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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years ago

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Visibility (Good Omens Fic)

Written for Lesbian Visibility Day, 2021

(26 April, 1972)

“What did you szzay?”

Beelzebub glared at the empty space before zir throne, listening to a pair of feet shuffle awkwardly.

“I just…woke up like this,” Crowley explained, in what was probably supposed to be a casual voice. “At first, I thought I was coming down with something. Flu. Hangover. Allergies. All very contagious this time of year. Really, if you haven’t been to Earth before, April is – just wait at least another month. But then I realized, s’not going away, and I thought: curse. Definitely a curse. Probably one of those angels, thwarting and all, you know how they are.”

“An angel.” The Prince of Hell tapped one finger on the arm of the throne, swarm of flies flitting around, trying to make sense of what zir own eyes weren’t telling zir. “Iszzn’t that hideouszz pieczze of real esztate you live in warded?”

“Probably. You know how it is. Get home late, really tired, swear you locked the door, but…” The footsteps – echoing as those ridiculous heeled boots struck the ground – began to circle the room. Beelzebub didn’t keep many possessions – at least, not the material sort – but Crowley seemed determined to touch them all. “Anyway, you know angels. Clever bastards.” An ornate dagger on the far table began to spin. “Or witches. Not quite as bastardly, but they cause trouble. Oh, or a cursed artifact.” Papers began rearranging themselves. “I just…I haven’t been thrift shopping in years, you know, not really my scene, not anyone’s scene anymore, but I saw this really spectacular jacket, I thought, what the Heaven? Might have some age-old horrific curse, or bedbugs, but it’s going to look stunning on the dance floor.”

Pinching zir nose, Beelzebub tried not to imagine the foolish way she was probably grinning. “And by complete coinczzidenzze,this angel, witch or…garment, juszzt happened to make you completely inviszzible on the day of your department budget review?”

“Yup.” A selection of goblets toppled to the floor with a clatter, bouncing and spinning across the floor. One rolled as if kicked, but not even Beelzebub’s cleverest flies could locate the blasted demon who had caused the mess. “I mean, not just a coincidence. Plenty of reasons. Er. The angel. Just last week, that – uh, that Aziraphale, I foiled one of her plans. Thoroughly. Foiled like…like leftover chicken. So. This could be revenge. Very unfortunately timed, but you know.”

“Indeed.” Beelzebub rose, stalking from zir throne across the floor to the spot that most strongly radiated incompetence. “And the curszze breakerszz haven’t been able to turn you back?”

“I mean, they tried.” More footsteps, hastier now, so that the echoes made them harder to track. “Course they tried. But,” she clicked her tongue, “couldn’t do it. Said they’d never seen anything like it before.” Ze would have to speak with them. No, too much trouble. Beelzebub would send the Hellhounds to take care of those idiots. “But, they did say it should wear off in…twenty-four to forty-eight hours. You know. With bed rest. Pity about the budgetary review.”

“How szzo?” Ze asked, lip curling. Every twenty-five years, like clockwork, like the courses of the blessed stars, the day of Crowley’s review, something – something highly improbably – tried to disrupt things.

“Well. I mean. Bed rest. Suggested by your curse breakers. And anyway. Can’t go like this, can I?” One of the goblets floated up from the floor, spinning in an unseen hand. “Might be disruptive.Wouldn’t want to draw attention away from Dagon – I heard, she has some fantastic charts this year. Pie graphs. One of those ones with the dots and the lines. Look at this!” From behind Beelzebub’s throne floated a ceramic pot filled with tall green plants, three dozen flies happily flitting around the attractively scented leaves. “Is this dill? Excellent choice. I’ve been doing some gardening lately, too, and let me tell you—”

“I cannot imagine anything” Beelzebub snapped, snatching the plant out of her invisible hands, “that could make you more diszzzruptive than you already are. But it appearszz you can szztill szzee, hear, and – unfortunately – szzpeak.”

“Just lucky I guess.” More pacing.

“Szzo. Dagon will be exzzpecting you in…four and a half minuteszz. I’m czzertain everyone iszz eagerly awaiting your planszz for the coming quarter-czzentury. Dagon, at leaszzt, could probably uszze the…amuszzement.”

“Course. Right. Perfect.” The footsteps began to lead towards the door. “I’ll just—”

“Szztop.” Beelzebub’s hand flew out, snapping tight around the demon’s wrist exactly as she walked past. “The otherszz will need to szzee where you are.”

“I could whistle,” she volunteered, launching into something that sounded like a tortured bird.

The Prince considered ripping her arm off and stuffing it down her throat, but the last time ze did that, the satisfaction hadn’t been worth the days of cleanup.

“Juszzt put on a hat or szzomething.”

A snap of fingers, and a band of glittering silver cloth appeared around where her waist should be. “Better? Can I go now? I’m…extremely eager to start my presentation. Ngk. Everyone is going to be impressed. This – this decade is going to put me on the map.”

“Go.”

The silver band of cloth sauntered out of the room, echoing the moronic way the demon walked. Checking the dill plant for damage, Beelzebub lowered zirself back onto the throne.

Which had, inexplicably, moved several inches back, causing zir to fall onto the floor, the potted plant shattering. “Crowley!”

“Brilliant, just brilliant,” Crowley muttered, stalking down the hall towards the meeting room. She’d spent a week putting this curse together, combining ones from six of Aziraphale’s most obscure grimoires, and yet she still had to make her bloody presentation. “Next time, I’ll just give myself the plague.” That had almost worked in the fourteenth century. Just needed a more impressive plague.

Ahead on the right, a door with a piece of paper taped on it reading Temptation Department Budget Group Lambda. She hesitated, fingers hovering just short of pushing it the rest of the way open. Had Beelzebub warned everyone she was invisible? More often, ze expected demons to take care of such things themselves, on pain of pain. Two minutes to spare; might as well try.

Crowley dropped the silver belt on the floor outside and slipped through the partially-open door, transforming her extremely cool boots into a pair of quieter slippers. That, at least, she could do without being sensed; shifting the shape of her feet didn’t alert the other demons the way a real miracle would.

A dozen of them sat in chairs around the conference table, grumbling about their project proposals, miracle allotments, and soul quotas. An overhead projector sat at the front of the room. It was the one with the cracked glass, projecting a broken circle of light onto a white wall. Dagon stood beside it, shuffling papers.

