "Bullies to lovers". Just putting that out there. I wanna show Mirai's and Leona's process of trust and eventual love.

Reblogs are appreciated, just use my custom tag, #TheMaladaptiveWriter12, if you do!  (─‿‿─)♡

Cross posted from my Ao3: TheMaladaptiveWriter12

Life went back to normal after Mirai’s stay at the Savanaclaw Dorm. Ramshackle was still standing, Grim was Grim, and on Monday, classes started anew. And of course he got dozens and dozens of confused, and also concerned looks from student and staff alike, but what could he do, he looked terrible. And of course Ace, Deuce wanted to know who’d lay a hand on their best friend, and of course Professor Crewel wanted to light the whole campus on fire in overprotective rage, but Mirai didn’t care, he had more important things to worry about. Like his relationship with the man who gave him the black eye, Leona Kingscholar. Mirai was still crushing on Mr.Tall, dark, and handsome, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Like, he was pretty certain the lion hated him, but if that was the case, why was he being so-

“Oi herbivore,” Leona called, “let’s ditch.”

Nice? 

Mirai didn’t know how or why he ended up following Leona to the Botanical Gardens, when they should have been in the lecture hall, but here he was, sitting in the grass as Leona got comfortable under a tree. Mirai watched him for a bit, wondering what his aim was, because if there was anything Mirai learned since being dropped here was that not one of the boys, except Kalim maybe, did anything without some type of ulterior motive. Nothing really was out of the kindness of their hearts. Take Azul for example, not one of his good deeds, his contracts, were out of the kindness of his heart, each and everyone of them for his own gain. Or Ruggie, he never does anyone a favor unless he gets something two times more in value in return, namely money. Even Leona was infamous for doing it, even if what he wanted in return was peace and quiet.

“Trouble tuning the lights on up there?”

Mirai jumped from his musing, eyes locking onto Leona who had presumably been staring at him the entire time. Mirai pouted petulantly, with a roll of his eyes and busied himself with doing some homework that was due next period. Leona chuckled at his pouting, a smug look crawling it way onto his roguish face as he relaxed into the plush grass once more.

Some time had passed and Mirai was still stuck on one of his history homework questions. It was on the Fundamentals of Magic, and their Founding Fathers. The question was simple enough, but when you knew nothing of the world you were spat into, the simplest of things became a challenge. 

“Since you’re not gonna let me nap in peace,” Leona gruffed, “tell me what’s got your tail twisted in a knot.”

“I-I, uh, sorry,” Mirai muttered, taking a hand from his hair, a habit of his when he was frustrated. And now that he thought about it, he must have been sighing as well. 

Leona snapped his fingers to get the Prefect's attention, “Show me.”

Mirai reluctantly made his way to Leona’s spot in the grass before sitting beside his head. Leona took the worksheet from Mirai with his free hand and read it over. 

“This stuff is elementary,” Leona scoffed, “I knew you were kinda airheaded, but not this bad.”

“And who knew the Great Leona Kingscholar could be a dunce,” Mirai quipped back.

“What was that?” Leona sneered.

“How ‘bout turning those lights for a second and think about what you just said,” Mirai smirked, throwing Leona’s words back at him.

Leona actually seemed to stop and think it over, and it seemed he caught on for he sighed with a grumble. “Give it here.”

“Gladly,” Mirai smiled.

Leona ended up spending the rest of the period helping Mirai, he even went as far as to teach him an old elementary school rhyme on how to remember the important names and information. And this is exactly what Mirai was talking about. Leona Kingscholor, the third year notorious for not doing anything unless he got something in return. The man notorious for hating tedious and irksome tasks, the Beastman notorious for not sticking his neck out for anyone unless it pertained to him, was helping Mirai Yuhara, Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm, the seventeen year old without a mark to his name, or an asset, with his History homework. 

“You got it? Or do ya need me to run over it one more time?” Leona asked.

“U-Uh, I, uh, one, one more time,” Mirai stammered, “And uh, could you help me note the, uh, the important parts?”

Leona snapped his fingers for the notebook and a pencil, and Mirai scurried to pass them over. Leona sat up a bit as he went over it all once more, writing as he spoke. Mirai tried to take all the information in, he really did, but then again, maybe he was taking in a bit too much information. Like the way Leona’s ears twitched when he spoke, or the rasp in his voice, or the way the light from the Botanical Gardens glinted off chocolate waves, and beautiful earthy skin. Or maybe it was the way Leona’s tail swished lazily in the plush grass, or maybe it was the greens of his eyes that looked like deep pools emerald, eyes that held the warmth of a summer’s day, eyes that were now currently boring holes into Mirai’s soul-wait! What?!

Mirai jumped, mind reeling as he realized what he had been doing for the past-whatever minutes, instead of paying attention to what Leona was teaching. 

“Mind telling me what’s so interesting about me instead of what I took the time out of my nap to teach you?” Leona gruffed.

“W-Wait, I was paying attention, I swear! I-I-I, ugh,” Mirai groaned, sighing as he ran his hand through his hair, “It’s as you said before, I’m an airhead. Always have been, I honestly think it’s something deeper, but never got tested ya’know? My mother used to tell me that I had trouble listening and following directions as a toddler, and I think the accident made it worse, scrambled the brain and whatnot, an-” 

Mirai realized he was rambling, and oversharing, again, and promptly shut his mouth, annoyance overpowering his embarrassment. “Forget all of that. It’s as you said, I’m an airhead. So if you please, one more time?”

Leana didn’t say anything as he stared over again, and Mirai was grateful. He really didn’t want to explain himself, but he couldn’t help but wonder why Leona didn’t say anything. Was he just as embarrassed as Mirai was, annoyed, or did he just not know what to say? Mirai willed the thought away. He’d ponder later, but right now, he wanted to actually pay attention, he didn’t want to waste anymore of Leona’s time than he already did.

As the week passed, Mirai couldn’t get their impromptu study session out of his mind. He just couldn't figure out why he’d help him out like that. Not only did he interrupt his nap, which was the biggest crime to commit against Leona Kingscholar, he also wasted his time by zoning out, and despite all of that, Leona still helped him with his homework. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it. 

Making his way through the Ramshackle’s front door, Mirai realized it was unlocked. That Grim, never remembering to lock the front door after he leaves. With a huff of annoyance, Mirai made his way in, shucking his shoes off at the door, he’d have to scold Grim when he got back. 

“Honey, I’m home,” Mirai hollered to no one in particular, as he made his way into the lounge. It was a little something he did that got a little giggle from himself every time. 

“Welcome back. Dinner’s on the stove.”

Mirai screeched at the raspy voice, his phone fumbling in his hands as he tried to catch it before it shattered on the floor. After Mirai got his bearings did he realize that lying on the couch under the stairs where the sun's afternoon rays were the strongest, was Leona Kingscholar. His molten chocolate tresses cascaded over the couch cushions, and his yellow Savanaclaw vest was balled up underneath his cheek. His sandals were nowhere to be found, probably left by the door, courteous, and on the far right armrest lay his gloves and belt.

“Le-Leona?!” Mirai stuttered.

“That’s ma name, don’t wear it out,” Leona muttered. 

“Wha-What are you doing here? And how did you get in? You didn’t break the lock, did you?! Because if you did, I swear-”

“You swear what? Whaddya gonna do, Herbivore?”

Mirai went silent and pouted petulantly and Leona smirked like the smug cat he was.

“C’mon, Herbivore. I’m not that messy. That furball let me in when he was on his way out,” Leona supplied, stretching out across the couch.

Mirai thought about poor Grim. He probably was shaking in his fur when Leona approached him. Mirai sighed, “So what are you doing here?”

“Taking a nap,” Leona yawned, getting comfortable once more, “The guys won’t think to find me here.”

Mirai sighed again, knowing he wasn’t gonna win against Leona, not even in his own home. So he just ignored him as he left the lounge to make his way upstairs to get comfortable for the rest of the day. After Mirai changed into some comfortable clothes, made himself a snack, and made his way to the other couch in front of the tall floor to ceiling window. Drawing one side of the curtains to lessen the glare on his laptop, Mirai made sure not to deprive Leona of his sun, as he got comfortable before starting his homework. 

The two of them sat in silence, but it was a comfortable one. Leona dozed quietly, the occasional snore, or sigh escaping his lips. And if he shuffled a bit to change positions, the old springs and frame of the couch creaked and squeaked in protest. On Mirai’s side of the room, the click-clack of Mirai typing on his laptop filled the silence, and if you tried hard enough, or had a heightened sense of hearing like Leona, you could pick up the quiet melody from the music Mirai had blaring in his cheap earbuds.

Time passed, but neither of them acknowledged it. The skies went from blue to orange, the sun's rays got warmer as their light changed from their soft yellows to deep golds. Dust motes danced across the room with the light rays as their stage, the dorm creaked and whined with every kiss of the breeze, but even after all of that, time seemed to stop. Nothing mattered, the world didn’t matter, nothing but the quiet moment in the Ramshackle lounge.

Leona awoke from his nap, slowly regaining the workings of his own body, becoming aware again. Like being aware that his right arm was asleep from sleeping on it, the annoying feeling of pins and needles crawling its way along his skin. He was aware of the fact that he somehow was lying with his tail wrapped around his hip, he was aware of his full bladder and empty stomach, and he was aware that he was still there on that crumby couch in the Ramshackle Dorm. 

Distantly Leona wondered about the time, but didn’t care enough to feel around for his phone. If his dorm needed him, he’d deal with it later. Cracking an eye open, Leona eyed the Ramshackle Prefect. Mirai lay lax across the right armrest, his homework forgotten, his earbuds still blasting whatever noise he called music into his ears. 

Leona sighed, sitting up, stretching his arms over his head, letting the kinks in his back pop loudly as he yawned tiredly, his mouth wide, teeth sharp. Checking his phone after fishing it from between the shoddy, torn, threadbare cushions, it was half past seven, and he had several missed calls from Ruggie. Great, he definitely was gonna get an earful from that little scavenger. Leona quietly gathered his things, his feet light and tactical on those worn and neglected wooden floors. Double checking one last time, Leona scanned the room, tired green eyes landing on the prefect once more.

Later that evening, Mirai was awoken by a hungry Grim and as he sat up, the throw he liked to keep on the rocking chair pooled into his lap.

Days passed, and Leona continued this weird behavior. One day Leona was in Mirai’s space, and one day he wasn’t. One day they were bickering, fighting like they hated each other, and the next Mirai was crushing hard as Leona helped him study for his Potionology test. It was weird. It was like night and day, and it seemed like Mirai was the only one affected.

Mirai asked Grim if he noticed, but the little monster hardly noticed anything that didn’t have to do with food or himself. But he did notice the increased visits from Leona, claiming that the sleep Housewarden was “cramping their style.” 

And he did visit often, even sometimes when Grim and Mirai weren’t there. Sometimes Mirai would come back from classes and find him sleeping on the couch, but most of the time he wasn’t. But Mirai could tell he had been there. He could tell from the way the cushions were rumpled, or by the way the throw was placed. Things were always a little out of place but never missing, and never messy.

Ugh. Mirai was mentally berating himself for not making his way to the courtyard. That way he could cover more ground, that way he could get some help, but no, he made the stupid decision to hide in one of the bathrooms, and it just had to be the one on the farthest wing of the school. Just his rotten luck.

Mirai really needed to stop running his mouth. He and Grim were surrounded, it was six against one, well, two if you counted Grim. There were the two guys from Savanaclaw, a guy from Diasomnia, two guys from Octavinelle and a guy from Pomefiore, all of which were ready to beat him to a pulp. 

“You don’t have your little entourage to help you now,” the blonde Pomefiore student sneered.

“Got nowheres ta go,” the Bobcat Beastman growled, closing in.

Mirai’s eyes darted for any openings, anything to help him, anything to get him out of this situation unscathed. But the more he looked, the more he searched, the more he began to panic. Then his eyes landed on Grim. 

“Cat’s land on their feet, yeah,” Mirai muttered, his eye cutting to Grim, who he pushed behind himself.

“Whatcha whisperin’ about over there?!” The Leopard laughed, “Ya better be whisperin’ your prayers that you’ll be breathin’ after we’re done with ya.”

Grim sneered, “I keep telling ya I ain’t no cat.”

“Well let’s just hope you do,” Mirai muttered.

“What are you talkin’ abo-”

With a swiftness, Mirai snatched Grim up by the scruff of his fur, and chucked him across the room. Grim wailed, little stubby arms flailing as he flew, and luckily he landed on all four paws near the door.

“Hey,” the long black haired fae from Diasomnia shouted, ducking lest he get a face full of fur.

“Run Grim! Get outta here,” Mirai shouted.

“B-But-” Grim stuttered.

“Go get some help! Just go!”

The Leopard Beastman growled loudly, turning his attention to Mirai, and one of the Mers turned to Grim. Grim gulped loudly and scurried through the door and down the hall, the Fishman hot on his three pronged tail. Mirai hoped that that little cat got away.

“Leave the familiar be,” the blonde from Pomefiore said, “By the time his little legs can carry him, we’ll be done here.”

Mirai swallowed, his eyes narrowing. 

The white haired Bobcat was first to lunge, Mirai evaded him, but the brown haired Leopard took his left, his literal blindside, and Mirai wasn’t as lucky. Mirai tried to rip his arm from his grasp, but the Bobcat rounded his right again, getting a hold of his right arm. Squirming, Mirai thrashed and kicked, his sneakers sliding as skidding across the slick tiled floors.

“What happened to all that talk, Dear one?” the Octavinelle student sneered, taking his time walking up to the three. “It is you who said you could take us all in a fight, yet you were the first one running.”

Mirai grunted as, yanking his arms, trying to free himself, “Shut up, fish face. Yo-”

Suddenly, the Mer snatched Mirai’s face between his fingers, squeezing hard, “Listen here, you waste of skin, some of us worked too long and too hard to get here, and I’m not gonna sit here and be insulted by someone who’s getting-”

Mirai spit in his face and the first punch was thrown.

Ploink. Ploink. Ploink.

The faucet leaked above Mirai as he lay there on the bathroom floor, watching the sunset through the small windows close to the ceiling. The forgotten bathroom was bathed in a serene golden glow, the warmth of the sun seeping into his skin. Gentle. Overbearing. Overheating. 

Ploink. Ploink. Ploink.

Pound. Pound. Pound.

  The faucet was dripping in time with his pulse, it was annoying. His head was pounding, so was his eye. It hurt to think, it hurt to look anywhere else but up, it hurt to breathe. Mirai reached up to his face, his fingers coming back a mottled red. Sticky. Tacky. Familiar.

Ploink. Ploink. Ploink.

Pound. Pound. Pound.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

His nose was clogged, swollen. He was pretty sure it was full of blood, and he was pretty sure he shouldn’t be lying like this, but far from caring. Not that he could sit up anyways. His breathing was shallow, his heart was beating slowly, and the slow waltz between the sink, his head, and his heart was making him nauseous. Mirai just hoped he didn’t blow chunks down his shirt. Because that would just be the icing on the cake.

Leona smelled iron before he even registered that that sickly thick scent was blood. Leona wouldn’t have cared, it wasn’t any of his business, but that scent was strong, too strong, and for some vile reason, it was oddly familiar. Leona traveled the empty halls, looking, searching, following the scent trail to the source. Leona turned the halls, his pace quickening a bit as he wracked his brain as to why he knew that scent. 

Ruggie and Epel flashed through his mind, but they didn’t fit the bill. Ruggies blood wasn’t rich, it was always too thin, too light. With that fact, Leona made a mental note to up the little runt’s wages. Epel on the other hand normally smelled too sweet, but it was also rich, and balanced. The kid didn’t bleed much, not around him that was, but it wasn’t him either.

Mirai pulled himself up steadily, sobbing as his injuries twinged with fiery hate. His thighs screamed, his arms shook, and as another wave of nausea washed over him, his knees threatened to give. But he pushed himself to stand, managing to lean his weight over the counter, and when he did, he was panting hard, a cold sweat dotting his brow. 

Mirai looked at himself in the mirror, and to be frank, the person staring back at him looked so alien to him, yet so familiar. His face was swollen. His lip was split on the left side, and his left eye, his left eye was already starting to bruise, the discoloration of his eye tinged with an angry red. And it hurt so much. His clothes were no better. His shirt was torn, with blotches of red staining it in certain places. He was wet, scuffed with dirt, his shoe was missing and his bag was in the toilet. Mirai swallowed a sob as he turned on the faucet, letting his head fall into the sink, watching the red run into pink down the drain.

Leona turned one last corner, and here, here it was strongest, and steadily getting stronger. Leona inhaled through his nose deeply, and the smell assaulted his senses. Why could he smell it so heavily? Why could taste it so vividly, like he was able to drink it down like a fine wine? Leona closed his eyes as he followed his nose. He could feel its warmth, he could feel it as it passed through his teeth, as red washed over his tongue, as the blood dripped passed his lips and down his chin. He could smell a mixture of deep iron, rich, yet so light. But he couldn’t see its owner. He could smell dust, sand, lavender, lavender. Lavender!

Suddenly Leona could see that small room he kept as a junk closet. He could hear the clutter around the falling to the floor, the things inside shattering. He saw that mop of blonde hair, he saw those bony shoulders as his own hands grabbed them, pulling, then red. Red. Red. It filled his mouth, his nose, he felt the warmth. The warmth from Mirai.

It was Mirai’s blood.

Mirai was scrubbing his hands when the bathroom door burst open. “Ya missed the show, come back another time,” Mirai sneered, not bothering to look up from the sink.

“Oi! What happened?!”

Mirai snapped his head to the door, expecting to see Ace, or Deuce, even Professor Trein or Professor Crewel, but not Leona.

“Ya got mud in your ears? What happened?!”

“Wha-What are you, what are you doing here?” Mirai asked absently, “Where’s Grim? Did he send you?”

“What?! No! I haven’t even seen that furball!”

Mirai’s mind was everywhere for a second, before he promptly shut off the water, pushing past Leona to leave, “I gotta go. I need to find Grim.” 

“Whoa, whoa. Hold up. Where are you going?” Leona snapped, grabbing Mirai by the shoulder, but instantly regretted it as Mirai hissed in pain.

Mirai wrenched his arm away, fresh hot tears filling his eyes, “Ya got mud in your ears?” Mirai shouted, once again using Leona’s words against him, “I need to find Grim. They were after him too!”

Leona rolled his eyes, “That can wait, we need to get you to the infirmary.”

“No, it can’t wait. Grim he’s-he’s-”

“Hey, hey. Calm down, it’s-,” 

“I-I-I don’t nee-”

Leona sighed before hauling the Prefect into his arms, and began to make his way down the hall. “It’s furball we're talking about. He might always be startin’ trouble, but you and I both know he’d rather set the school ablaze, than be caught with his tail between his legs.”

Mirai seemed to shrink in on himself. He was still missing a shoe, his bag was in a wet heap on the bathroom floor, and his clothes were wet and dirty, yet, here Leona was, holding him like he was a newlywed princess.

“So Infirmary first, Grim second, and then you’re gonna tell me who did this and what happened.”

Mirai didn’t say anything, only nodding as he clutched onto his phone for dear life, trying to force away the flush that was already making its way onto his freckled cheeks. 

The Infirmary was empty, the nurse nowhere to be seen. Mirai’s heard of him, the other’s said he was a little too rough, and a bit of a quack, but Mirai’s never seen him. But that didn’t deter Leona from sitting the Ramshackle Prefect on one of the beds before turning to get some supplies. Mirai thought this scene was oddly familiar, well, maybe it was because he had watched it dozens of times in Anime and read it many times in Manga. Gosh, now Mirai was getting nervous. Leona rolled one of the stools and a medical table up to Mirai and sat down, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. Okay, now he really was nervous. 

“What?” Leona gruffed, raising an eyebrow.

“Whaddya gonna do?” Mirai asked skeptically. 

“Open heart surgery. Lie down,” Leona deadpanned.

“Leona, I’m serious.”

“What do you think Ima do, you idiot?! It’s just bandages and disinfectant! It ain't rocket science!”

Mirai quieted, turning his gaze away from the Beastman in front of him. Leona sucked his teeth in annoyance, but proceeded anyway. 

Leona started with gently pulling Mirai’s right hand into his left, the Perfect twitching slightly, but he didn’t pull away, his eyes trained on the world behind the window. Taking the cloth he had sitting in some hot water, and gently dabbed at his knuckles. Mirai whimpered, trying to pull his hand away, but Leona didn’t let him, tightening his grip in warning. Mirai shut his eyes tightly, still not looking his way, and relaxed his arm. Leona took that as his sign to continue. 

Leona dabbed at the cuts once more, watching the prefect's face closely, as he made sure they were clean and free of any residue. 

“This might sting a little,” Leona whispered as he went for the disinfectant. Mirai didn’t say anything as he shut his eyes once more.

Leona pressed down on the nozzle, the spray coating Mirai's fist, and the blonde immediately tensed up, his fingers clawing at the Beastman’s palm. 

“Why are you helping me?” Mirai muttered after the burning dulled a bit.

Leona scoffed, “Don’t needa reason.”

“But that’s just it,” Mirai growled, a sudden flash of anger burning beneath his skin, “you do! Every single one of you, do!”

Leona looked taken aback before his eyes narrowed, “So now I can’t be nice?”

“Since when are you just nice?” Mirai said, rolling his eyes, “There’s always something innit for you.”

“Yeah, I ain’t just nice, but I’m not about to let ya bleed on the bathroom floor.”

“Why not?”

“Because ’m not not heartless.”

Mirai huffed, looking back at the setting sun.

“Did it hurt,” Leona asked quietly as he taped up Mirai’s fingers.

“Don’t remember it” Mirai muttered quietly.

“What’s that ‘pposed ta mean?”

When Mirai didn’t answer, Leona sighed and went back to what he was doing.

Cleaning up the rest of Mirai’s arm was just like his hand, he’d tense and pull, but never said a word. But Leona knew the more difficult task would be his face. Leona stood up to replace the water, and get a new cloth, and when he got back, the Prefect was still looking out the window, his face void of any emotion. Leona distantly wondered if the Prefect was scared, or if he was tired. 

Sitting back down Leona stared at him for a bit, taking in the bruises and cuts on Mirai’s face. He didn’t look like himself, he didn’t look like the guy who’d take on the world all by himself, he didn’t look like the guy who would idiotically do anything you dared him, even if the reward was one corn chip. And yeah, Leona got that those weren’t really good qualities, but it was what made Mirai, Mirai. 

“Hey,” Leona said quietly, slowly reaching for Mirai’s face and turning it towards himself. “Look at me.”

Mirai wasn’t quite looking, he wasn’t quite there to begin with, and something akin to fury, fury and something else he couldn't name gnawed at the Beastman’s stomach. But what he did know is that when he found those guys, he’d tear them apart.

“Hey,” Leona called again, “any light’s on up there?”

Mirai flinched, wincing as Leona ran the cloth across his busted lip.

“Did it hurt?” Leona asked again. 

“Yeah,” Mirai mumbled. 

If the other was referring to his lip or the initial beating, they both didn’t know.

In the end Grim was okay, he was safe, and Mirai couldn’t be happier. Mirai got his shoe back, which he was grateful for, since they were his only pair, and as for his bag, it belongs to the trash now. The guys, who Mirai may or may not have instigated a fight with, were never identified, and five days later, Mirai’s phone was fixed, thanks to a little blue haired half student, and upon leaving for the day one morning, a new expensive school bag sat neatly in a cardboard box on his doorstep. 

 Mirai sat under the awning above Ramshackle’s door, watching the rain pelt the pavement below, thinking. The skies were a dark gray, the winds punishing and cold, but for some reason it was comforting. For the first time, it seemed that this world finally aligned with how Mirai was feeling, that it was finally on his side. 

Days passed, Mirai's face healed, his bruises healed, but something about Leona changed. A cigarette sat forgotten between red bitten lips as chipped black painted nails scratched at the healing scrapes on his knees, watching little beads of red bubble up from beneath his skin. Mirai sighed, pulling his shorts back over his knees, not caring if the hems stained. It wasn’t like he and Leona were friends, but something just, he didn’t know, shifted. 

The third year didn’t invite him to skip class anymore, he didn’t send him of stupid tasks like getting his lunch, and he didn’t crash in Ramshackle’s lounge anymore. He hadn’t even seen the man in passing, it was like he became a ghost, and it seemed he was the only one concerned about it. It was weird, but then again, it all was weird to begin with.

Mirai sighed deeply, watching the smoke become one with the clouds. He thought back to that afternoon, gosh, he could hardly remember most of it. Of course he remembers how he got there, and how it started. He remembers making Grim leave, he definitely remembers spitting in that jerk’s face, then getting punched, but after that, nothing. The next thing he remembers is being the floor, and the pain that followed. Maybe it was that, maybe after Leona had seen how pathetic he looked that day, he realized just how weak and useless he was and decided to cut him off.

“Yeah, right,” Mirai scoffed to himself. It was never like he was important to Leona anyways. It wasn’t like he ever had a chance. 

“Oi human!”

Mirai turned around and Grim stood behind him, his little paws crossed over his little nose.

“Yeah?” Mirai snickered.

“Your phone’s ringing,” Grim said, voice sounding nasally.

“Coming,” Mirai muttered, snuffing out his cigarette in the stone beside him. 

Picking up Grim, Mirai headed inside, shutting the front door behind him.

[fortune-maiden]

Sicktember Day 18: "Wear a coat, you'll catch a cold"

Many years ago I wrote a boueibu ficlet that involved En-chan being a Responsible Adult (tm) and making sure Yumoto wore his jacket in a blizzard. I don't think I ever posted that fic but it was the first thing I thought of when I saw this prompt.

Anyway here's En-chan not being a Responsible Adult (tm) and EnAtsu being cute and domestic

(Not sure if I want to put this on ao3 but I just like writing EnAtsu banter and wanted to share ;w;)

----

“Wear your coat, you’ll catch a cold. You know Atsushi, I used to think that was just an old wives’ tale.”

Atsushi frowned. “It’s true that the cold weather itself doesn’t actually make you sick but, you know En-chan, I’m surprised at you. Wearing a coat in this weather is just common sense isn’t it?”

“I told you, it wasn’t that cold before.”

It had started as a typical end-of-autumn day. The sun was shining, the leaves were falling, and the outside air was cool and crisp as it blew through the mountain town. It was jacket weather to be sure, but En had not considered it the bundle-up kind of jacket weather. So though he had worn a coat, he hadn’t bothered buttoning it despite Atsushi’s grumbling, and had let it billow behind in the wind on their walk up the stairs.

He was wearing it properly now. He was wearing Atsushi’s jacket as well as a second layer as he shivered in his seat and blew hot air into his hands. It didn’t help. En had suspected the heating was off or the window was cracked open, but Atsushi diligently checked both.

“Running around without your jacket like that… that feels more like something Yumoto would do.”

“Yumoto doesn’t get cold.”

“Ryuu then. Having his jacket flapping behind him like that. I bet he’d think he would look cool.”

En gave him a miserable look. “So I’m being compared to Ryuu…”

“Huh? Is that worse?”

“Of course it’s worse. It’s…” En decided he didn’t want to explain. What he wanted was to get warm already, before the homeroom teacher finally came in and forced him to take off his extra layers.

Atsushi reached into his backpack. Ever prepared, he pulled out a scarf and wrapped it around En’s shoulders.

“Better?”

“Not really, but thanks.”

Atsushi gave him a sympathetic smile. “Honestly En-chan, I always thought you’d be all for bundling up. Think about it? A thick marshmallow coat, wrapped around you like a warm cocoon. I bet you could fall asleep immediately!”

“Do you know how uncomfortable those things are? No one wears them for sleeping!” Although that kind of poofy coat sounded really nice right about now. “Besides those things are for the dead of winter. It was way too hot for it this morning.”

“It really wasn’t,” Atsushi muttered and reached into his backpack once again, this time pulling out a dark green thermos. He set it on En’s desk.

“It’s oolong tea. Drink up.”

“What kind of high-schooler carries around oolong tea?”

“Did I mention it’s hot?”

“That’s my Atsushi.” With trembling fingers, En pulled off the cup and unscrewed the top. The thermos itself was cool but the liquid inside was steaming and quickly warmed the plastic cup it was poured into. Rather than drink it, En just wanted to warm his hands around it. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just can’t get warm.”

“Honestly? You might have a fever,” Atsushi whispered. Despite all the earlier teasing, his brow was knitted in concern. “Aside from the cold, do you feel okay?”

“I don’t know. I feel like it if I go to sleep now, I might never wake up.”

“You’re not that cold.” Just in case though, he reached over to feel En’s forehead. But between En’s cold skin and Atsushi’s cold hands, he couldn’t really tell. “En-chan, maybe you should go to the nurse? Wrap yourself up in some blankets, take some medicine… If it’s bad enough, maybe Hara-sensei could send you home.”

“After all the trouble I went through coming here?” And not just the school, the classroom. En had already curled up in his seat. The idea of stretching back out and braving the frozen halls was unappealing.

But Tawarayama-sensei would come in any moment now, and dealing with Wombat would be an even bigger pain.

“Yeah… I’m going,” he decided, forcing himself to get up. “Can I keep the jacket?”

“Sure. Take the tea too.”

“Really?”

“I’m not drinking it after you if you’re sick.”

“Touché.” En quickly downed what he’d poured before and closed the thermos back up. “See you later then.”

“Mm. Feel better En-chan. I’ll come check on you during the break.”

En shivered as he left the arm. Atsushi let out a sigh as he prepared for the first period.

The rest of their class pretended not to have seen anything.

[oliverreedmasterass]

Part 7! (next part is the finale 👀)

Thank you to @starcatcherkiszka​ for the fic idea and tolerating all the times I’ve tagged you in these fic posts lol :) 

In case you want something to listen to while you read: ✨Summer of 69 Playlist✨

Note: I’m so sorry I’ve been spamming everyone with this fic, I’ve been in a HUGE writing mood this weekend

Words: 4.4k 

Warnings: drinking, mentions of drugs, attempted fist fight, tomfoolery

Synopsis: Greta Van Fleet somehow manages to travel back in time to the Summer of 69, during the Woodstock Art and Music festival. You can only imagine what hijinks they’re going to get up to. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

------------------------------------------------

The rest of the night was a blissful blur. Creedence Clearwater Revival’s set blew the four of them away, and they had the pleasure of watching from the front of the stage, in the audience with a bunch of stoned people who were jumping up and down to the beat. When Janis Joplin came out, Josh couldn’t stop screaming, and he even caught a tambourine that she threw out into the crowd, of course after wrestling it away from a teenage girl. Freddie Stone spotted Jake during Sly and the Family Stone’s performance and he motioned for him to join them all on stage. Josh and Danny whooped out in glee as Jake took a spot beside Gregg Errico on the drums and shook around a maraca like his life depended on it. Sam only refused to cheer because he was still butthurt over Jake’s Joan Baez prank on him earlier. By the time The Who came on at 5am, Josh was appalled that he was still awake and invested in the music. The Who was definitely more of a band that Jake appreciated, but Josh had to admit that they sounded pretty good, and it was fun to watch Pete Townshend do his signature windmill move on the guitar that Jake had played the day before. 