Crowley could try writing dirty words on a couple of the pre-made transparencies, but that didn’t seem properly demonic. Scanning the room, she spotted the wheeled coffee cart tucked in the corner, laden with a coffee pot, Styrofoam cups, plate of pastries and various flavorings. Horrid stuff. All demons were required to drink three cups of it per meeting, and to eat one of the scones, which this time appeared to be…pickled herring flavored? With orange marmalade?

There wasn’t much she could do to make that worse. She grabbed a few anyway, tucking them down the front of her shirt, and dumped the marmalade into the molten coffee, turning the temperature up as high as it would go. She’d managed to grab a fistful of wet soil and some dill from Beelzebub’s plant. Most of that went into the coffee pot, a little into the sour creamer, and the rest into the alleged sugar – probably an artificial sweetener, those were all the rage lately.

What else? She stole all the spoons, then pulled off an earring and started poking holes in the bottom of the cups with it.

With the perfect sense of timing honed from millennia of avoiding one more second in the company of her coworkers than necessary, Crowley managed to slip out the door, put on the belt, and waltz back in exactly as Dagon demanded, “Where is the demon Crowley?”

“Sorry, sorry. Feeling a bit under the weather today.” Only about three demons glanced her way with some level of surprise; the rest just got up and headed over to get their first requisite cup of coffee. “You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had. And the traffic! The roads just get worse every year. Anyway, here now. Ready and eager. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She snagged an empty seat and dropped into it, crossing her boots on the table with a heavy thud.

Dagon sighed. “Do I even want to know what happened this time?”

“Pissed off an angel. Utterly ruined her plans. Cursed me out in the most unbelievable language, and then, well, you see. Or don’t see.”

It was certainly true enough. Aziraphale had been very upset when the “fine dining establishment” Crowley had selected for their meet-up turned out to be the hottest disco in the city. And the way she managed to express her disappointment while technically not swearing certainly strained credulity.

“Did you kill her?” Ligur asked. So unimaginative.

“No, I did something much worse.” She’d dragged Aziraphale onto the dance floor and managed almost twenty-three seconds of enthusiastic disco next to her before the angel – now bright red and flustered – had stormed out entirely. “But, we’re not here to talk about me. Let’s have it. Numbers. Spreadsheets. I heard a rumor we might see that climate change graph.”

A general groan ran around the table.

“Shut up,” Dagon snapped. “Listen up, you lot – all you idiots, and Crowley in particular. Every one of you worthless wastes of matter needs to explain what you’re going to do in the next quarter-century, how that’s going to secure souls for our Master, and why we should waste any number of miracles on your pathetic hides. Until then—”

With an icy shiver, Crowley felt her miracles vanish.

“Now. Let’s start on the success rate of last quarter-century, and if I hear one word of complaint, you can scream it from the bottom of a sulfur pool. And don’t forget your blessed coffee.”

As Dagon started her presentation, Crowley watched the coffee cart. Someone had helpfully wheeled it next to the conference table, so the demons could more easily torture themselves. Seven managed to soak their shirts and trousers from leaking cups before the marmalade clogged the pot entirely. That, however, would never be enough to cancel the meeting. Heaven, a few of them even said it tasted better than usual. Should have seen that coming.

Still. It was a start.

Crowley played with her earring, then grinned, thinking of a possibility.

“Ow!” she shouted dramatically. “Something bit me!”

“Wasn’t me,” Hastur said sullenly.

“W—no, I mean. Some kind of insect.”

“Don’t see one,” grunted another demon called Krang, sitting right beside Crowley.

“It’s right there!” Silence. Oh, right, no one could see her pointing. “There! On the coffee pot!”

Eyes narrowing, Krang leaned forward, glaring across the table at the pot, which was rattling slightly. Crowley jabbed them in the back of the neck with her earring.

“Arg! It got me!” Krang slapped at the spot, leaping out of their chair. “Did you see where it went?”

“There! On Hastur’s head!”

“Where—?” Hastur managed before Ligur swatted him so hard he fell out of his chair.

“Ah, shit!” Crowley shouted. “It got me again! No, wait, I think it’s a different one.” The demons anxiously glanced at each other, but no one else stood up. Not enough. “Oh, no! My…my hand!” Crowley tried to think of something suitable “It’s burning! Like Holy Water!” She jabbed the earring into the arm of the demon on her other side.

“Bloody—It got me too!” He was on his feet in an instant. “I can feel it burning already!”

“And me!” That demon wasn’t even near Crowley. She grinned. It was working.

“What are these things?”

“I can feel it crawling on my leg.”

“My neck is swelling up!”

“Sit down!” Dagon snapped, baring her teeth. “I don’t want to hear another word about bloody insects. You’re demons. Act like it! Or I’ll make it four cups.”

The room froze – silent, apart from the now-continuous rattle of the coffee pot – as a dozen demons weighed the fear of some sort of terrifying unseen holy insect versus drinking more of the vile brew.

So Crowley ripped a handful of scone out of her top and crumbled it. “What – my hair!” She tossed the crumbs across the table. “Are – are those larvae?”

Everyone shuffled back a few steps.

“I don’t think you heard me—” Dagon started, in a tone that suggested Crowley was about to lose the room. So she went all in.

“Oh, Satan!” She shouted, falling dramatically from her chair. “They’re – they’re crawling into my ears!” That earned a few nervous glances, so she took a deep breath and gave her best horror-movie scream. “That angel! She did something to me!”

“Crowley!” Dagon shouted. “Stop acting out right now,or I swear to Satan, I’ll—”

She never found out what Dagon wanted to do to her, though, because at that moment the coffee pot exploded, lid flying off, scalding brown liquid splashing in every direction, along with blobs of now-runny marmalade.

Never one to let an opportunity go by, no matter how unexpected, Crowley cried, “Eggs! They’re nesting in the coffee! Who drank that?”

A perfect panic set in, and there was nothing Dagon could do to stop all the demons – including Crowley – from evacuating the room.

In the confusion that followed, everyone lost track of a certain invisible demon. How sad. And totally unexpected, Crowley thought, climbing into the Bentley. Too bad I kept the radio off and didn’t go to the cinema. Otherwise, they could summon me back. If she were careful, she could have days to finish coming up with her proposal.

But first, a little fun. Grinning, she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, wondering what kind of trouble she could get into next.

Well. One way to find out.