What wasn’t as great was when Pete used the guitar to try and strike Abbie Hoffman, the activist, who had jumped on stage mid-set to yell about John Sinclairs’ 9 year sentence for marijuana possession. Josh had a split second where he contemplated running up to try and defend Abbie, but it was all over so fast, he didn’t have any time to react. Jefferson Airplane closed things out at 8am the next day, and that was when the exhaustion caught up to everyone. 

At the end of “The House at Pooneil Corners,” Sam looked around at Jake, Josh, and Danny with heavy bags under his eyes. 

“No amount of drugs can keep me up for another second,” he said. 

“Hop on my back,” Danny offered, “I’ll take you to Dave’s van so you can get some rest.” 

Like a line of zombies, they inched back to Dave’s van, but were pleasantly surprised to see him there, chatting with Janis Joplin. She was cradling a bottle of something in her hand, dressed in a long, oversized tie dye top with flowy pants, her long hair messy and wrapped around some of the beads hanging from her neck. 

“Hey,” Dave perked up at the sight of the guys. “I was just telling Janis about you.” 

“I’m sad I missed your show,” Janis gave them a toothy smile, extending a hand for all of them to shake. Jake was sure that he was doing a poor job hiding his shock. He was standing in front of one of the most exceptional vocalists of all time. “Dave was telling me about your pipes,” she looked around at them, trying to figure out who the frontman was. 

“Thanks,” Josh spoke up, his face red. 

“Preserve that voice of yours,” Janis’s tone hardened for a second. “That’s a gift you’ve got.” 

“Janis is gonna be at the after party later today,” Dave shared. “We’re all going to be meeting up at a nice restaurant a few miles up the road. There’s gonna be a pretty decent gap between sets after Joe Cocker finishes up, so we’ll have enough time to mingle.”

“That sounds great,” Jake said, looking around at Josh, Sam, and Danny to make sure that they were up for it. Danny was still staring at Janis Joplin, obviously having trouble comprehending that she was real. Sam nodded, though he still looked concerned about Joan Baez, and Josh gave a smile. 

“I do need to sleep though,” Sam remembered. “I can’t believe I’m still standing upright.” 

“The van’s all yours,” Dave chuckled, motioning towards the open door. That was what Sam had been waiting for, since he kicked off his shoes and dove into the back of the van, finding his spot back under the massive pile of blankets. Danny finally snapped his head away from Janis and nodded towards where Sam had disappeared. 

“I think I’m gonna get a nap in,” he excused himself. “It was nice to meet you,” he added, finally addressing Janis, who raised her drink up to him. 

“Keep on rocking, I’ll see you later,” she promised. Danny nearly hit his head on the doorframe of the van because he was so thrown off guard by being in Janis’s presence. Jake wanted to continue talking with her and Dave, but he also knew they would be at the party later. Although Jake wasn’t as open to announce it to the world like Sam, he was feeling pretty damn tired too. 

“Catch you later,” he raised a hand to Janis and Dave, and swiftly made his exit into the van. 

“They’re good kids,” he could hear Dave tell Janis behind him. 

“They’re cute,” Janis chuckled. 

Josh was right behind Jake and, after sliding the van door shut to engulf them in darkness, Jake nudged Josh in the side. 

“Thanks for sticking around,” he said just loudly enough for Josh to hear. 

“Vietnam or not, it is pretty cool being here,” Josh chuckled. 

----

They all could have slept a lot longer if Joe Cocker’s rendition of “With A Little Help From My Friends” didn’t make them spring out of the van. One thing Jake, Josh, Sam, and Danny could all agree on was that it was one of the best covers made. They had to see it live. 

In a mad rush, they sprinted down the field towards the stage and started to cheer loudly when they could just barely make out the ant-like figure that was Joe Cocker on stage, in his red, yellow, and purple tie dye shirt. While Josh and Sam swung back and forth to the music, Danny took a seat in the grass, leaned back on his elbows, and closed his eyes so he could be fully immersed in the music. Jake just stared onwards in awe. The recordings that he had grown up hearing of the cover were nothing in comparison to witnessing it live. 

By the time Joe Cocker left the stage, Josh was disappointed. He and Sam had been having a field day dropping it low to the music, even if their dancing didn’t quite match what everyone else in the crowd was doing. 

“That was great, wasn’t it?” he nudged Danny in the side. Danny slowly opened his eyes and leaned his head back to look at Josh. 

“I’m sad I slept through ‘Feelin’ Alright.’”

“That’s what the concert DVD is for,” Josh joked. 

“We should find Dave,” Jake realized. “I have no clue how to get to that restaurant.” 

“I didn’t see him when we left the van,” Sam shared. “But I also wasn’t really looking for him.” 

“I’ll bet he’s by the stage,” Josh reasoned. They all looked ahead at the stage in the distance and released a collective groan. They had done a lot more walking than they were used to over the past three days. Jake was certain that he was getting in his 10,000 steps a day. If he had it on him, his Fitbit would have been so proud. 

The walk was long but worthwhile, since they located Dave and he motioned towards a Ford Bronco that was parked in the dirt by the front entrance. 

“I’ll have one of my guys drive you over there,” he said like it was no problem. “It’s a short trip.” 

“We’re in no rush,” Jake lied. He needed to eat something filling soon, or else he was going to have to resort to gnawing on sticks and pieces of cardboard. 

It was a pleasant surprise that they were apparently receiving star treatment, since one of the stagehands hurried to their side, some cords still in his hands, and nodded towards the car. 

“Ready to head out?” 

“Yup,” they all replied. 

Compared to the first day when they walked into the venue, the roads were a bit more clear, but it was still shocking to see how many cars had been abandoned on the side of the road. Danny frowned when he saw that some of the cars had their windows broken in. Some people loitered around, grouping in the shade for cover from the sun, and watched as the car drove past. 

“Dave reserved the restaurant,” the stagehand shared. “I’m not sure how great the food is, it’s all locals running things out here who aren’t used to big crowds, but it probably won’t give you food poisoning.” 

“That’s a relief?” Josh had to laugh in response. 

“It better not give me food poisoning,” Sam grumbled. 

The stagehand pulled into the parking lot of a small diner that looked straight out of the 1950s. Jake whistled at the sight of it and immediately knew that he was about to have a really, really good milkshake. 

“I like that Dave considers this a nice place,” Josh observed after they hopped out of the car. 

“It is a nice place, compared to what we’ve been eating recently,” Danny said. Like Jake, Danny was growing really tired of eating essentially bird food. He was ready to move on to bigger and better things, like a good old greasy hamburger. 

They strolled through the front doors and, even though they had spent time around all of their idols all weekend, it was still jarring to see them crowded into one place. Jake couldn’t help but let out a gasp when he saw Pete Townshend and Keith Moon standing in the corner of the diner, stationed next to the jukebox, trying to smoke multiple cigarettes at once. Jerry Garcia was laying on the diner counter, popping maraschino cherries into his mouth like candy. A few members from Jefferson Airplane were crowded into one of the booths, silently digging into a massive plate of fries. While Jake was starstruck by the members of The Who, Sam felt his hands start to shake in excitement when he spotted Neil Young, Stephen Stills, David Crosby, and Graham Nash lounging on the counter stools. He started to levitate towards them, but abruptly stopped when he saw that Joan Baez was sitting with them. 

“Shit,” Sam grunted when he saw that Joan was looking in his direction. 

Hey!” she called to him. Sam tried to hide his face, but Danny nudged him forward. 

“Just be normal,” he tried to coach Sam. “I’m sure she doesn’t care that you missed her show.” 

Sam huffed but nodded because he knew that Danny was telling the truth. 

“Hey!” he replied back to Joan, waving an arm around with a bit too much force, so he nearly whacked Country Joe McDonald in the head. Joan motioned for him to join her and the CSNY guys, and he jogged to her side. 

“Have you met Neil, Stephen, David, and Graham?” she asked Sam. Sam’s mouth was hung open. 

“Seems like he recognizes us,” Stephen said with a grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look at us like that before. Does this mean we’ve made it, Neil?” 

“I sure hope so,” Neil joined in the laughter. “Maybe I’ll be able to pay off the mortgage on my house soon.��� 

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Graham chuckled. Sam started to nervously laugh with them. 

“So do you play with anyone? What’s your instrument?” Stephen focused his attention back on Sam. Joan luckily swooped in and saved Sam from utter embarrassment since he had suddenly forgotten how to speak English in his moment of panic. 

“He does keys and bass for this new group, called JJ and the Salty Dogs,” Joan shared. “They put on a stellar performance Friday night. It was hard to go out there after them.” 

Sam winced at the thought that he had missed Joan Baez’s set. 

“Half the audience was asleep by the time I went out,” Joan continued. “I don’t think I have the heaviest music to keep everyone awake, I probably should have been one of the first people out there but it is what it is, I guess.” 

“Hey, you closed out the first day, that’s pretty huge,” Neil raised a glass up to Joan with a smile. “You deserve to be at the top of the bill, you’ve been working hard for it.” 

One of the diner employees approached their group with a pen and notepad in hand. 

“I’ll have a vanilla malt,” Sam finally found his words again. It was amazing what he could do when he was starving. “Do you have any non-meat items?” 

“Non-meat?” the employee cocked his head to the side. “Like a salad?” 

“That’ll do,” Sam sighed. “And I’ll take some fries too.” 

Since he had found his words again, he decided to lean on the counter, right by Jerry Garcia’s bare feet, and strike a conversation with some of his favorite musicians. He had to know what their process was behind writing “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes.” 

Back at the front entrance, Danny, Jake, and Josh were still huddling close to each other, unsure what to do. They were caught in a situation none of them could have ever dreamed of: everyone in that diner had, in some way or another, been an influence on their music. Jake watched as Pete Townshend and Keith Moon put their cigarettes out and turned their attention to the jukebox. Keith fished a few coins out of his pocket and slid them into the slot so he could flip through the song options. He finally settled on Henry Mancini’s “Love Theme from Romeo and Juliet” and started to waltz around the diner while humming along. Roger Daltry entered the restaurant and stood beside Josh, Jake, and Danny, trying to search for his bandmates when Keith whisked him away, twirling him around a few times. 

“Quit it!” Roger called out, but Keith was in no mood to stop. Behind them, Pete was cackling loudly. 

While Jake was watching the chaotic scene unfold in front of them, Josh was distracted because he was trying to find Robbie Robertson, from The Band. Out of all the people on the Woodstock lineup that he hadn’t met yet, he most wanted to pick Robbie’s brain apart since he was, in Josh’s opinion, one of the best songwriters and storytellers of the time. He perked up when he saw Robbie standing at the far end of the counter, cradling a beer, and rushed to his side, leaving Jake and Danny behind. 

Keith had finally stopped spinning Roger in circles, and the members of The Who, including John Entwistle, who had just come in, settled into a booth so they could steal fries from Jefferson Airplane. 

“We should talk to them,” Jake whispered to Danny, motioning towards The Who. 

“They kind of scare me,” Danny admitted. “Plus I heard Pete’s a dickhead.”

“Only one way to find out,” Jake said, dragging Danny behind him. 

“Why don’t we try to talk to Ten Years After instead?” Danny tried to negotiate with Jake, but stopped when he realized that they were standing in front of The Who’s booth. Jake wasn’t really sure what the best way was to make a first impression with them, so he decided to snatch a french fry out of John’s hand and shove it in his mouth. 

“Who are you?” Pete’s voice raised. Danny turned on his heel to run away, but Jake held him firmly in place while he swallowed down the french fry. 

“We played on Friday,” Jake answered, hoping he sounded a lot more confident than he felt. “We’re called Greta Van - fuck - JJ and the Salty Dogs.” 

“Long band name,” Keith nodded in appreciation. 

“I’ve never heard of you,” Pete retorted. 

“Hey, I think I saw a picture of your performance,” Roger spoke up. “This guy plays a guitar that looks exactly like yours, Pete,” he added, motioning in Jake’s direction. 

“What are the odds of that?” Jake nervously chuckled. He really hoped that it wasn’t obvious from the picture that he really was playing Pete’s guitar. He could only imagine what Pete would do to him if he found out so, at that moment, Jake decided it was probably safest that he get some distance between them. “Well, nice to meet you,” Jake excused himself, hustling away and leaving Danny in the dust. Danny stared down at the members of The Who in fear. 

“Take a seat,” Keith scooted over on the vinyl seat and patted it. “We don’t bite.” 

“Oh god,” Danny whispered. 

Across the diner, Josh had moved on from Robbie Robertson to join Sam, Joan Baez, and the members of CSNY. Robbie had been kind to him, but Josh quickly found that he wasn’t really in the mood to talk music, and rather preferred to people-watch while working away at his beer. Sam was engaged in a deep conversation with Stephen Stills about harmonies when Josh came over and extended a hand for Stephen to shake. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Josh flashed his pearly whites. 

“This your brother?” Stephen checked in with Sam, who nodded. 

“I’ve heard a lot about your voice, dude. Everyone’s been raving about it, I keep hearing that it’s outtasight.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Josh blushed and raked a hand through his hair. 

“I’m hoping my voice holds up tonight,” Stephen looked between Sam and Josh. “It’s our second time performing live, so the nerves are pretty bad.” 

“You’re gonna be fine,” Sam assured him. He knew for a fact that he was going to be fine: he had grown up listening to the CSNY Woodstock performance on CD, and it was one of his favorite albums of all time. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.” 

A loud commotion came from the back of the diner and they all turned around to find its source. Upon closer inspection, Sam and Josh realized that Danny was standing on top of one of the booth’s tables with Keith Moon, jousting back and forth with two floppy french fries. 

“What the hell?” Josh couldn’t help but sputter. 

“He one of yours?” Stephen smirked, nodding in Danny’s direction. “Keith will bring out the worst in people. But, if you ask him, he’ll insist it’s the best. He convinced David to crash a car into a snowbank once.” 

“Best night of my life,” David leaned over to interject. 

“Should we tell him to stop?” Josh asked Sam. Sam watched his best friend cackle with glee as he pretended to shank Keith Moon, and shook his head. 

“Let him have his fun.” 

While Josh, Sam, and Danny all socialized, Jake had been hiding in the bathroom, where he thought he was safe from the wrath of Pete Townshend. He could only hide for so long though since his stomach was literally starting to ingest himself, so he tried to convince himself that he would be okay, and then powered out of the bathroom stall to find a waiter. Right outside the bathroom door, he ran into Michael Shrieve, from Santana, and Joe Cocker, and nearly screamed in surprise. 

“We saw you talking to The Who guys,” Michael gave Jake a knowing look. 

“Talk about a lot of energy,” Joe Cocker blew out. “I’m too old for that shit.”

“You’re twenty-five,” Michael turned to Joe. 

“Fucking ancient,” Joe continued. 

“I tried talking to them a bit earlier,” Michael shared. “Pete called me a punkass bitch for literally no reason at all. I just told him that I thought Tommy was a really great album.” 