The London police were extremely disappointing that morning. It took nearly eight minutes of driving around at top speed, running red lights, and blaring her horn outside rich-looking homes before one finally started chasing her.

Slamming into top gear, she raced down the busiest streets, whipping around corners, weaving through traffic, making sure not to get too far ahead. The second patrol car joined in somewhere near Oxford Street, the third during a quick jaunt up towards Regent’s Park. When she’d collected four, sirens blaring as they struggled to keep up with her flawless driving, she spotted a side street and lurched into it with a complicated 270-degree-spin finished with the nose of the Bentley facing the approaching cars.

Then she settled back in her seat and waited.

The black monstrosity finally slid to a stop. Officer Mills kept her eyes on it while her partner slowed their own car to a stop.

“We sure he’s not just going to run?” She asked, trying to spot the driver. The glare off the windshield must be playing tricks on her eyes; she couldn’t see a thing.

“We surround it,” Harmon said. “Got to be enough of us, even if they try to make trouble.”

Six officers eased out of their cars, silently trying to decide who should approach the window. Mills won – or lost – and took the lead, Harmon close behind her. He was the only one armed; she felt a little better for that, in case the driver turned out to be dangerous, though most likely she figured he would try to plow through the police cars to get away. They couldn’t do much in that case apart from try to kick the tires in passing.

“Think it’s stolen?” Harmon asked as a few others moved to try and block the street beyond the idling nightmare. “Teenagers messing around?”

“Could be,” Mills said doubtfully. “It’s vintage, though. Really old. And whoever was driving knows what they’re doing.”

Anderson waved from the far side of the vehicle. Everyone was in position. Mills nodded and walked up to the window, prepared for a lunatic – or a drunk – or someone on an awful lot of drugs.

Instead, it was completely empty.

“What…” She glanced back at Harmon. “No one. Did he bail out?”

“We’d have seen. Check the back seat.”

“Nothing. Wait. There’s…a tin of biscuits. That’s all.”

Down the street, Anderson crouched, checking underneath. Nothing there, apparently. Slowly, the police approached, one by one relaxing as they confirmed that yes – the car was empty.

The driver side window was open. Mills stuck her head in, glancing up and down. Nothing. No sign of what had happened to the driver. The engine still gently rumbled, and the door was locked. She definitely would have noticed if someone had stayed there long enough to lock it through the window.

“I’ll call to have it towed,” Harmon said, stepping back. She could hear the confused frown in his voice. “Maybe we’ll find…something…when we search it.”

By this point, even the officers who had waited in the patrol cars had joined them, crowded along the sides of the black vintage monster, testing doors and peering through windows. Mills leaned in to unlock the driver side door. “But where could he have gone?”

“She,” a soft voice said near Mills’s ear, and something tapped against her nose. “And I haven’t gone anywhere.”

Mills stumbled back as the radio burst to life.

You know the day destroys the night Night divides the day…

Everyone spun in place, looking for the source of the music from a nearby window or door, shouting at shadows, so only Mills was watching as the pedals and gear stick moved themselves.

Tried to run Tried to hide Break on through to the other side Break on through to the other side…

The ghost car – what else could she be? – shot backwards up the street, faster than should have been possible, spun a full 360-degree turn, then straightened up and drove away, blending into traffic with a cheerful toot of the horn.

Mills finally blinked.

“Harmon?” She called. “You do the paperwork on this one. I need a drink.”

Crowley danced in her seat far more than she usually would, but for once no one could see her.

Made the scene Week to week Day to day Hour to – Crowley!

She nearly slammed on the brakes as Jim Morrison began to sound an awful lot like Dagon. Shit. Forgot about that.

“Ahhhh…speaking?”

“Who, exactly, gave you permission to leave?”

“Oh. Ahhh.” She glanced out the window at a row of businesses and pulled over in front of some kind of barber shop. “I thought, what with all the insects—”

“There were no insects!”

“There weren’t?” Crowley really needed to work on her innocent voice. “I must be hallucinating. Better go home and lie down until it passes.”

“Crowley. Your budget proposal is due by the end of the day. Do you want to be stranded up there without miracles? Do you know what we do to demons who fail to meet their quotas?”

She knew that. She’d been told, several times, exactly what to expect. “Nnnnnh…I’ve got – it’s going to be a big project. Very big. More souls than…than wasps have larvae. Just need to work on my proposal in a secure, bug-free location.”

“Crowley! Do you think for one second—”

“Ah! They’re coming out of the radio!” Crowley cut the sound.

She sat in the Bentley, tapping her fingers on the wheel.

I just hung up on Dagon. They’re going to kill me. Worse, they’re going to send me down to file in the archives for a thousand years.

Then again, they’d have to find her first.

And, she was finding, her current state presented the kind of temptations even a demon couldn’t ignore…

Graham Palmer had been trying to get into the barber shop for twenty minutes.

The door was stuck fast. No matter how he rattled and pulled, it wouldn’t budge, as if something enormous had pinned it shut. And yet, every time he stepped back to let other patrons try, the door opened easily, but slammed as if pulled shut whenever he approached. He even tried slipping through behind another customer, but then it stayed shut until Graham stepped back. There was just no way in.

Now he hammered on the window, trying to get his barber’s attention. “Stuart! Stuart! What the hell are you trying to pull?”

The barber looked up from his current customer, blinking in confusion, and jerked his head towards the door.

“I tried that, it doesn’t bloody work!” A young man half his age walked past, giving Graham a funny look, and pulled open the shop door. Graham dove to follow him, but again it snapped shut, almost catching his nose. He pounded the door with his fist, glaring at the customers inside. “I’m going to be late!”

Across the shop, Stuart put down his scissors and shouted something. All Graham caught was “…break my glass…”

There was an idea.

He crossed the pavement to where an ancient black car was parked, removing his jacket. Wrapping it around his arm for protection, he charged forward, bracing himself for impact.

The door swung open in front of him and before he could stop himself, Graham tripped over – something – there didn’t appear to be anything – and sprawled on his face, sliding across the linoleum floor.

“Watch yourself, dearie,” a cheerful woman’s voice said, but when he looked up, no one was there.

Crowley strolled around the park, her new domain, another time.

Over there, at the edge of the path, was the Strange Chill area. Anyone who paused there, perhaps studying the slightly askew sign that seemed to indicate the exit was in the fountain, would feel a touch on their shoulder, a tickle on the back of their neck, or hear heavy breathing with no source.

Over here, near the ice cream cart, was the Creepy Bush. Originally just generic ghost noises, Crowley eventually discovered what really freaked humans out was a disembodied voice whispering their name, or something they’d said in private a few minutes before. She followed strolling couples around, listening in on anything good, and when one stopped to by the other ice cream, just really let loose on the one standing by the bushes. They usually started clinging much more closely to their partner after that, so really, Crowley was doing them a favor. Instant relationship counseling.

Across from the fountain sat the Haunted Bench. Crowley really went wild with that one. Children’s songs in a creepy voice. Branches shaking with no wind. Possessions floating away from wherever they’d been set down. Really, anything was allowed.

The narrow path leading through the tulips was the Asshole Road. Anyone Crowley caught being an asshole in her park was subtly sent that direction, pickpocketed, and then beset by bees, or at least a very convincing humming and a few pricks from an invisible earring.

The fountain itself was Rare Coins and Lost Items. Her third pickpocket victim had been carrying a tube of very powerful epoxy, and it turns out the coin-stuck-to-the-sidewalk trick was even better when you glued it underwater. A few pieces of jewelry at the bottom were also glued in place, but most of the valuables were simply tossed in or – if they weren’t waterproof – hung from the sculpture of frolicking animals in an amusing way. Crowley mostly just kept the cash, and even then only if the Assholes had been particularly cruel. So far, she’d accumulated almost five hundred pounds.

It was either the best park in London, or the worst.

She leaned against the clock – now set forty-eight and a half minutes slow – and surveyed the chaos. Two teenagers were frantically trying to get something out of the fountain, while the Asshole who’d sworn at that lovely gay couple was now soaked through, desperately trying to get his watch back from the ear of a sculpted rabbit seven feet high. That had been hard to get into place, but certainly worth it. The couple, meanwhile, were hand-in-hand, clutching ice creams and hurrying away from what had been for them the Creepy but Oddly Affirming Bush. The lady with the dog that had made a mess by the roses was trying to report the Haunted Bench to a cop, who tiredly insisted it was her lunch break and that the lady would not believe the morning she’d had.

Crowley grinned up at the sky. This – this was what it was all about. Forget budget meetings and presentations. Who did that make miserable, apart from the demons themselves? This park had everything: temptation, fear, frustration, justice, ice cream, and perfect weather.

“Hey. Hey you feathered wankers,” someone shouted, followed by the sound of rattling pebbles and angry quacking.

Tipping down her invisible shades, Crowley spotted some young idiot chucking handfuls of rocks at the ducks. Most were fleeing, but one flapped her wings, panicked and possessive, over a nest. One of the eggs had already been broken.

Looks like another volunteer for Asshole Road. Crowley was already eying their watch.

Every bakery has that one customer. Probably every place that sold food.

The one that demands impossible standards, not because of any particular love of fine cuisine, but just because they can.

The one that counts the blueberries in their muffin and lets you know if there aren’t enough.

The one who spends five minutes shouting, “No, not that one, that one,” while providing no other information, until their server had touched everything in the display case.

The one who complains that their brownie is too chocolatey.

The customer who somehow gets away with murder on account of being someone’s spouse, or sibling, or old school friend.

Victoria Lockwood was that customer, and as Riley watched her approach, they held their breath in trepidation.

“This scone,” she snapped, dropping her plate onto the counter, “is not right.” Then she glared at Bailey, waiting for a response.

“Is it…” Bailey’s mind raced, trying to work out what might be wrong. “The wrong flavor?” Victoria’s face only darkened. “Um. Is – is it dry?” But most of that batch had sold without a single complaint. “Did you want…more lemon curd? Or—”

“It is not hot enough.”

“Ah.” Of course. They’d taken that batch out nearly an hour ago; the next was ready to go in. “If you’re willing to wait, um…twenty minutes? I can give you the first—”

“Twenty minutes? What kind of service is that? I want my scone now.” She glanced at the tray coming out of the oven. “Why are you making me wait? What are those?”

Bailey glanced back and relaxed for a moment. “Oh – yes, I can get you one right now. They’re Raspberry Almond Butterm—”

“Disgusting!” Victoria rapped her hand against the counter. “That is not what I ordered! I demand you warm this one up, immediately.”

“I…” Bailey glanced at their coworkers, but everyone was avoiding eye contact. “That’s…I can put it back in the oven but that would probably dry—”

“Fine.” She shoved the plate towards them. “Be quick about it, young lady, I don’t like to wait.” She clearly noticed the way Bailey flinched. “If you don’t want to be mistaken for a girl, I suggest you get a proper haircut. And not that hideous shade of pink.”

“Y’s ma’am,” Bailey muttered, because some arguments would never be worth it. They took back the scone and put it on a baking tray. Maybe if it was only in the oven for a minute or two—

“Victoria Lockwood!” Bailey spun around, searching for who had called out. Not anyone else behind the counter, they all had their heads ducked, concentrating on some other tasks. But there – on the counter – a scone sat on Victoria’s plate.

She looked up from her makeup compact, smiled triumphantly, and took a bite out of it.

Her face immediately went green, and she dropped plate and pastry, running out of the bakery faster than Bailey had ever seen anyone move. They rushed forward, ready to call after her, but very much not wanting to, and picked up the discarded scone – it smelled awful, like vinegar and fish.

There was also an enormous wad of banknotes on the counter, wrapped up in a scrap of paper with a note: Kid – Don’t take that shit from anyone. Flip off your boss when you quit. <3 C

The bakery door opened and shut on its own.

Well, there was an entire day’s pickpocketing gone in a moment, but it wasn’t like Crowley had a better use for it. She still had a few rare coins, but after the fountain, sticking them to the ground seemed an anticlimax. She’d had some fun modifying the haunting routine for the bus or Underground, but both would be filled with commuters now a ghost that swears when you elbow her in the ribs on a crowded train is…not as impressive.

Still. Not a bad day overall. The most expensive foods in the corner marked had all been re-priced, several examples of hostile architecture had been mysteriously destroyed, enough people would be sharing stories of “hauntings” that the whole city would need to be exorcised, and – just for the Heaven of it – she’d followed a particularly annoying human for almost an hour, up and down the streets, buzzing in his ear.

Really, it was the simple pleasures that made the world so enjoyable.