“He’s got quite the, uh, personality,” Jake tried to think of an acceptable response. 

“Don’t let it get to you,” Joe Cocker patted him on the back. “All the other guys here are for the most part cool. Jerry Garcia’s a fun guy if you can actually catch him while he’s conscious.” 

They all looked at Jerry, who had fallen asleep on top of the counter, and was unleashing window-rattling snores. Edgar Winter was leaning over him, trying to balance as many cherries as he could on his forehead. 

“Thanks, guys,” Jake looked between them. “It’s hard to put into words how exciting it is to be here with everyone.” His stomach let out a loud groan and Jake cleared his throat. “We’ll have to talk more later, but I need to get some food in me before I combust.” 

“Yeah, don’t do that,” Michael laughed, waving Jake away. 

Jake hurried to the counter, next to where Josh and Sam were standing, and tried to catch the attention of one of the chefs who was working in the back. He looked up from the burger he was grilling and held up a finger for Jake to wait a second. Jake wasn’t sure he could last that long, so he grabbed a handful of Sam’s salad that he had gotten halfway through and shoved it into his mouth. For what it was worth, it was probably the best thing Jake had eaten since they got to 1969. It took everything within him to not groan out in satisfaction. 

“There you are,” Josh turned around to face Jake. “I was wondering where you had disappeared off to.” 

“Bathroom,” Jake replied. He didn’t want to extrapolate on that any further. 

Danny and Keith Moon’s french fry battle had escalated to an all-out war as they armed themselves with paper plates as shields, and Keith was wearing an empty tray on his head like a helmet. The table was no longer enough for them, since they had hopped down and were navigating around the busy diner, whacking each other back and forth with the french fries. Danny’s french fry broke in half upon impact on Keith’s shoulder, and Keith took the opportunity to roar and tackle Danny, sending him flying over the counter, right past Jake, Josh, and Sam. Before they could worry that Danny had gotten seriously injured, Danny sprung back up with a whoop and brushed himself off. 

“I thought this was a no-contact sport!” He called to Keith. 

“I don’t know where you heard that from,” Keith replied with a cheeky grin.

Jake watched the two drummers rough house with his mouth hung open. He must have missed a lot while he was hiding in the bathroom if Danny was apparently suddenly buddies with the powderkeg of a drummer from The Who. 

“Danny becoming friends with Keith Moon, there’s another thing I didn’t have on my time travel bingo card,” Sam mused between sips of his vanilla malt. 

“Your time travel what?” Stephen raised an eyebrow. Sam started to choke at the realization that he had let their time travel slip. While Jake slapped him on the back to help him clear his windpipe, he noticed that Pete Townshend was booking it towards him, and he didn’t look happy. 

“Oh fuck,” Jake muttered. 

“Hey!” Pete barked at him as he abruptly stopped inches in front of Jake’s face. 

“You were playing my guitar on Friday night!” 

“Uh oh,” Josh whispered beside Jake, taking a step out of the way so he wasn’t in the line of fire. 

Jake hated that he couldn’t think of a single thing to say to Pete Townshend, and instead started to nervously chuckle. That was the wrong move, since Pete grabbed Jake's Sgt. Pepper jacket and lifted him a few inches off the ground. 

“No one touches my Gibson,” Pete snarled. 

“Sounds like he did though,” Neil cut in, sounding relatively uninterested in the drama Pete was trying to stir. “What’s done is done, dude.” 

That wasn’t enough to calm Pete down. 

“You’re coming outside with me,” he told Jake, and before Josh or Sam could stop him, he started to drag Jake to the front door. Jake kind of just hung lip in his grasp, in a daze from everything that was happening. He couldn’t believe he was about to get his ass handed to him by the lead guitarist of The Who. Talk about a doozy. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Sly Stone called to Pete. “Let the kid go.” 

Pete ignored him and brought Jake out into the parking lot and threw him on the hot pavement. All of the musicians who had been lounging inside of the diner came hurrying out to see what was going on. Josh and Sam tried to push to the front of the pack so they could try and stop whatever Pete was about to do. 

“Get up and fight,” Pete ordered down to Jake. Jake looked up at him from the ground and considered his chances. Pete was a bit out of his weight class, so it wasn’t really an even match. Jake could picture himself being carted out of the fight on a stretcher, both of his eyes bruised and his face bloody. That wasn’t really how he wanted to spend his Sunday. 

Jake slowly picked himself up, and he could hear Josh and Sam’s muffled voices screaming at them to stop over the buzzing in his ears. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Danny and Keith were hurrying to them, Danny waving his arms for Pete to calm down, and Keith hollering that they pound each others’ faces in. 

It all happened so fast. With Jake back upright, Pete threw a quick punch towards his head, which Jake somehow managed to dodge. As Pete wound up another fist to hurtle in his direction, Jake hopped out of the way and, while he still had some momentum, he started to book it out of the parking lot, pumping his arms as fast as he could. The Woodstock musicians cheered as they watched Jake sprint down the county road and out of sight. Josh, Sam, and Danny gaped in disbelief. Pete looked like he was contemplating chasing after Jake, but he eventually dropped his fist back down to his side and shook his head. 

“What a joke,” he grumbled. He’d have to find someone else to fight to unleash his daily testosterone build up. He didn’t like how the bassist from Blood, Sweat, & Tears had looked at him earlier: he could pound his face in. 

As the crowd dispersed, Danny came up to Sam and Josh with a frown. 

“We should probably find Jake, huh?” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he ran all the way back to the festival grounds so he could hide in Dave’s van,” Josh replied. “But yeah, we should figure out where he went.” 

So the three gave the diner one last look and then started to walk down the road after Jake, discussing the odds that he would have hypothetically beat Pete in a fist fight. They were all in agreement that his chances weren’t great.

[deepspacedukat]

The Hat

I couldn’t resist. I already discussed this idea with @horta-in-charge and I absolutely had to make it into a story, because why the hell not? This is dedicated to you, my friend!

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Jorik (Vulcan OC)

[A/N: I just wanted to toss this into the void. So here ya go.]

Warnings: None, this is pure fluff. Unless a Vulcan acquiring a hat in a distinctly non-Vulcan way needs a warning. In which case, consider yourself warned.

~*~

**2355 - Late December (Winter) - Seattle, Earth**

Looking back at his day, Jorik noted that everything he’d done was quite logical when examined closely. His reasoning had been entirely sound. Why should he not keep his ears warm during this region’s winter?

Jorik had been strolling through Seattle - one of the cities farther north of the Academy - when he saw it for the first time: a human child wearing a hat. Of course, he’d seen children wearing them before, but not one like this. Not only did the head covering have flaps to shield the wearer’s ears, but it looked like some sort of animal.

The little girl wearing the hat was walking with her mother, and Jorik was so curious that he called out a careful ‘pardon me.’ The woman and her daughter stopped, and Jorik looked between them as he verbalized his thoughts.

“I apologize for interrupting your transit, but I was curious about the creature depicted on your child’s hat,” he explained, and the woman gave a small smile.

“Oh, it’s no trouble. Would you like to tell him about it, sweetie?” She asked looking to her daughter. The little girl couldn’t have been more than eight or ten years old, and she looked up at Jorik as though he was a wonder. He dropped to his knees so that he was at eye level with her.

“Are you a Vulcan, sir?” She asked in a small voice as her eyes flitted to his ears then back to his face.

“Yes, I am. My name is Jorik. It is agreeable to meet you,” he said giving her a respectful bow of his head.

“It’s nice to meet you, too. I’m Cassandra,” the girl replied with a smile. “What was it you wanted to know about my hat?”

“I have never seen an animal such as that. What is it?” Jorik asked glancing up at the contrasting black and white areas of the beast. It looked...soft.

“It’s called a panda. You’ve never seen a panda before?” Cassandra asked with wide eyes. Jorik shook his head and looked a bit more closely at her hat.

“I have not been on Earth very long, and we have no such creatures on Vulcan.”

“There’s a nature observation and education center not far from here. That’s where we just were,” the girl’s mother said, and he nodded his head as he gave a small hum of acknowledgment.

“You should go there, too, Mister Jorik! They have some baby pandas that they’re helping. I even got to pet one!” The little girl smiled as she spoke, and Jorik looked at her curiously. She was an energetic little human. Perhaps he would visit this nature center after all. The experience might provide him with an opportunity to learn more about the planet on which he was currently residing.

“I believe I will take your suggestion. Thank you for your assistance,” Jorik said giving her the Vulcan salute. She tried to return it, but struggled with separating her fingers. Very gently, he reached out and pressed the appropriate digits together on her hand, showing her the correct way. If he’d been human, he thought that, logically, he would have smiled at the joyous expression that spread across her little face. “Live long and prosper, Cassandra.”

“You too, Mister Jorik,” she said in her happy little voice before she and her mother resumed their previous course. He stood and walked to a map kiosk, locating the nature center that Cassandra’s mother had mentioned. He wasn’t due to return to the Academy until the weekend was over, so he was free to explore at his leisure. It was only logical that he take the girl’s suggestion. She’d taken the time to answer his questions, so it was only right that he should follow up on the information that he’d obtained.

The walk to the nature center was short and peaceful, and once inside, he was greeted by a cheerful employee.

“Good afternoon, sir! Welcome to the Seattle Wildlife Conservation Center. Is there anything in particular I can assist you with today?” Jorik raised an eyebrow curiously.

“Thank you. I wish to learn about what exactly this center does. I have also been informed by a friend that this would be an advantageous location from which to learn about an animal called a ‘panda.’”

“Oh, of course, sir. Right this way!” The enthusiastic woman, whose name he later learned to be Terri, took him on a tour of the facility. Jorik spent a good portion of his day learning about the various species of animals that the center worked with. Apparently, pandas and some other animal species were considered vulnerable or endangered only a few centuries before, so the center was one of many that monitored their populations and statuses.

The Vulcan stayed for several hours, and when he finally exited the building after having thanked Terri for her assistance, he’d acquired his own panda hat. The headwear was offered to all visitors who had interacted with the baby pandas as a commemorative souvenir.

As he walked back to the transporter station to return to the Academy, Jorik noted that his ears were at precisely the perfect temperature. Obviously, his choice to accept one of the hats was logical. Besides, the contrast between the black and white fur was aesthetically pleasing. He would simply ignore any odd looks that he might receive from the other Cadets.

[powerpayback]

the slow moments

a/n: before i can properly get some chapters of the first novel up, i thought i'd post a few lil pieces so y'all can get to know sprout n magni. enjoy!

Of the small collection of things Sprout and Magni had in common, trouble sleeping was one of them.

Sprout had tossed and turned for an hour before realizing it was a futile manner. Not being able to sleep was better than waking up from a nightmare, though those were less common these days. 

She had her own ways of tiring herself out - whether getting up to some late night casework, or a before-bed workout. As she turned one last time, she saw the light seeping in from the gap under her door. That night, it seemed that she’d be tiring herself out bugging Magni. 

She sat up and stretched before stumbling out to see what her friend was doing. 

Magni was sitting cross-legged on the couch, painting his nails. But when he noticed her coming in, he paused to give her time to crash down without ruining his work. 

She rested her head on his shoulder. It wasn’t a very comfortable angle, probably for either of them. But he didn’t attempt to shove her off. 

“Silver polish this time?” It was always either that or black. Sometimes, occasionally, he’d branch out to a blood red. Other than that, Magni was predictable, steady. 

“Yeah.” He continued applied a final layer of clear polish. “You want me to do yours?”

“No one’s gonna see it,” Sprout replied. Usually, she kept her leather gloves on, pulled over the scars covering her palm and fingers. But she extended a hand to him, sitting up properly. 

He reached forward to grab the silver polish sitting on the table. “Why’re you up?”

“You were just painting your nails so loudly, it was keeping me awake,” she teased. Magni gave her a stern look and she sighed. “I just couldn’t fall asleep.” As he uncapped the bottle, she asked, “What about you?”

“Me neither,” he told her. “Staring up at the ceiling gets tiring after night six or so.”

“Okay, please tell me you’ve gotten some sleep in the last six nights.”

“I’d be dead if I hadn’t,” Magni stated.

“You’d have five more nights,” Sprout corrected. “We’ll just both have to send each other off to bed with a warm glass of milk when you’re done with my nails.”

He scoffed as he took her hand. She could barely feel the touch of his fingertips against her palms. “What, are you going to tuck me in too?”

“If you ask nicely.”

Magni didn’t respond, starting to paint her nails in silence. Though neither of them were exactly quiet or shy people, it’d always been moments of silence like this that brought them together. Sometimes it’d be him joining Sprout out in the garden with lemonade, other times it’d be them working on a case. She knew that for him, in a world that seemed so loud, there was nothing he savored more. 

As he finished the first coat, she told him, “These are gonna chip in like three days, max.”

“Then it’s good no one will see it.”

The juxtaposition between them was no more evident than when she looked at their hands side-by-side: his slim and deft, hers sturdy and clumsy. She was darker than him, a few shades’ difference. 

Yet they’d grown up side by side for most of their lives. Their moms had become best friends like they had on the kindergarten playground the first time she stood up to bullies for him. Now they lived together, worked together, still practically inseparable. It was hard to imagine life without him in it. At least their moms had accepted they’d never been in-laws quickly when they both came out in middle school.

Magni didn’t bother with the top coat, waving his hand over her nails so they’d dry quicker. “There.”

Forget about chipping. Sprout figured they’d get ruined the moment she got into bed - of no fault but her own, however. “Thanks, Maggie.”

He dropped her hand and set the polish back down. “No problem.” 

She stood up from the couch, giving her hand one last shake. “Still want that milk?”

“I thought you were kidding about the milk,” Magni said.

“Absolutely not,” she said. “I’m getting some milk, whether you want some or not.”

“Can you at least make mine a White Russian or something?” he said, half-whining. 

She blinked at him. “No. You know we don’t even have anything to make a White Russian.”

He shrugged lamely. “Worth a shot.”

Often, she left the kitchen to Magni. She couldn’t make anything more complicated than scrambled eggs on the best days and was untrustworthy with knives at her worst. But even she could warm up milk in the microwave. 

When she brought out his milk, even he couldn’t complain when she said, “Here’s your virgin White Russian.”

Magni took it, then winced. “Jesus, that’s hot.”

Okay, so maybe he could complain. Sprout grimaced, holding her mug without trouble. “Sorry. Couldn’t tell.” With her other hand, she patted his shoulder. “Goodnight. And actually try to get to bed.”

He stood up. “Fine. Goodnight.”

When she got into her room, she waited for the light to turn off outside, then for the barely audible click of Magni’s door. Only then did she set her mug on her bedside table and settle back into bed. 

Hopefully one of them would get some sleep that night.

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Tail Game (short story)

Firejay was pleased to get the herbs, after stopping in her organizing of herbs to laugh at their appearance. But her joy quickly faded when Mallowfur explained the situation to her.

“I think you may be right,” she told Gorseheart. 

“Do you want us to gather more?” he offered.

Firejay shook her head. “We may still need those herbs. If we gather too much now, most would end up dying anyway before we can use them.”

Gorseheart excused himself and left them to discuss it. They were the smarter ones, any ideas he made would surely also be made by them. He would be no help. He padded into the clearing, relishing in the sun warming his back. He curled on the grass, happy that the hollow walls sheltered them from most of the wind, which would help against the cold. 