And speaking of simple pleasures, Crowley had left one particular part of the city for last.

Strolling down the streets of Soho, which was just waking up while more respectable – but far less fun – parts of the city were winding down, she kept her eyes open for anyone who might make a good target. A few possibilities presented themselves, but in the end her destination proved the stronger draw.

A. Z. Fell’s Bookshop.

It was just the right time of day, when the customers would still be bothering Aziraphale, and she would be running short of patient ways to refuse them and start turning to biting sarcasm and, on occasion, outright threats. She’d probably appreciate a little haunting to help chase them off, once Crowley had finished stealing her cocoa, moving her bookmarks, and changing the record in the gramophone.

But, glancing in the window, Crowley saw something that poured cold water all over her brilliant day.

Gabriel.

Michael and Uriel, too. Probably Sandalphon lurking around.

Aziraphale stood before her bosses, hands clutched anxiously, that eager, ready-to-please face that made Crowley’s chest ache. Some, when faced with the beings who had hurt them so many times, became afraid, or angry, or distressed. But Aziraphale…just wanted approval. A kind word.

Crowley glared at Gabriel. The Heaven are you up to this time?

For once, she would be able to find out.

“And, I really think,” Aziraphale said, hands twisting like captured rodents as she rambled, “that this past decade in particular,I’ve – I’ve accomplished many things. Um. I – I prepared a list…somewhere…” her eyes darted to the disaster she called a desk, and she started shifting material objects around, smiling nervously. Guiltily.

“Is this going to take long?” Gabriel asked with a pointed sigh.

“No! I just…one moment…”

“We’re already running late,” Uriel commented. “We’d expected you to be better prepared.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale snatched up a book and began flipping through it frantically, as if it might contain the answers she needed. “Only, ah, you didn’t actually say when you would be coming…”

“We did say between the 3rd of January and 28th of October,” Michael pointed out reasonably.

“Oh. Um. I…”

“Something doesn’t seem…right,” Sandalphon said, stepping close to Aziraphale, putting a hand on her shoulder. The book she held tumbled from her fingers. “This whole place has a…smell about it.”

The door slammed behind them. Gabriel glanced back, but couldn’t see it from where he stood. Sandalphon gave Aziraphale’s shoulder another squeeze, then headed over to check on it.

“I thought,” Gabriel said slowly, making sure the slow-witted Principality heard every word, “I told you to lock the door.”

“It was.” Aziraphale’s eyes had gone wide. “I – I mean I did.”

Gabriel pursed his lips and shook his head. This had been a particularly disappointing review. Disappointing in the sense that their agent had once again conclusively failed to present evidence of meaningful victories towards Heaven’s cause. Less disappointing in that, whether she knew it or not, Aziraphale had already given him what he needed to take the arrogant fool down a few pegs.

In six thousand years, she’d barely managed to do a single thing right, yet somehow always came to him simpering and smiling like she deserved all the accolades of Heaven. Well, he’d been patient, as suited an Archangel, as patient as he could. But once per century, he had the opportunity to make his opinion perfectly clear.

Take away her miracles for a start, he thought. Though that didn’t seem to work nearly as well as it had a few centuries ago. Maybe recall her to Heaven for a year or two, re-educate her on the basics of her duty. There might be enough for a period of isolation. With restraints. They’d done that once, about three thousand years before, after a particularly poor review. Seven years chained up in an empty corner of Heaven, and Aziraphale had been wonderfully pliable for centuries after. Perhaps it was time to revisit.

“Look – look here, I have a list of…oh.” Aziraphale held out her book again, which seemed to be filled with irregular scrawl instead of the usual neatly printed words. “I started a list of accomplishments, but ah…I became busy the last few years. Um. Quite a lot has happened since…”

Uriel took the book and studied it, face impressively calm. “Interesting,” they said, not giving anything away as they turned the pages over. Gabriel trusted them to spot anything useful.

As the Archangels waited in pointed silence, Michael walked her fingers across a table. She pressed a thumb against a book, sliding it to the edge. Aziraphale stared as it teetered, then found its balance again. Michael watched it, disinterested, then moved on to another book, sliding that forward as well.

Sandalphon stepped back beside Gabriel, shrugging his shoulders. No sign of anything. Well. More questions for later.

Uriel reached the final page.

“What happened in 1967?”

“Nothing!” At the panic in Aziraphale’s tone, all four Archangels raised their eyebrows. “I – I – I mean, yes, lots, many – many—” One of the books beside Michael fell to the floor with a slap. The Principality winced. “I – I’m terribly sorry, could you be more specific?”

“Your final entry,” Uriel held the book out to Aziraphale, “says 1967 – Prevented… Prevented what?”

“Ahhhhhh.” Aziraphale squirmed. “Well, I…I…there was…ummm…”

“As I recall,” Michael said slowly, “you briefly visited Heaven that year, but didn’t officially report to any of us. And then didn’t return for at least…six months? Very unusual.”

“You haven’t been hiding something, have you?” Gabriel smiled, his heart rising. More than isolation. He could probably take away this shop, for a start, give it to a more trustworthy angel.

“Nnnnno.” Aziraphale gave that particular smile, the one that meant she thought she was about to get away with something. The one she thought Gabriel didn’t know about. “But, ahhh, if you could, um, quite a lot happened in the world in the…the last ten years or so.”

Something crashed on the other side of the building. No, he’d have the place demolished. It was falling apart already. Aziraphale could watch. Maybe he could order her to help. An eminently suitable punishment for wasting his time. “As I understand it,” he said, taking a step forward, “the last decade saw…war, riots, assassinations…”

“Well, well, yes, I…but, if you look at progress with, um, civil rights, ahh…anticolonialism…”

More made-up human terms. Gabriel and Michael shared a pained glance. “Look. Aziraphale.” Gabriel pressed his hands together. “It’s not that we don’t appreciate you taking the initiative, but…what does any of this have to do with your orders?”

“Or, for that matter, with your visit to Heaven?” Michael moved her fingers across the table again, coming to rest on one of those stupid little figurines Aziraphale had accumulated. Like a packrat. A human depiction of an angel, as some kind of soft, happy baby with wings. Not a warrior at all. Michael’s finger tapped against it. “What were you trying to prevent?”

“Did it have something to do with…Holy Water?” Sandalphon suddenly asked.

“That’s right,” Gabriel said. Something clicking in his mind. “There was that storage jar that went missing.” Did Aziraphale look more guilty than usual? “What year was that?”

“1967,” Uriel said.

He couldn’t hold back the smile. If he could prove Aziraphale had taken Holy Water for some sort of personal use, well.

He’d pretty much be justified whatever he decided to do.

“I – I – I can explain.” The Principality tried to back away, but was stopped by her own desk. “There – there was this demon, an – an especially, ah, wily, cunning, um, crafty demon—”

“Was there?” Michael’s finger twitched, sending the false angel off the table. It fell—

Then hovered, halfway to the floor.

Slowly, it lifted, rightening itself in the air before them. There was no trace of a miracle, no power of any kind. It simply…floated. Drifting through the air to land on the desk beside Aziraphale.

“Clever,” said Gabriel, watching the Principality’s face for any sign of deception. “How did you do that?”

“I…”

The pages of a book, laid out on the stand behind her, began to turn, flipping faster and faster, slamming shut.

“This…isn’t me.” Aziraphale said.

Behind her, books began to float off their shelves. One rocketed across the room towards Gabriel. He dodged it easily, but it was followed by another, and another. The lights flickered overhead.

“If it isn’t you,” Gabriel began, but a small table by the door to the next room began to rattle. Atop it lay a black-and-white board covered with formless carvings, which lifted into the air, then exploded, pieces flying at the Archangels. Gabriel easily batted them aside, but now one of the armchairs began to shift.

Without a word, the four prepared for battle, Gabriel stepping back, Michael and Sandalphon moving to the front. At least, that was the plan – the moment he tried to move, Gabriel fell, his feet somehow tightly bound together. The same happened to Sandalphon and Uriel, and even Michael stumbled, knocking over a table in her haste to stay upright.

Glass rattled in the back of the shop.

“It’s…” Aziraphale cleared her throat. “It’s that same demon again! I thought I’d banished her!”

“What?” Banishing wasn’t exactly something angels did.

“The – the Holy Water!” A bottle of something hovered out from the back room, moving slowly but threateningly. “Did you bring any? It’s the only thing that can stop her.”

“What are you talking about?” Michael’s sword manifested in her hand. “What demon?”

“Crowley! She – she seems to have grown even more powerful!”

“Crowley?” Not that worthless snake again. How many times had he been assured – through Michael’s secret back-channel sources – that Crowley was the most useless, incompetent, lazy demon in Hell? And yet somehow, not a single angel had ever successfully dealt with her – except Aziraphale.

“I thought I smelled a demon,” Sandalphon said, pulling his shoes off and tossing them aside. “But I can’t sense demonic power.”

“Obviously not!” Aziraphale’s wings burst from her back, and she held out a hand towards the hovering bottle. It slowly lowered itself to the ground. “Why do you think she’s so difficult to defeat? The power she uses – it’s not of Heaven or Hell! I – I can barely counter it!”

“Let me, then,” Michael said, predatory gleam in her eyes. Like Sandalphon, she’d removed her shoes; Gabriel was working on his own, but somehow the laces had become wound together like snakes, something sticky sealing the knot shut.

Sandalphon and Michael stepped forward, swords at the ready. “No!” Aziraphale turned to block them, and immediately the rattling started up again – this time from the metal stairs to the upper floor. “You – you don’t understand! Wh – when she gets like this – the fires would only make her stronger.”

Something – horrible, screeching noises – began emanating from the back room, like some animal being torn apart.

“That’s – that’s why I need the Holy Water! In the proper ritual, it – it – it’s too complicated to explain!”

A cupboard burst open, revealing a display of holy items – consecrated Bibles, holy symbols, sticks of incense and jars of oil. “No!” Aziraphale shouted, genuine panic in her voice.

The largest, heaviest of the Bibles lifted and shot across the room. It didn’t reach the Archangels, but Gabriel could see smoke rising from its cover.

Next came a crucifix, spinning end over end, which Michael caught out of the air. The wood was burned all along one side.

“Don’t you see?” Aziraphale said, eyes round. “Nothing I have in there can stop her! What could a flaming sword even do? I need more Holy Water.” A jar of oil fell to the ground and immediately began to boil, bubbling and steaming. “I’ll try to hold her back as long as I can.” Aziraphale’s face furrowed in concentration as she walked across the shop. “Please, it – it’s far too dangerous for you here…”

“Right.” Gabriel glanced at the other Archangels. Something wasn’t right. But they couldn’t risk themselves against an unknown force. “We’ll…we’ll get some Holy Water. You do what you can.”

With a thought, the ascended to Heaven.

Gabriel quickly stood up, brushing down his clothing and trying to school his expression. “Well. I think the best course of action is to wait a day or two, then go see what the damage is.”

“And Aziraphale’s review?” Uriel asked, face somehow still calm, despite everything that had happened.

“I just hope we don’t have to give her a damn commendation again.”

The Arch-Wankers vanished in a shimmer of blue light.

“Ow, ow, fuck that hurts!” Crowley gasped, stumbling away from the spilled oil and shaking her hands. “What kind of stuff do you keep in there?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale started to rush forward, then froze. “Where are you? Can’t you – reveal yourself, or whatever?”

“Nnnnnnnnope. Rrrrrgh, how does this hurt more than walking in a church?”

“I…I’m sorry, my dear girl,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve been worried lately that if – if your side realized what was happening…I thought it best to have a little insurance of my own.”

“Well it works.” Crowley managed to reach one of the shop chairs and sank into it. “Over here…no, here! Where’s…” She nudged the rug with her least-burnt toe, folding a bit of it up. Aziraphale immediately ran over.

“That was – well, that was clever, Crowley, but highly unnecessary. I – I was only having my performance review. I thought I was doing quite well.” Her soft hands found one of Crowley’s and picked it up, fingers tracing across the palm.

“I…” Crowley had seen the way Gabriel’s eyes lit up at the mention of Holy Water, while she was on the ground gluing his shoelaces together, and she counted it among the most terrifying things she’d ever seen. “I’m sure you were, but vanquishing some super-powerful demon? Saving the Archangels? Well, that’s only going to help, right?”

“Hmmm.” Another brush of her fingers, and the sting started to go out of Crowley’s palms. “And, I’m sure, spark a few rumors that might help you?”