He was just about to drift off into sleep when something small, but firm knocked into his side. Startled, he opened his eyes to see Fallowkit nudging him. “Gorseheart! Gorseheart! You’re back!” she cheered, bouncing on her paws. “Do you have a feather?”

He smiled warmly at her. He had made it a routine to take the feathers off of birds that he caught or from the fresh-kill-pile so that the kits could play with them. He usually aimed for more colourful ones, as the kits squealed the most when they saw those. 

“I gave you one just this morning!” Gorseheart replied in mock surprise. It was a good thing birds came plenty, because their feathers hardly lasted a few heartbeats before the overeager kits tore them to shreds.

“It was too small!” Fallowkit told him. She butted his shoulder with her head. “Do you got a bigger one?”

“A bigger thing to chase? Hmm…let me think…” As he spoke, Gorseheart moved his tail, waving it enticingly to and fro. Fallowkit moved her attention to it, eyes sparkling with joy. It was hard to tell if she was pretending not to notice so that she could catch him by surprise, due to her preparing to pounce all too obvious. 

She jumped, biting gently into his tail-fur and curled her body around it in a tight grip. “Hey!” Gorseheart exclaimed joyfully. “You want my tail? Hold on to it, and you can have it!” With that, he raced forward. Well…’race’ would be a heavy exaggeration. It was more of a fast walk, but it was quick enough for the small kit to think that he was running at full speed without hurting her. She let out a squeal of delight and gripped him tighter. 

Gorseheart kept going, running around in a circle, his chuckles joined by the uncontrollable laughter of Fallowkit. Finally, his legs were too tired to move any further. He collapsed dramatically onto the ground. “You have defeated me! The tail is all yours!”

Fallowkit let go and, once again, bounced on her paws. “I won! I won! I won!”

“Yes, you did,” Gorseheart purred. Part of him noted how Fallowkit didn’t even know about the stream-herb trouble, and that even if she did, she wouldn’t care all that much, games of pretend and moss-ball all too exciting to think about anything else. Sometimes he felt an ache of nostalgia, remembering being that age, and couldn’t help but wish that he could go back to it, no worries, only play. Blightstar would argue that Gorseheart still was a kit half the time.

His throat began to burn from all the running. Perhaps it wasn’t the best choice of game to play. “Why don’t you go tell your mom about your victory? Then I’ll give you the biggest feather you have ever seen!”

“Yay!” Fallowkit cheered, dashing off toward where Nectarclaw lay just outside the nursery.

Gorseheart watched her go with a warm smile, then curled back into the cool grass, feeling burnt now at the sweat that dripped from him. He began to doze off now, this time with no interruptions, and he would be able to sleep a small portion of the day away before he was dragged into a patrol.

===============

--In case anybody doesn’t know, Gorseheart’s story is being told in chapters which can be found in order on Wattpad, and that can be found on the links post.

[coldhndss]

──★ ˙ ̟Blue Lock mini matchups! No.6, 7, and 8

ﾟ𐦍༘ No.6: @somewhere-stuck-in-the-stars

Do you know what I mean when I say your request gave me autumn/fall vibes? Like all I could imagine was a fireplace, hot cocoa, maple trees and a nice cozy cottage home.

So, I ended up matching you to Yukimiya Kenyu!

Initially, I actually thought of matching you to Alexis Ness, but… I couldn’t do that to you 😬

So, we know that Yukimiya is canonically a model, dresses nicely and has a calm/soft kind of aesthetic. I feel like he’d dress more of a light academia with coats and scarves, contrasting nicely with your deep jewel and earth tone attire/aesthetic. I know MBTI tests aren’t usually completely true to someone’s personality, but with you being an INTJ, I’d imagine you bring a vibe of comfort and care that not everybody does. With Yukimiya having constant worries about his wellbeing alongside playing soccer, you’d be able to be able to bring him a breath of fresh air and take his mind away from worrying too much all the time. 

For a day where the two of you go someplace together, I’d imagine he’d take you to see the cherry blossoms in full bloom, seeing as its one of the things that he’s interested in. He’d take sweet, candid photos of you, knowing the best angles to shoot from. Of course, he wouldn’t leave without getting some photos of himself. I get the feeling that he’d probably post an aesthetic reel of the trip on Instagram as well. It might spark some controversy amongst his female fans once they notice you being a little too close to him for their liking! Not that it’ll change anything between you two, of course. I have a feeling it'll just make him want to post you even more.

I think somebody like you is very in tune with other people’s emotions. Not like a psychologist or an ‘empath’ (whatever that is), and you’d be able to tell when he needs a little bit of a mood booster. You’d be a caring person who is able to watch over him and treat him with kindness that isn’t contingent on his popularity or skill.

ﾟ𐦍༘ No.6: @darthvada

I've said this before, but I don't always match people up with someone who is the exact opposite. So in this case, I decided to match you to Bachira Meguru!

Writing this matchup literally made me realise how lonely Bachira was for a majority of his time before Blue Lock (Bachira fic incoming very soon). So although he puts on an energetic and happy front most of the time, I feel like he definitely has some unspoken problems that flood his thoughts daily. For the most part, he's extroverted and positive most of the time, so I think he'd be able to easily get along with another person who shares the same/similar personality as him, seeing as he (alongside lots of people, but especially him) yearns to be understood by someone else, and I think you'd have no trouble bringing him that sort of comfort.

Bachira would probably love the fact that you do theatre. Seeing as he likes exciting things, I'm sure he'd definitely enjoy seeing the different characters you play and roles you partake in (I don't know much about theatre and choir so I'm sorry if you don't actually do any acting!). I'm sure he'd enjoy watching you practice. Here's a scenario that I imagined:

You've got an important play coming up, in which you take part as a person who gets rescued by a prince, king, or hero of sorts. Seeing as you don't have the male actor at your beck and call, you decide to give Bachira a call and ask him to help you. Elated, he immediately agrees and comes over to where you are. To your surprise, he's very enthusiastic, and plays the role with a lot of confidence! 'I wonder why he didn't pursue acting...' you ponder.

Seeing as the both of you are super enthusiastic about the things you're interested in, Bachira would definitely yap a lot about different soccer players, teams, which team he finds interesting, or which players he would love to go up against. He'd also be the type to spam you with reels of either incoherent memes with the most random audios, couple videos strung along with an 'us' or 'you', or edits that people make of him, with him sending '😳😳' emojis to you in response. He acts embarrassed but he secretly likes all the edits and saves them to a collection on his private lists.

Bachira would definitely love being around you at all times. He may get a bit attached sometimes, but you pay it no mind. He'd appreciate that you lend him an ear and always listen to his worries without shutting him up or making him feel worthless, seeing as others have ostracised him simply because they think he's 'weird', and that's why you'll always mean so much to him.

ﾟ𐦍༘ No.7: Anon who is super into History.

Honestly, I think this was arguably my hardest matchup. Probably because the character I ended up matching you to is always at the back of my head (I don't hate him, I just don't really think about him at all).

So after spending ages deciding, I chose to match you to Ikki Niko! Hear me out on this one, okay?

Niko doesn't show it, but he's actually relatively passionate about the things he likes, and although he doesn't look it, he's interested in things other than soccer. Seeing as he enjoys watching Anime and is sort of a nerd in that regard, he'd definitely watch plays with you in the theatre or at home. He wouldn't really say anything to you about it at the start, but after a while, you'll find that he's randomly gotten more into it than before. I think Niko would definitely look into something that someone important to him really enjoys. That way, he can get closer to them without having to embarrass himself by asking them questions upon questions.

He also comes off to me as more of a listener than a speaker. Seeing as you enjoy talking lots and lots about the things you like, Niko would definitely sit and listen. I have a feeling that the two of you would sit on calls for hours, majority of the time would be spent with you talking about things you enjoy (aka, mainly history related things). He'd also take notes on the little things about yourself that you're interested in that you don't notice yourself talking about. Niko wouldn't want to show that he's overly into what you're saying, acting like he's doing work on his laptop over your call. It turns out that he's keeping track of what you're saying on a locked note called 'Her 🤍'.

Although Niko might make fun of you here and there, he's not the type to really care all that much about clothing styles. Also seeing as you say you're lazy in things which include sports, watching Niko play is just about the only thing you'd probably do in that regard. He doesn't say, but it secretly makes him super happy to know you're only watching it to see him on the field. For a little side scenario, I imagine that despite you not being overly extroverted, you might run up to him on the field after he scores the winning goal in a game, and hug him. He definitely wouldn't pry you off, but he'd get a little flustered. Though secretly he'd want everyone watching to know that he actually does have a special someone rooting for him and him only.

[lemontreefantasy]

Sails and Anchors - Part 2

wc: 6.4k damn this is long

genre: fluff, smut, angst

warnings: mentions of mental illness, robberies, gunshots, choking, overstimulation, rough sex idk (?)

taglist: @corvidqueen319 @katelynnsqueendom​ @marievllr-abg​ @eclecticranchzonkcookie @supernintendobabe​ @stayoffmybyunsworld​ @ateezourstars​ @voidcupidz​ @seonghwarizon​

A continuation of Part 1 - Abandon Ship

Part 2 – Batten Down The Hatches

After becoming friendly with one of the top army majors in town, an old friend from high school reappears. The merchant’s ball is soon approaching and brings along bittersweet events.

a/n I know I took super long to post this but it’s my child at this point I’ve put so much time and effort into it lol im sry, also please like AND reblog!

How could you miss such a handsome face like his around town? Did you ever notice him come to the bar? You had never seen him around town until your encounter with him that day. Then again, you never really ventured out too much to come across any army men either.

“Shall I accompany you to your destination?” he asked

Honestly, with a face like his, you would just be downright stupid to deny a request like that. You also figured it would probably be good to make a connection with him in case you ran into any trouble at the bar. You spoke with him as you both walked along the port, with the vast ocean in view.

“Of course,” you complied giving him a shy smile. “So Seonghwa… are you from around town?”

“Yes, I am, actually. Born and raised.” He walked alongside you with one hand on his holster and the other behind his back.

“Oh really?”

“Why? Not much good-looking militants out here?” he joked with a slight chuckle leaving his lips. You noted his cocky tone but chose to dismiss it as a joke.

“I don’t really waltz around town a lot. I usually spend most of my time at the training headquarters near the central palace teaching the newcomers.”

“I see. Haven’t really seen a face like yours ‘round here so…”

“I actually finished my day’s training and decided to take a trip down to the merchant markets. It’s been months since I’ve explored down here.”

“Months?”

“Yes, months. It may seem like a lot but I don’t really have time to venture out most days. Before being transferred to the army, I served on the naval ships for a while. The ones that would be out for months and months. So.. not much time spent on land, you know?”

“Oh wow, navy and army. Damn.”

“Damn, indeed. Enough about me, how is business?”

How’s business? How did he know about the bar?

“Wait I’m sorry… do you know me?” you questioned him.

“Of course! Everyone knows you, you’re the boss, aren’t you? Or… boss… lady? Right?”

“Well, yeah. Didn’t think I was that popular though.”

“I’ve never seen you before, only overheard some colleagues talking about you. They didn’t mention how beautiful you were though” he said to you in a deep voice, giving you a wink.

You palmed off the compliment, as you normally did with most men, even though his words gave you a butterfly or two in your stomach.

“What did your colleagues say?”

“They were speaking about how some no-good thieves robbed you all. But don’t worry, we’re looking into it.”

“Oh… yeah. That shook me up a bit, I won’t lie.”

“Have you had any repeated experiences like it since then?”

“No, not really. I mean, shoddy men come in all the time but they mean no harm. It’s hard to tell who has bad intentions.”

“I hear ya. But if anything like that happens again, send for me right away. Even if you need someone to hang around for safety’s sake. We’re trying our best to keep the community as safe as we can right now. If things only escalate, we can jeopardize the merchant markets, the sea ports… it would all be just a big mess.

And of course… I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

There he goes again. Slipping in those innocent lines. For some reason you couldn’t seem to believe anything a man said to you after hongjoong left. You were not going to be that naïve this time.

“Thank you, that really means a lot to me. I do have watchmen but they’re like family to me now. If something happens to them I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”

“I understand.”

When you approached the tavern, you invited him in for drinks on the house. After all, as cocky as he is, the man did save your life. You fixed him a beer and sat with him as the business was a bit slow.

“You know, I knew your father.”

With eyebrows raised, he piqued your curiosity. “You did?”

“Not personally, but he and my father got along quite well. They would meet at the merchants’ ball and have long discussions about politics and the economy, things like that.”

“Ah, the merchants’ ball that he never took me to.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll be invited this year. It’s happening next month at the central palace. My father always took me with him but I was never really interested.”

“What did your father do?”

“He was an investor. He tried to get me into it but I was more interested in exploring unknown territory and making a life for myself.”

“I feel like my father never took me because he thought he would be around. Sadly, you never really know when your last day is.”

“I’m sorry, he really was a good man. A man of his word.”

That evening you and seonghwa spoke for quite a while. He stayed with you until it was time to close and made sure you wrapped up the day without incident. You appreciated the gesture but didn’t put your full trust in him, after all, you had only known him for a few hours.

~

A few months had passed. A huge election took place which booted the current serving government and led to the installation of a new one. One with promises to make the streets safer, promote business among merchants and boost the number of visitors who came to buy and sell goods. Fortunately, those promises were not empty and for the first time in a very long time, things seemed normal again. You were less worried about being targeted, more foreign visitors came to the tavern and business was alive. As a result, the merchant’s ball was pushed back until the new government had settled in.

Seonghwa was promoted to a Major and as time progressed, you had realized how well-respected he was among his colleagues and most townsfolk. Servicemen knew him as the sharp-shooter who had golden aim and businessmen knew him from his father’s successful investment portfolio. Commoners knew him as the handsome patrol guard. He would often visit the tavern closer to weekends to have a drink or two but his visits were more frequent as the weeks went by.

There was still, however, no sign of hongjoong. You remember the letter he scribbled before he left.

“Please do not despise me. I love you with every fibre of my being”

But there was only so much you could take. How long do you have to wait for love that is not even guaranteed to last? Being with hongjoong still felt like a fever dream. But that dream was slowly coming to an end, withering away, flames fading.

On the other hand, you and Seonghwa had grown closer. Much quite like the opposite of hongjoong, dare you say. He always made sure to visit you ever so often when he had time, whether he was just coming for a drink alone or with colleagues, or just making sure you were okay during his occasional patrols. Hell, he even broke up a few barfights on crowded nights on his own accord. Seeing him in action like that… you had to check the wet spot in your knickers. It was certainly a sight to see.

However, you kept your walls up but as time progressed, Seonghwa kept breaking them down one by one. He made you feel secure and protected. He was someone you could always rely on when you needed it and you knew you could tell him anything and he would never tell a soul; your secrets were sure to be safe with him. Not to mention a part of you inside melted a bit whenever he would smile at you. You remember times when he would come to see you after closing hours. He would take you for a walk along the dimly lit dock and tell you stories of his navy days while looking at the moon’s reflection dancing on the ocean. Some days he would take you out for picnics in the botanical gardens where you would spend the day in the sunlights taking in the beautiful flora. When you were with seonghwa, you were at peace. He was your anchor on your turbulent days and the relief you needed when you felt alone.