“Oh.” Crowley grimaced, looking out the windows. “Unless those rumors spread really fast, I doubt I’m going to get much benefit.”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale sank to the ground, patting around until she found one of Crowley’s feet. She gently lifted it, stroking from ankle to toe and giving it the same healing treatment. “And why are you like this?”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

“Crowley.”

“Right. Um. I…may have…borrowed a few of your books and…designed a curse to get out of my quarter-century budget review. But in my defense – it’s so boring.”

Aziraphale sighed – or possibly blew a healing breath across Crowley’s feet. No, probably the sigh, but at least they felt a bit better. “My dear, it’s only a meeting. There’s no need for these – these histrionics.”

“Histri—Angel, that is – I am not – can you grab a dictionary? I need to know how upset I should be.”

“Extremely.”

“Right. I am. And…I thought it would only last a few hours. Have a bit of fun. But…I need my miracles for, you know, ambient healing, and…look, they cut off our miracles during the review, and only give them back once you’ve wowed them with your project idea.”

“And you don’t have one, do you?”

“Not…as such.” Crowley hung her head. “I…I thought I could get an extension. Just long enough to think of something.”

“So you cursed yourself.” That pained look, the I-hate-to-tell-you-how-much-you-failed-but-also-I-love-it look. Only slightly ruined by the fact that it was aimed somewhere over the demon’s left shoulder. “Crowley, did it never occur to you that in the time it took you create such a thing, you could just as easily have come up with a project?”

“Nh.”

“And did you come up with your brilliant idea during your delay?”

“Nnnh.”

“Well. At least you’re sorry now, I assume?”

“Nope.” If she hadn’t skipped out, Crowley wouldn’t have been here to help Aziraphale. She’d saved her friend countless times over six thousand years, but sometimes…she was quite happy the angel didn’t notice. “No, demons don’t get sorry. We get…” she grunted. “We get annoyed at ourselves for…ngk…for hanginupndagonnpissinheroff.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“For hanging up on Dagon and pissing her off.” Crowley rubbed her face. “Unless I can think of the greatest project any demon ever came up with…” Her stomach dropped as the reality of it hit. A thousand years in filing meant a thousand years without Aziraphale’s bastard looks and gentle touches. “I’m…probably going to be gone for a while.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale stroked her fingers across Crowley’s foot one more time. “No, that won’t do at all.” She looked up with that icy, determined look. The let-me-speak-to-your-manager expression that made Crowley go completely light-headed. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to do something about all this.”

“Like what?”

“How are your feet?”

“F—hmm? Oh, fine.” They were – Aziraphale seemed to have removed all the pain. Or at least, she’d removed some of the pain, and the fluttery feeling in Crowley’s chest allowed her to ignore the rest. “So. Um. What did you have in mind? Oh!” A grin stretched across her face. “Dagon and Beelzebub already think you cursed me. Maybe we can stage a second fight where they see it. I’ll definitely get an extension that way.”

“Or.” Aziraphale found Crowley’s hands again and laced their fingers together, pulling her to her feet. “We can go for a drive in that beastly car of yours and actually come up with a proper idea. Something convoluted, demonic, and with that…Crowley style.”

“I have a style now?”

“Hmmm. Yes. Not as refined as mine, but I think we can make it work.” Her right hand squeezed Crowley’s, and her left slid up the demon’s arm to her shoulder. “You know, I had a little over a century apart from you. And I have absolutely no desire to repeat that. In fact I…I rather think I prefer your company to, well. Anyone’s.”

“Nnnnh.” Crowley shuffled her feet and clutched Aziraphale’s hand back, guiding the angel to stand just a little closer. Needing to say something. Afraid to say too much. “Ssssss. Mmmm. Yeah. I, uh. I like it better up here, too. Y’know. Where you are.”

“Yes, I know.” Aziraphale’s left hand slid further up, coming to rest on the back of her neck. “I can see right through you. My dear Crowley.” With the lightest pressure, she tipped the demon’s head down.

And kissed her, soft lips covering Crowley’s shocked mouth.

“Oh…” Aziraphale gasped, pulling back slightly, hardly at all. “I, ah…I meant to…” Her breath still tickled Crowley’s lips. “I…forehead…”

“Nrrh.” Crowley’s free hand drifted forward, finding Aziraphale’s hip, resting on it, barely a touch. It was all she dared. “Ah…?”

Neither of them moved. Or both did. Or they stood still and the world around them shifted. Whichever way it was, their lips touched again, and held this time. Slowly, they drifted closer, caught in each other’s gravity, a decaying orbit. Crowley would surely burn up on approach, but it was worth every moment.

Eventually they parted, once more just enough to breathe, to speak, to remember that they were two beings and not a single, burning soul.

“Not…” Crowley swallowed. “Not too fast?”

“I…” Aziraphale bit her lip. “I don’t know. But…Crowley…I know…where I want to go. Eventually.”

Their foreheads pressed together. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Aziraphale nodded, dropping left hand falling away, right thumb rubbing the back of Crowley’s hand. Her eyes fluttered open and she gasped. “Oh, my word!”

“What?” Crowley glanced at herself, black cloth trousers flared wide at the legs, tight red sleeveless shirt cut scandalously low in the front and back, boots with heels that made her even taller than usual—

She was visible again.

“I…I suppose I was still healing you when we…oh…oh, Crowley…what are you wearing?”

“Angel, it’s – I look fashionable, you look – have you changed anything in the last century?”

“I…a few things! Were you honestly planning to give a presentation like that?”

“I was going to be invisible, yeah!”

“You…are…” Aziraphale pressed her eyes shut. “I am going to get my jacket. And then I’m going to get you a jacket, because it’s cold at night, and you are cold-blooded.”

“M’not,” Crowley muttered.

“And then we will go for our ride and determine what evil, dastardly plan I will spend the next twenty-five years thwarting. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” After a moment, Crowley said, “Ah, Aziraphale?”

“What is it now?”

“At some point, are you going to let go of my hand?”

Aziraphale glanced down. “Oh. Hmm. I suppose we’ll find out.”

(Fifty Years Later)

Crowley sat beneath the apple tree, her hand clutched tightly in Aziraphale’s, leaning back against her angel’s chest. “And that,” she concluded, “is why we call the 26th of April Lesbian Visibility Day.”

The Them stared at the two supernatural beings, mouths slightly open.

“You…” Pepper started, “are full of so much shit.”