~

At the end of the week, the both of you went out for dinner in the town. Seonghwa had mustered up the courage to ask you on a date to which you accepted. You thought that if anyone deserved to go on a date with you, it was him. He treated you with respect and always made time for you, and honestly, you were curious to experience what the night would be like. Dinner was lovely and afterwards, the both of you went back to his house to relax and have some wine. His home was quite large, as you had expected, and contained mostly wooden furnishings and high ceilings. He took your coat and hung it on the carved coat hanger and sat you down on a velvet burgundy couch in the living area as he fetched the wine from his cellar. You try to make yourself comfortable in the new environment and in no time, he returns with two glasses and a bottle, pouring you a half glass of red wine. After setting the bottle down, he saunters over to a small table and picks up a peculiar, pastel green envelope and hands it to you.

“I was given the opportunity to personally give this to you, miss y/n,” he smiled, handing you the envelope.

“What’s this?” you asked.

“Open it.”

“On behalf of the ministry of trade, we cordially invite you to join us as we celebrate the success of small-business owners at the annual Merchants’ Ball,”

“So, it’s that fancy, is it? God, what do I wear? Is it really formal? What do you even do at these things?”

“Relax, it’s not that bad, just wear something nice. Guests mostly go to catch up on old times or network with new people,” he explains taking a seat next to you after pouring himself some wine.

“Are you going?”

“Why? Does that matter to you?” he asked in a playful, nagging tone.

“I was just asking…”

“I am going, actually. I don’t want to but it would be good to show face, you know?”

“Oh, really?”

“Would you like to go together? You can keep me company for the night while I introduce you to some of the merchants. That’s if you want of course.”

You hated to admit that he was right. You despised big social settings with hoity-toity businessmen who thought they owned the world, not to mention how bad your social anxiety would be if you went alone. You really had no idea who the other town’s business owners were. You were always busy in your father’s own business or your schooling that it was never a priority for you.

“That would be nice, thank you.”

Seonghwa gave you a small smile, knowing that his request was successful, “you know I’ll always be there for you.”

A bottle of wine later and the both of you were now tipsy, heads dizzy, jokes and giggles fill the air. Seonghwa notices you gazing at him, admiring how handsome he was, how he made you laugh and he slowly leaned in and gave you a light kiss on the lips. It was so delicate and slow. You felt your cheeks burn and your heart beat so hard you swear you could hear it. Raising your hand to caress his jaw, he returns the gesture, putting his fingertips on your chin. The kiss deepened as he sucked on your bottom lip, prodding further as he felt your hands slip down to his chest. You wanted him so badly, so you took him. Pushing him into the back of the sofa, you hoist one leg over him, sitting on his lap facing him. You hold his face in your hands and kiss him once more. Seonghwa took the opportunity to trail sweet kisses and love bites down your neck and on your chest. You loosen the straps of your dress so that it fell over your shoulders. His doe-eyed expression turned you on as you lowered the top of your dress to expose your breasts. Licking and sucking on your buds, he sneaked a hand up your long skirt and began rubbing your clothed clit.

“Fuck yes seonghwa,” you moaned.

Humming around your nipple he lowered his tone, “that’s right baby, say my name again.”

After moaning his name a few more times, he had enough and carried you bridal-style to his bedroom. Laying you down gently, he climbed over you making sure his knees parted your legs. His stare on you was  hungry like if he was the hunter and you were his prey. You had no complaints whatsoever as the look on his face was enough to send you over the edge. Stripping you of your underwear, he made no hesitation in parting you and licking your folds, making sure his lapping on your sweet bud. A loud scream escaped your lips as he moaned into you, adding two digits into you one by one. Soon enough he had you at your peak, curling his fingers up into you. He noticed you gripping onto the sheets, toes curling and your back arched and continued his pace as your overstimulation only turned him on more. Your legs closed in on his head but his tongue still had access to that sweet spot of yours. You had to physically pry him off of you for  him to give you a break. He gave you a few minutes for the stars in your vision to dissipate before he lay next you, kissing you once more. You grasp his member, now red and rock hard, patiently awaiting your attention. You pump him in your hands for a few minutes while trying to handle seonghwa’s tongue down your throat.

“I need you to fuck me,” you whispered in his ear.

“You’re going to have to ask a little nicer, baby.”

“Please, seonghwa. I need you inside me now,” you cry out grabbing onto his chest.

He flipped you onto your stomach and positioned himself behind you. Like a natural instinct, you were on your knees with your back arching into the mattress. Shifting your weight to your forearms, you feel his member gliding through your folds. You hear a him spit on his cock before he slowly breached your walls. He notices you fisting the sheets and he hears your quiet muffled moans.

“Tell me darling, do you like that?” he says as he pushes further into you.

“Fuck yes, I want it,” you manage to stifle out

You feel his hand run down your back towards your hair where he grasps a good handful and uses it as leverage to fill you to the brim. He finds a rhythm of deep, stable strokes that send you into a daze. Your juices coat his cock as he strikes your ass with one swift motion, begging him for more. The sweet sting and the burning in your core were enough to send you over the edge. Moans and sweet nothings spilling from your lips.

“Cum on this cock, darling. I want to see you cum.”

Again, his overstimulation kink kicked in and seonghwa didn’t stop until you were a convulsing little mess under him. After coming down from your high, it was his turn. He turned you onto your back and re-entered your soaking wet cunt. He leaned over you and locked you in place. Your legs were suspended in the air and his hands hooked under your back to grip your shoulders. If you thought the previous position was intense, this one was worse. With seonghwa’s face hovering over yours, you watch his face contort as he slammed into you, desperate to orgasm. One hand over his back and the other on his neck you whisper in his ears.

“You fuck me so good, seonghwa. Give it to me,” and with that, you feel his pace weaken as he buried his face into your neck and spilled his warm seed in you. You closed your eyes and drank in the sound of his breathy moans as he collapsed beside you. A few minutes later he sprung back out of bed to clean you up before falling asleep in his arms for the rest of the night.  You weren’t exactly sure what to label this relationship with seonghwa as, but as for tonight, it was simply just drunk sex to you.

~

Later that week, you set out into the city to find an evening gown for the ball. You enter one of the popular boutiques and a nice lady greets you. “What can I help you with today miss bosslady?” You recognize the nickname but can’t help but wonder how much people really know who you are. Even in the city?

“Hello, I’m looking for an evening gown for the merchant’s ball. Can you help me find something?”

“Of course, love. We got lots of new styles for ya.”

After trying on many cheesy, lacy, awkward fitting dresses, you finally decide on a simple black, one-shoulder dress, fitted but long with a slit to the side. You thank the woman for her help and start your trek back home.

It had been quite a while since you came to this part of the city. You were always so cooped up at the bar that going out wasn’t really on your to-do list. Nothing really changed. You spot a bakery at the end of the street and try to make your way there when a tall man with an impressive physique began flagging you down. You had second thoughts of whether you should stop or not, but upon a closer look, you realized it was your old classmate Choi San. You notice his hair had grown out quite a bit and he seemed just as handsome as he did in high school.

However, while the average woman would run to him no questions asked. It was a little different between you and san. A few years before your father had passed away, his father started a rumour accusing your father of hiring men to destroy his business place. Everyone eventually figured out that it was all a big tale as your father’s character was very far from the story that spread. But unfortunately, this caused a bit of friction between you and san going to school. Both of you weren’t friends per say, but after that incident it was quite awkward between you both. At the time, you were pissed that his father had that audacity to say such a thing and the fact that san said nothing to you during that time, not even an apology, you had no intentions of interacting with him.

That was until today. You pause your stride to face him from across the street and flash an awkward smile.

“Y/n is that really you?” he smiled and asked

“Yes, hi san.”

He walks across the street and approached you. “Ah it’s been so long, I heard about your dad. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well that’s life, I guess. I’m doing alright now though.”

“That’s good to hear. I know we didn’t speak to each other much but I just wanted to say I’m really sorry for all the trouble my father caused. He isn’t well right now… mentally that is. I fear it may have started earlier than his actual diagnosis. Please understand that.”

“Oh… I didn’t know that. It’s okay san. Let’s just put all this behind us and move on with our lives yeah?” You extend your hand to shake his and he returns the gesture.

“Thank you. I’d really like to start over from now. A clean slate between two business owners, you and I.”

You give him a small smile before attempting to leave the conversation. “I should probably get going. I need to sort out some things back at the shop.”

“It was really nice seeing you y/n. Feel free to drop by anytime.” And with that, san gazed at you as if he longed for you to stay a bit longer. But the situation was so awkward for you that you didn’t quite know how to navigate it.

~

A few days passed and it was finally the day of the merchant’s ball. You had your entire look planned and took the day off from the shop. You took a shower, and stepped into your dress. You did your hair in large bouncy waves that you swept to one side of your shoulder and put your black heels on.

Not too long after you finished your makeup, your handsome escort had arrived dressed in a black suit adorned with embellishments. His hair was shaved at the sides with a side part, hair sweeping to one side of his head. He looked absolutely delicious and you tried your best not to be nervous around him. You took his hand as he led you to the carriage that he came in.

“You look exceptionally gorgeous tonight, darling,” he said to you.

Darling.

“Thanks, Seonghwa. You look really nice as well.”

The ride to palace was quiet and short. Seonghwa exited first and told you to wait. He opened your door and helped you out. Holding on to you the entire time, helping you up the grand staircase outside the palace. Upon entering you were greeted by palace staff who ushered you both into the main hall where the function took place. It was a giant hall with high ceilings, large crystal chandeliers, giant tiles on the floor, imported paintings and gold furnishings. Guests appropriately dressed, not overly fancy but not boring either, you could say that you fit in quite well.

Of course, as soon as you walked in, many guests had stopped seonghwa to greet him and catch up on old times as he was attending on behalf of his father. He introduced you to some of the shop owners in town as well as some of his army associates, all of which were pleased to meet you as they knew your father. You had really underestimated how many people knew who you were but you didn’t complain. The more connections you made in this town was better for you. As seonghwa spoke to a more matured woman who claimed to know him since he was a child, you spot the eating area where the hors d’oeuvres were being served. You gestured to seonghwa the direction that you were heading and proceeded to fill your stomach. After getting something to eat, you feel a pair of eyes on you but honestly you were so caught up in eating that you didn’t care to pay attention to your surroundings much. The gentleman approached you with a hand to the small of your back.

“Mind if I join you?”

You look up at the man, only to notice it was the one and only choi san. He takes a seat next to you and sips on his drink.

“You look really lovely tonight. It’s nice to see you here.”

“You look great as well, san. And yeah, it’s my first time coming to the ball.”

“I’ve only been to about two of these before. You don’t miss anything really, haha. Just a bunch of old folks talking about each other’s business.” You both chuckle as he takes another sip of his drink and you both look blankly into the distance. There seemed to be no more tension between the both of you, but more so a shared feeling of having the weight of the responsibility of managing the family business passed down not by choice but by default. You didn’t mind doing it, but it took a toll on you even though you tried not to show it, and after hongjoong left, life just seemed a bit emptier.

“I don’t know if this is right to say now but… I really regret what happened between our fathers. God, you must have hated me in school. I was really insecure back then. I just didn’t know how to handle it.” At this point, you’re unsure if this is the alcohol speaking or not.

“Look san, we put all that behind us, remember? A new generation has started. Times are changing, things are different. What happened then is in the past, there’s no need to go back there now,” you explained.

“I know, I know. I just, not that it matters now but, I really liked you back then. When he said that shit, I was so angry. I knew you wouldn’t dare look my way after that. So, I never approached you.”

“Wait, really?” you chuckle at his confession. “And what about now?”

“What about now?” he asks.

“Do you still have feelings for me?” you ask jokingly.

San turns his head to look at you and rests his drink on the bar counter. He slowly takes your hand in his and closes the space between you.

“Maybe I do. But seeing you walk in with Park Seonghwa, arm in arm like that… I don’t know how to feel now.”

“I mean, he asked me to accompany him. It’s a bit complicated right now.” You overhear the classical music in the background growing louder and louder and notice the guests have started to dance.

“Well,” he says pulling you closer, “is it so complicated that I can’t dance with you?” he asks, offering his hand to you.

Without saying a word, you hesitantly held his hand. You wondered if seonghwa would be okay with this, but then you remind yourself that you didn’t belong to him. You didn’t belong to anyone as a matter of fact. You were a free woman. Honestly you were a bit shocked to know that san had eyes on you after so many years. Life was so chaotic the last thing you needed was ANOTHER man in your life. But you didn’t like seeing san sulk the way he did. You felt really bad but it wasn’t like it was your fault?

San guided you to the dance floor and placed one hand on your waist, the other in your hand. Meanwhile your hand naturally gravitated towards his shoulder. With light feet, you drifted across the floor. Round and round in circles you went, occasionally glancing at san who’s grip on you was solid, his eyes never wavering. It was as if this was the moment that he waited for for so many years. You notice the glances of many other guests on you both. Pleasant ones. You felt like somewhat of a princess being twirled around, trying to keep up with the tempo of the music as it was your favorite song, Merry Go Round of Life.

As the song came to an end, you were breathless. Gripping onto san’s shoulders you let out a sharp exhale. It was too much to handle in one night. You felt nauseous and hot and you didn’t know if it was your anxiety or the one too many drinks you had. You needed to be alone for a few minutes before you pass out in front of all the guests.

“I’m sorry, please excuse me,” and with that, you ran to the restroom to catch your breath and calm yourself down.

Seonghwa saw every second of it. He knew that he was just your escort but part of him was annoyed at the show you and san put on. For one, he had always thought of choi san as a snobby rich boy who had anything handed to him as a kid. He always thought that he never had to really work hard because of his father’s shop and while he wasn’t wrong, san did have his own struggles to face. After the dance he noticed you run off and decided to follow to make sure you were okay.

Meanwhile in the bathroom, you sipped some water, took a few deep breaths and that constricting feeling in your chest soon began to subside. You fixed your hair and makeup and took a few more minutes before going back out into the hall. After emptying your bladder, you were ready to go again.

Suddenly you hear loud booming noises coming from the main hall. You wondered what in the name of God could have made that sound. A few more bangs of what seemed like gunshots rang off outside. You begin to hear the screams of women and the security yelled for persons to exit the hall immediately.

Do I stay here? Lock the doors and wait it out? Or should I try to find Seonghwa and make a run for it? No, I shouldn’t it’s too dangerous. Fuck. What do I do?

You figured if it was your time to die, you might as well embrace it with open arms. However, the chances of getting out alive seemed high as you were away from the main crowd so you decided to leave the bathroom and run into the winding corridors of the palace. You had no idea where you were going, you just ran as fast as your feet could take you as soon as you saw that the coast was clear.

That was until of course, you bend the corner and collide with a masked man in black, his wide brimmed hat hiding even more of his features. In the scuffle, you push past him so that you both now stared at each other facing the opposite direction you both were originally heading.

But… wait.

You both lock gazes, his eyes now widening as he looked at you, up and down. You knew those eyes. Those almond eyes, smudged with black liner.

But it can’t be… How? Why…

It was him. You knew him and he knew you all too well. Both your frozen stances created an awkward gap of silence. He had no intentions of hurting you and you didn’t fear him. But he said nothing. He turned his back on you and ran. He ran away, right into the chaos. Staggering backward, you hesitantly try to run.

But you couldn’t.

You turned around and picked up the pace in his direction and ran after the masked man. You see him overlooking the foyer to the hall and as he turns around to spot you, he runs toward you and pulls you back into the corridor so neither his men nor the guests see.

“I need you to leave right now. I’m so sorry. I will explain later, I promise.”

“Hongjoong, I-,” he cuts you off

“Y/n please just listen to me. It’s not safe here, please just go!”

You drop to the floor as more shots ring out. Your adrenaline kicked in and you regained your balance and ran for your life throughout the winding corridors. Soon enough you find an exit into the courtyard but you didn’t have a single idea as to how you were going to get home. That was when you spot seonghwa’s carriage handler in the distance and you ran once more.

“Where’s seonghwa?” you ask him

“He’s gone to help with the attack, please get in. I’ll take you home immediately. From the looks of it he won’t be coming back anytime soon.”

You quickly hopped into the carriage and it sped off. You figured seonghwa would have remained with the army to secure the area but you really hoped he would be okay. Thankfully, you made it home safely but only one thing lingered on your mind. Not seonghwa, not san, but hongjoong. He was back in town and you didn’t even know.

As you returned to the tavern you explained to your barmaids and guards what had happened in the palace and they were all glad you made it back in one piece. You decided to close the bar at midnight for everyone’s safety. But unfortunately for you, you couldn’t get a wink of sleep. That stare from the corridor haunted your brain. To think that he didn’t even come to see you, not even at the early hours of the morning.

“That bastard,” you thought to yourself. You went back downstairs to the bar and poured yourself a big glass of wine and with that, you were back in bed and out like a light.

Little did you know, hongjoong did in fact come looking for you that night, or rather, early that morning around 2am. He knocked on the tavern door but there was no response. He knew he had to explain himself to you and the more time had passed was the more he felt like your trust in him had dwindled. He scaled the building in an effort to get to you. Perching himself on the window sill, he tried to quietly jolt the window open to get inside. Luckily for him, it slid right open and he hopped into your room but unfortunately, he noticed you were already in a deep sleep from the glass at your bedside which smelled of alcohol. He didn’t want to wake you, so he spent the rest of the night taking a short nap on your couch in the study and hopefully explain himself in the morning.

A few hours later, slowly drifting back to reality and out of your slumber, you open your eyes and see your bedroom door slightly open. In your disoriented state, you slowly pull yourself out of bed to investigate why it was open, only to find a man who seemed to be asleep in your quarters. Your eyes shot open, hand flying to your mouth as you grabbed a crowbar you kept under your bed. Slowly approaching the intruder, you lower your guard as you realize who the person was. As your fear subsided, rage started festering inside you and your blood began boiling. Did he really have the audacity to send you away then break into your room and now sleep on your couch?

You walked up to the sleeping captain and grabbed him by the throat, jolting him out of sleep, eyes opening in shock, a lack of oxygen stifles him as he holds onto your hands. Realizing he can’t breathe in your grasp, you let go. Thinking about what you had just done.

“Kim Hongjoong, you bastard.”

Coughing and holding his throat he falls to his knees before you.

“First you leave me for months, no goodbyes, nothing. You come back to town, not even bothering to come see me only for me to recognize you in a mass holdup where I could have possible been killed! And now you’ve broken into my bedroom and had the audacity to fall asleep on my fucking couch? You’re a fucking handful aren’t you.”

Hongjoong, still catching his breath, stays on his knees and grasps onto your legs. “I’m so sorry y/n. I came earlier but I didn’t see you. I figured you had gone to the ball. I wanted to warn you before but it was too late.”

“Why did you run from me then…”

“What?”

“In the corridor. Why did you run away from me?”

“I couldn’t explain everything to you then. It was best for you to get out of there. I didn’t want you to get hurt in my mess. If we were seen together, it wouldn’t look good for you.”

“Why the ball? What did all those people ever do to you?”

“This wasn’t our doing y/n” he explains, “Remember you had been robbed a few months ago?”

“What about it…”

“Those men were part of a huge gang in this city. They were ordered to rob your bar as an initiation. My crewmates and I had spied on them one night before we left. We caught them stealing, we asked them who they worked for and what was their business robbing the merchants.”

He continues as he sees the puzzled look on your face.

“They were so scared they told us everything.. who their boss was and all kinds of evil things they do. While we were in France, we got word of a big heist that was said to take place. We weren’t sure when but someone told me that the merchant’s ball was very near in the future so I figured it would take place then. We decided to return because we knew that if anything happened to the markets it would affect so many people, including us. Trade would never be the same if we didn’t step in tonight. We realized that they infiltrated the palace through the staff. Impersonators in the kitchen staff, guards, custodians. So nobody realized that there were gang members so close to all these famous business owners. We had to wait until the very moment that they attacked to retaliate. We couldn’t even go to the police because they would probably throw us all in jail for conspiring or some shit. That’s why when I saw you, I just told you to run. You could’ve easily gotten hurt if you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

You sat there trying to process all this information so early in the morning. There was a long pause after hongjoong’s explanation.

“I hope that kind of explains the bigger picture. I know I didn’t come to visit you and for that, I apologize,” he says stroking your cheek, “I just didn’t want to bring any kind of danger to your door. It would bother me so badly if someone targeted you because of me.”

“I understand now. It’s alright,” you mumble, taking a seat next to him, “did anyone get hurt?”

“I believe some civilians were injured, unfortunately. We couldn’t avoid it, though. We tried our best to single out the gang members without the palace guards noticing. It was hard but the men we set out to kill were all taken out.”

You stare at the floor as he quietly spoke, eyes widening at that last statement.

“I see you’ve made a few friends as well?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mr. Prince Charming who waltzed you into the hall? And twinkle toes on the dance floor?”

If you had water in your mouth, you would have surely spat it out at this point. Hongjoong saw everything. And what he didn’t see, his men did.

~

part 3 coming whenever my brain starts working again idk

[streets-in-paradise]

Child Soldiers in a Secret War - Teen!Andy Barclay x (Fem) Teen!Winchester Reader

Masterlist

Word Count 1.8 K

Warnings: Minor crossover with Supernatural, the reader is a twin sister of Sam Winchester. The family dynamic and some aspects of her personality show she has a resemblance with Gabriel. 

Summary: The national widespreaded news of the death of the Play Pals CEO right after the company’s last attempt of launching the Good Guy doll reach the trained eye of your hunter family, but your father is way too bussy somewhere else and your brothers don’t seem interested. Quick research on the Chucky case shows that is only constant is the original survivor, a boy named Andy Barclay, so you infiltrate at a military school to protect him as you follow the lead discretely acting as his bodyguard. 

Tags: @losersclubisms​ (I’m posting this only because you said you liked the idea and wanted to see it.) 

Notes: I stretched the timelines of Child’s Play 3 events for this to work, but let’s ignore it lol. 

The almost natural affinity that Andy Barclay had to find trouble was clearly not stopping on Chucky. In barely a few days since his arrival at Kent he managed to get picked on by the biggest asshole around. Luckly or unluckly for him, he wasn’t the only newbie on Shelton’s sight, but he was indeed the one who was having to stand it without a reason, because that other was a weird girl who seemed to have tons of fun provoking him. Anyone would think it was merely someone who was just following the steps of Da Silva, tired of being an easy target for when his attempts to tear her down wouldn’t work, but her comedy style was perhaps a little bit beyond hers. As if annoying that douchebag was a new hobby for her boredoom, she compensated for her overall awkwardness by making everyone laugh from time to time. 

No one knew much about her, except from her last name and some hilarious takes. Fame described her as a complete lunatic, his roommate said he was almost convinced that she was the prodigal child of a military family being sent there to reform. Andy’s curiosity was mostly linked to the fact of how oftenly he would end up stumbling across her. It was as if she actively seeked to get punished with him all the time and he couldn’t find a possibly understandable reason for that. 

The sentence on that particular time was cleaning and he found out on the spot that they were, once more, punishment partners. The resting stance she had was odd, at least, as if she was not thrilled at all because of being waiting for a challenge, or some storm to hit the place. It actually reminded him of someone else… 

Himself. 

There were no collaborators on the crime that brought you there, but you knew Shelton despised that boy and he was going to find a way to make him land for punishment anyways. Trying to act natural, you pretended to ignore him and you kept to yourself mopping the floors while humming a song.

“ … Hi!” Andy awkwardly saluted you. “ It’s Winchester, right?” 

“ Yeah, like the rifle.” You joked as confirmation. “ Enough with the bullshit, I know your name is Andy. Just call me (y/n)” 

“ Well, it seems that we are in this together … again, (y/n).” He recalled. “ Why did he send you for?” 

You raised your stare from the ground to look at him. 

“ Shelton? He found out I stole three packages of salt. The ‘ zero tolerance’ shit is real, dude.” 

Andy couldn’t help laughing and you could tell he was weirded. 

“ Why would anyone need that much salt?” 

There was no point in hiding yourself from him, he had to be aware of things to some extent, although you weren’t sure of the limits of his awareness. 

“ I let him believe I was planning a prank, which in other contexts could have been completely true, and this is just the start of the punishment he gave me.” Was your still mildly vague confession. “ Sending the girl to clean the kitchen… the originality is killing me. I swear that dude is boring even as a sadist.” 

More chuckling followed and you felt incentivized to be as open as you wanted. 

“ I stole it because of the ghosts, in places like this you never know when you are gonna find one. Watch out for any spot where military antiques could be stored.” 

The boy was completely clueless, looking at you as if you would have spoken in another language or said something delusional, probably wondering if you were crazier than he was. 

“ I believe in cursed objects. Did you know that some people think the Winchester last name is cursed because of all the people that were killed with the rifle?” 

The strange tease fell tasteless to him.

“ That is way less funny than what you think.” 

“ Not if you knew my family, I truly believe we must have been cursed.” You insisted. “ You are not the only one, we are all child soldiers in a secret war.” 

The phrasing choices were quite strange, but he felt thrilled. 

“ Is that philosophical?” 

“ It’s the family business.” Served you as clarification. “ My eldest eldest brother loves it, but he only wants to pick serious shit. The middle bro has one step in and one out so I am the only one who wanted to take this. Send the little one for the cursed objects while we fight demons! Classical Dean. You are lucky because, unlike my bros, I live for bizarre cases. Give me the cringe, if this is the stupidest thing you have ever heard of then leave it to me. Collecting fun anecdotes is the best part of this crap.” 

Andy had no idea of what you were talking about, but he could only guess it was ranting about your brothers and their positions regarding a military career. 

“ Has someone around you served? Is that why you are here? ” 

He made you remember of your casually perfect cover up, that you almost forgot completely while relaxing with him. 

“ My dad, he fought in Vietnam… He has this rude army man act that he pulls everytime he wants to find obedience from us, so I’m really used to the ‘ yes, sir’ thing we have to use here… but I also like to mock it. I’m never gonna be the perfect child, I’m not the queen of confrontations either so why not evade things with jokes? Why try so hard to impress him or waste so much energy on fighting him when I can make him laugh and pretend everything is fine? Court jester’s privilege, it works just fine with many authority figures. I may try it with Cochrane someday.” 

Andy felt stressed out just by thinking about that. 

“ … Please don’t. You are going to get us in more trouble.” 

Using annoyance as a form of bonding, you seeked to figure out things for the case. 

" Did you know that, according to voodoo lore, Damballa never ever speaks? He can only make snake sizzling sounds." You casually commented at him, then emulated the snake-like sound. " It's funny, because I bet Chucky never shuts up." 

Andy was confused because, for one part, he couldn't agree more, but he also couldn't understand why you were implícitly showing to believe in him.

" Why are you telling me this? " 

" Hello? It's called info dumping on a common interest, that's how people get close. I don't know much about voodoo, but I read a few random facts that are gonna change the course of your life." 

The explanation emanated a charisma that was hard to ignore. 

"... Let me guess, it's about Damballa." 

" He is the creator of the universe, kinda like a voodoo equivalent to what christianity calls God. Nothing impure should touch things consecrated to him and this rule is super strict." You kept rambling out loud to him. " He is associated with all things white because... listen this... HE IS A WISE, KIND, BENEVOLENT AND PATIENT DEITY, only with not much regard for everyday mortal issues."

Andy laughed so loud that you both almost got reprimanded by the kitchen staff watching you over. 

" You gotta be kidding me..." 

" I'm not! I swear it's true, my sources are legit." You defended yourself. " My father would say ' You gotta kill them all, this is war.' but i think It's not the god's fault if Chucky uses corrupted versions of his worship rituals. Have you ever wondered if you yourself are a tool of Damballa punishing him for crimes against religious nature and that's why you beat him over and over?" 

" What you try to say is that Damballa himself put me on Chucky's way and ruined my life to give him a lesson??" 

" That's the theory I am working on. Damballa likes pureness and what is purer than a child? It's like the greek gods and their favorite heroes: maybe Damballa likes you so much that he chose you and he didn't mind it was gonna damage you. It would fit with the lore description I read: he is a god that deals with the bigger picture but doesn't think about the details of mundane human existence." 

The amount of effort you were putting into what he thought was just trying to make him feel better was heartwarming. 

" As a consolation it is not the worse i have heard." 

" Just be careful... and remember that Damballa's day of the week is Thursday, he loves the color white and all things lightfull. Communicating with him is extremely difficult, but you can appease him with random little acts like adding something white to your everyday outfit. His preferred offerings are uncooked white eggs and white flour."

He stared at you and you could tell he was about to laugh. 

" ... White flour?" 

The fact that your quickly researched lore seemed so plausible to him was an offense to your work and you chose to take payback with a joke. Sneaking to reach an open package of white flour that one of the cooks was using, you took only a handful of it. Then, with your palm extended as if you were about to blow kisses, you actually blew the flour in the direction of Andy's face. 

" You are welcome, now you are blessed."

The breakfast of the following morning was a follow up of inner jokes. It was a Thursday and you made sure he would watch you on the line asking for white bread with eggs and milk. One of your fingernails was painted white and you made it be the one that would be visible when pulling the trigger of a gun. However, Andy had an even bigger surprise for you. 

A white flower picked from the school ground that he secretly gave you in the hall once both of you were done eating. Your heart beated fast and you mentally cursed yourself because you could tell it was the building of a crush on the boy you were commanded to protect.

The next thing you did was checking if you had mail. your brothers were supposed to send you extended research info and some practical things that you asked for, but your little battle kit didn’t arrived the last time you consulted about deliveries meant for you. Ríght at the spot where you were supposed to check that you came across Tyler, the nice kid that was always saluting you everytime he would pass by. 

He was in a big hurry, ignoring you completely while carrying a package.

"Hi, Tyler... Bye, Tyler!" You mocked the situation, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. " Well, I trust the boys so I know there must be something for me today." 

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

I LOVE your meta on how essek was the perfect asset and want to ask the follow-up question in your tags: how do you think it went down? The agreement between Essek and the Assembly? And I think the fandom was convinced Essek would be disposed of after the peace talks — how do you see his future if there was no intervention by the Mighty Nein in 97?

ruvi-muffin asked:

What are your specific thoughts abt how ludinus recruited essek??👀👀 oh Person who knows a surprising amount of spy stuff 🙏🙏🙏👀👀👀

Anonymous asked:

PLEASE share your specific thoughts about how Essek was recruited, I'm so intrigued!

Anonymous asked:

Hello yes i am very interested in these very specific thoughts about how Essek got recruited? All these things about how actual intelligence works/uses their assets/how that ties to Essek and the M9 is really interesting :D

Thank you all so much for asking me the specific question I wanted someone to ask. I had to write and rewrite this post a half-dozen times because I kept going off on tangents about other Cold War spy stories so trust me there’s plenty more where this came from.

For reference, my original post on what made Essek an ideal recruitment target and why the M9 were the ideal counter to it.

First off, this is all based on real-world intelligence ops and is only as relevant to the campaign as Matt Mercer cares to make it. Having said that *slams notebook on table* BUCKLE UP, KIDDOS.

There are two ways Essek may have been recruited: he approached the Assembly or the Assembly approached him. I think the Assembly approached him. Not to be too hard on the guy, but Essek said it himself: he’s kind of a coward. I can’t see him mustering up the nerve to take that first step. Plus his espionage seems to have focused specifically on the beacons rather than dunamancy as a whole; that sounds like the Assembly to me. The beacons specifically offer the prospect of immortality and the Cerberus mages are arrogant enough to assume they can figure out dunamancy themselves if they have a beacon in hand. There’s no way the Assembly haven’t been trying to beg, borrow, or steal those beacons for centuries. Essek may not have even been their first try - just the first that worked. 

Chronologically, Essek would have popped up on either the Assembly or the Augen Trust’s radar quite early as I assume they keep tabs on all powerful Dynasty mages. As they followed his career, the Assembly would have ID’d Essek as a perfect target for recruitment as a spy, and then further for ego-based recruitment. Recruitment for espionage is a slow process - even slower in a fantasy world where some races reasonably expect to live 500+ years. Many intelligence agencies will do a sort of light meet-and-greet just to start a file on various people who might years later be of interest. The Assembly would have cultivated Essek as an intelligence asset with the same degree of time and care - and using some of the same methods - that Trent used to turn the Blumenthal trio into assassins. 

If they followed a modern playbook, they would have made contact with Essek anywhere from 2 to 10 years before the theft - nothing underhanded. A Cerberus mage approaches him at a negotiation or conference and strikes up a conversation. Then it’s increasing “chance” encounters to get Essek familiar with the handler, play the “we’re both mages, really we’re on the same side” angle to earn enough sympathy & trust to start talking regularly. Once the channel’s open, the handler and asset meet and/or talk routinely while the handler assesses the target’s motives, weaknesses, and the possibility that they’re a double agent. 

Espionage proper then starts with small favors, acts Essek can rationalize as victimless or even helpful to the Dynasty. In this stage the handler is getting the asset comfortable with engaging in espionage. They reward the asset for what feels like minimal moral trespass. For Essek that would have been praising his research, encouraging avenues of investigation they knew the Dynasty had shut down. Having meetings with Ludinus plays right into the ego trip - the Head of the Assembly himself is taking the time to meet with him! The Assembly gets how important this work is! That keeps Essek isolated from Dynasty members who might convince him to take a step back and builds loyalty to the Assembly over the Dynasty.

Once an asset settles in, espionage becomes easier. Routines get established. Moral hurdles have been overcome. Now the asks get bigger and the rewards get sparser. The handler will suggest larger acts just to get the asset thinking about them, since the more they consider “just hypothetically” how to pull it off, the more likely it is they’ll do it. This is where the idea of stealing the beacons would get introduced (though of course it’s been the goal all along.) I’ll bet the Assembly hinted at all the study that could be done if they could just get to the beacons in person, constantly bemoaning the lack of access. By now Essek sees the Assembly as colleagues in arcane pursuits, kindred minds, unlike the boring, stuffy old mages of the Dynasty. Of course he could outwit the Dynasty’s security and get the beacons to the Assembly - he’s a prodigy, a genius, everyone says so. And it’s not like he was stealing all of them. The consecuted would be fine. Everyone would be fine.

None of this is intended to absolve Essek of personal responsibility. But it provides a context for his actions, and for why he might regret them so much even though he apparently did them willingly. Asset handlers are very, very good at drawing someone willing to commit minor transgressions into far greater crimes. Look at how Trent shaped Caleb, Astrid, and Eadwulf. He didn’t order them to execute their own parents on day one. He spent years coaxing, tempting, and coercing them into darker and darker crimes, letting them rationalize their own actions at each step, preying on the same vulnerabilities as Essek: isolation (separating the three from other students, telling them their work was secret), ambition (the promise of great arcane power, of shaping the Empire’s destiny), and ego (”we were going to keep the empire safe,” telling them they were gifted, they were chosen).

So how do IRL spies rationalize their actions? Those who spy for reasons of conscience or ideology have done the rationalizing ahead of time, but everyone else has to get there somehow. Some who spy for revenge tell themselves it’s what their superiors deserve, while others tell themselves everyone’s doing it. Some just need a lie to get started (most commonly about who they’re spying for), while others have to keep up the charade all along. Let’s look at a few cases similar to Essek’s that demonstrate just how slippery the slope can be.

Aldrich Ames, a long-term CIA officer slash double agent for the KGB, got suckered in by thinking he could control the situation and wasn’t really hurting anyone. Ames had chronic financial trouble related to excessive drinking & his wife’s lavish lifestyle and in 1985 came up with a plan: he would essentially con the KGB by selling them a minor amount of classified info that he deemed “virtually worthless.” In April he set up the exchange and the KGB paid him $50,000, enough to satisfy his immediate debts. But after actually doing it Ames said he felt he’d now crossed a line he couldn’t step back from, and continued to sell information to the Soviets. By the time he was caught he had, by his own admission, compromised “virtually all Soviet agents of the CIA.”

While some assets just need a lie to get started, others require a delicate dance of self-delusion. Col. George Trofimoff was an Army officer who ran the center where would-be Soviet defectors were assessed & questioned. Trofimoff, a Russian émigré at a young age, was chronically in debt. In 1969 he renewed his acquaintance with his stepbrother back in Russia, now a bishop in the Russian Orthodox Church, and began to pass secrets in return for money - but he and his stepbrother never framed the transactions as such. Trofimoff described their meetings as, “very informal. ... First, it was just a conversation between the two of us. He would ask my opinion on this and that--then, he would maybe ask me, 'Well, what does your unit think about it?' Or, 'What does the American government think about it?’” His compensation was similarly informal: “I said I needed money. ... And he says, 'I tell you what, I'll loan it to you.' So he gave me, I think, 5,000 marks and then, it wasn't enough, because I needed more. ... Then he says, 'Well, you know, I'll tell you what. You don't owe me any money. And if you need some more, I can give you some more. Don't worry about it. You're going to have to have a few things, this and that.' And this is how it started.” Trofimoff could pretend to himself that he wasn’t really spying - just having a chat with his stepbrother - and wasn’t really getting paid for it - just borrowing a little money.

This got longer than I intended it to be and there’s still plenty to talk about, so I’ll save the rest for a second post. Next time: what happens long-term to espionage assets? And what happens if an asset regrets their actions and/or attempts to cut off contact with their handlers?

(This accidentally turned into a series on Essek & IRL espionage: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4)

[legends-of-apex]

‘Counting Thunder’

Ah Sahm x Reader (smut)

Rating: 18+ for smut (sex, not as explicit as usual but still, tw for thunderstorms, sex during a thunderstorm, countdown, edging, post-coital cuddles, one-night stand)

Word Count: 1,900

Summary: Vega asks you to show Ah Sahm, Young Jun and Hong around Rooker’s Mill whilst she meets up with her sister. When Young Jun and Hong get distracted by the local brothel, you and Ah Sahm are left alone. It soon starts raining and the two of you are forced to retreat inside. Ah Sahm teaches you how to tell how far away lightning is striking whilst you make good use of your time together. Reader is AFAB

A/N: Thank you so much @simpingforclaudette for suggesting this!! Absolutely loved the idea and just had to write it :D

At the mention of the word ‘brothel’ Young Jun and Hong each bid you goodbye with shining smiles before they half jogged in the direction of the building in question, leaving you and Ah Sahm alone. Young Jun had whispered something to Ah Sahm who shook his head and replied back in such a quiet tone that you couldn’t have ever hoped to hear it.

“Sorry about them,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at you apologetically for his friends deciding to take themselves off. You watched the two men disappear inside the door of the brothel with all the grace of a pair of newborn lambs.

“Hey, we've all got our priorities,” you shrugged, “And I’m sorry to say that there’s not much else to show you around here. You gonna go join your friends?”

“Nah, it’s not really my thing. But I’m sure I’ll think of something to do to pass the time,” He smiled then, looking down at you over his nose as he had done when he’d first set his eyes upon you a few hours ago, “What about you? You have something to get back to?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” You replied with his own words back to him and watched the way his breath caught in his chest for a few moments longer than usual. 

“In that case, if it’s no trouble, would you mind showing me the way back to the room?” He offered you his arm and you took it with a smile, a slight blush dusting your cheeks.

“Did you forget the way or do you just want company?” You asked.

“Both.”

The sky had growled above their heads since before arriving in Rooker’s Mill. Clouds threatened to let their water spill upon the town below as Vega asked you to show the three men around the town since she had some business to attend to. That was a few hours ago now and the air still hung heavy with its need to shed some rain.

As you walked arm in arm with Ah Sahm, the skies finally gave in and split right open.

He wasn’t too bothered by the rain. It was a welcome respite from the baking heat. But as others dashed through the streets to reach their homes, you both decided to step in beneath a doorway to let people pass with ease. 

One look towards Ah Sahm and you’d never been more thankful for the rain. His hair was damp as it hung over his forehead, some droplets rolling down his cheeks and catching on the hair across his chin. His white shirt was soaked beyond recognition, the material clung to every slope and indent on his skin. Although you only looked at him for a moment, you could see the outline of his thick chest as he rolled his sleeves up past his forearms. He hated the feeling of having wet cuffs on his wrists.

He noticed you looking at him like that because he was looking at you with the same appreciation. The rain made your dress hug your form so beautifully and your eyes shone along with the droplets sprinkled through your hair.

If you’d asked him to have you in the nearest alleyway he’d have agreed without question despite the bustling streets and the pouring rain.

“You figure out how you want to spend the rest of your day?” You asked, judging from the way you were each undressing one another with your eyes it wasn’t hard to figure out what his answer might be.

The two of you barely made it in the door of his room before shedding each other’s soaked clothes. Ah Sahm’s lips trailed over every inch of your body he could reach, groaning as you dragged your fingers through his soggy dark hair.

The rain outside kept pouring as you lay together, breaths mingling and limbs tangled. The town outside grew dark and thunder had begun to roll across the skies. 

Ah Sahm’s touch was so appreciative, so giving. You’d only known the man for three hours or so and yet he cherished your body like he’d known and cared for you for a lifetime.

“Any idea how far away the lightning is yet?” he asked, moving his mouth away from your shoulder to kiss over a love bite he’d already left on your neck.

You were trying, trying so hard to count the seconds between the lightning’s strike and the next roll of thunder. He’d told you that’s how you tell how far away the lightning struck the earth. Every five seconds between the flash across the sky and the rumble of thunder was the equivalent to a mile away. But each time, his soft lips on your neck and the gentle motion of hips had you losing count.

“You make it hard to keep count, not gonna lie to you.”

So he slowed the gentle rock of his hips but you whined at the loss of friction. Still sheathed inside you, he stilled and turned his head towards the window, delighting in the way your nails raked over his back as he did.

“Ah Sahm,” you whined, trying to move your hips up against his.

Lightning struck.

“Okay, now keep count,” he started moving again, rolling his hips into yours and latching his lips onto your neck again.

“14…15…16….” Thunder rolled through the sky, “So about three miles?”

“You had better count again just to be sure, sweetheart.” You could hear the smile in his voice despite his breathlessness, despite the way you could feel him getting desperate.

He slowed until lightning struck again and then moved in thorough thrusts. Only this time he pressed his thumb to your pussy again and found the swell of your clit, pressing down in smooth circles.

“....4….5….6…” You cut yourself off with a curse, “12…13…14....”

Thunder rolled around again.

“It’s getting closer,” he smiled, teething shining as he looked down at you and you clenched around him, he rested his thumb on your clit until the lightning struck again, delighting in the way you tried desperately to rock your hips against his hand and he slid in and out of you achingly slow.

You’d learned a lot of things about Ah Sahm in the few hours that you’d known him. For one thing he was respectful and his eyes were kind despite his brashness. He was a fighter of some kind, here for the tournament, if he hadn’t told you that then you would have guessed from the sturdiness of him, the way his hands were firm and rough from fighting despite his gentle touch on your skin. 

Perhaps most importantly to you right now, he knew his way around another person’s body, he liked to tease and he had the self-control and stamina of a saint. 

“One more time for good measure?” he asked and you nodded. If he hadn’t already made you come before now then you would likely be in tears from his edging of you both. But he had thankfully, with ease.

When next lightning struck he rubbed your clit with such ferocious precision that your voice grew higher as the seconds ticked by. His thumb on you combined with his increasingly thorough pace within you had the most intense heat beginning to pool in your belly once again.

“....10…11…12..” and then thunder. Except this time he didn’t stop, he kept up his pace as you clung to his shoulders so desperately.

The next time lightning struck, you barely made it to the eighth second before your voice devolved into incoherence as you came. He latched his mouth onto one of your nipples until you pulled him off in search of his mouth on yours. 

He promised he’d make the edging worth your while and he wasn’t kidding. The heat that washed over you as you finally came was so intense that you definitely unintentionally tore the skin on his back with your nails, a sensation he absolutely adored and revelled in.

“You okay?” he asked, searching your eyes for anything to the contrary, “Worth it?”

“Worth it,” you replied, “Now you.”

He changed positions, laying beside you at your back and trailing his fingers along your side until he reached your knee. He lifted it ever so carefully so your leg rested over his and he could bury himself within you again. The way his breath shook behind your ear as he entered you again was to die for.

He faced the window, watching as the lightning struck in the distance and then again close by before moving his hips. Despite how desperate he might have been just then, he wanted to give you enough time to adjust to him being inside you once more. He also wanted to join you in finishing on that first roll of thunder.

“You close?” You asked him and he whined in response, hips stilling and wishing for the lightning, “Think you can come on the next one? I’ll count.”

So you both waited, both staring out at the greying skies, the window blurry from the rain. As your walls still pulsed around him from your high, you were surprised he had so much self-control and patience as to wait for the lightning. You’d already come around him and you’d had him in your mouth before that too. But he was patient.

“Get ready. Wanna feel you come for me.”

As the lightning hit and he rutted into you so quickly that it stole your breath. He moaned as he began moving with you again, your lush walls hugging him so wonderfully and making it very difficult for him to force himself to last a few more seconds.

After the fifth second his hips began to stutter and you felt him twitch.

“That’s it, baby,” you encouraged, winding your hand behind you to tangle in his hair.

By the eighth, he was crying out and on the eleventh, he was coming. About a second before the thunder crashed. His face lay buried in your neck as his hips moved uncontrollably for a few seconds, entirely losing all rhythm as he rode out his high.

Once he was finished he started trailing kisses over your neck and shoulders again, the hair on his chin making you giggle slightly as you gazed out at the rain. He pulled out of you and made sure you were tugged right back against him, fully engulfed in his arms as you both relaxed.

“Looks like it’s gonna be a while until the rain clears,” you observed, gently playing with his fingers. He hummed out a laugh at that.

“Well, that’s just devastating. Guess you’ll just have to hold up here a little while longer.” He replied, tightening his hold around you even more as the air around you both began to cool.

It was so easy to relax back against him, even easier to coax him to lay on your front with his head on your chest. He melted at the feeling of your fingers running through his soft hair, his chest heaving a sigh so heavy it almost seemed like it hurt.

“What about your friends?” You asked, enjoying the feeling of his weight upon you and the sounds of the storm.

“Oh, they won’t be back for a while. Young Jun wouldn’t risk getting his hair wet.”

Tagging: @icy-spicy​ @noobsaibots​ @kojiandrew​