“Oi!”

“Actually,” Wensley said, “that’s…one of the worst stories I’ve ever heard. How are you supposed to budget miracles?”

“If they could cut you off that easy,” Brian jumped in, “why didn’t they do it when you left Hell?”

“Oh, ummm,” she glanced up at Aziraphale.

“Tactics,” the angel said enigmatically.

Pepper didn’t even seem to be listening. “How did you know what all those people were thinking?”

“That’s right,” Wensley nodded. “Particularly Gabriel.”

“He…he has a very expressive face,” Crowley argued.

“How’d you actually move around like that, without anyone hearing you? The whole day?”

“Shouldn’t you’ve been, you know, way more worried about getting killed?”

“At least one of those bookshop attacks wasn’t even possible, unless you were in two places at once.”

“And how d’you accidentally leave your healing on?”

“How could you possibly mistake her lips for her forehead?”

“This was rubbish.”

“What do you think, Adam?”

The former Antichrist looked up from where he was playing with Dog. “I think…” He gave the angel and demon a penetrating look, then shook his head, smiling as if he’d just seen the joke at the center of the universe, and it had turned out to be a truly terrible pun. “I think you should just tell us the next story.”

“Which one’s that?” Crowley asked, settling back into the curve of her angel’s arm, fingers still twined together.

“The one with the greatest project any demon ever came up with.”

“Oh.” Grinning, Crowley tipped her head to meet Aziraphale’s shining eyes. “Wahoo.”

The song is "Break on Through (To the Other Side)" by the Doors, because Queen had not yet put out their first album, though there was a lot of pressure in the Discord to have Crowley dancing to Abba instead.

Final scene set next year because we'll all be sitting together under apple trees with our loved ones and telling BS stories to kids before we know it.

For everyone who contributed non-anonymous suggestions:

@amidst-innumerable-stars @tangle5ancer @fenrislorsrai @feuerkindjana @bowser14456 @taksez @yeahhiyellow @infinitevariety @gargelyfloof118 @lourek @soft-forest-rain @undertaker991 @jules-al-c @lov-lyness2 @thisleadstohollyhocks @marianrios33 @aux-barricades @lostmemimi @joybones @derederest @myusernameispie @mothmans-favorite-lamp and @n0nb1narydemon (yes I did find a way to level up the coin gluing!) and of course @5ftjewishcactus who encouraged me when you really shouldn't. Sorry I couldn't fit in everyone's suggestions!

112 notes · View notes

pluto-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Drunken Confessions| Haru Kato

A/n: I needed a drunk, blushing Haru in my life, say thank you to episode four everyone. Also, I just realized my birthday lands on the same day ep 5 comes out (〃^∇^)ﾉ very happy about that. (I know I said requests are closed but;;; if any Haru fans wanna... you can.) Not proof read, I’m tired and just wanted this done.

Words: 3k

It has officially been two years since you’ve joined the Modern Crime division, and to celebrate your accomplishment, your colleagues decided to have a small gathering for you.

Everyone was congratulating you, and praising you for your service and dedication for the past couple years. It warmed your heart knowing how much everybody cared about you. Mahoro even brought you some of your favorites candies as well, and it definitely made your night so much better.

It all ended too soon for your liking, but it was getting late and everyone still had to go to work early the next morning. The only person who hasn’t left yet was Kato Haru, a fellow co-worker of yours who started working in the same division not that long before you. You guys had that in common, and naturally drifted towards each other.

Now that you think about it, you hadn’t seen much of him tonight. You didn’t realize that earlier since you were too busy being surrounded by people.

“You’re not leaving, (L/n)-san?”

“No,” you answered, walking around the room collecting the leftover trash left laying about, “I’m gonna hang back and clean up. It’s the least I can do since everyone was kind enough to host a party for me.”

“Then I’ll help you too,” you heard the sound of wood clattering. You looked over to where you heard it and saw Kato grabbing a broom and dust pan.

Dumping the empty cans and used napkins into the garbage, you went over to him and attempted to take the supplies from him, “It’s fine, Kato-san. Really. I can do this myself.”

“It’s no problem,” he shook his head at you. “Plus, I can’t ignore someone in need of help!” He flashed you a pure smile as he continued to sweep the floor. You can’t believe how generous he was sometimes.

He always made a point of helping others, even when it wasn’t necessary, or didn’t benefit him in any way. Maybe that’s why you fell for him so hard.

Taking a deep breath to calm your beating heart, you responded with a simple, “Thank you.” And continued with your cleaning. You tried your best to not invade his personal space, being alone with him and doing something so domestic as cleaning reminded you of things old married couples would do together.

After a couple minutes, the room was back in its original state. You had to admit, if Kato didn’t help you, it would've taken you longer to finish.

“You did a good job cleaning,” you commented. He was both fast and efficient, it wasn’t a half assed job.

His face grew red from the compliment, “It’s nothing. Just something I learned since I live alone,” he rubbed the nape of his neck nervously.

“I see…” The atmosphere grew slightly awkward since you couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Well, I’ll be going now, Kato-san. Thank you for all your hard work.”

“Actually…” He called out right before you left, “I was wondering if you’d want to come to my place.” You stared back at him, confused as to why he would suddenly invite you to his apartment. Unless he meant- “N-not in tha-that way, o-of course! It’s just that…” He cleared his throat before speaking again. “I have a bottle of soju for you and I left it home.”

“Is that all? Then you can just give it to me tomorrow, there’s no need to trouble yourself.”

“It won’t be any trouble at all. Besides, it’s for you to celebrate this occasion. Wouldn’t be much of a gift if I don’t give it to you the day of.”

Knowing how stubborn he was, and how he won’t let this go, you agreed with him and followed him back home. The walk there was peaceful, and conversation seemed to flow more easily now that you were out of work.

There were a few times where you caught yourself walking too close to him that you felt his hands graze past yours, you had the urge to hold his hand and keep walking like nothing happened. But you refrained yourself from doing so, he was a co-worker, and it would be unprofessional to do so.

The two of you finally made it to his apartment, you trailed behind him as you walked up the stairs. It was a normal apartment complex, rightfully sized for someone who lived alone.

Once you reached the door, Kato unlocked it and stepped inside. “You can wait here, it’s too cold to wait outside.” He started to take off his shoes, and placed them on the floor, then ventured further into his apartment.

You listened and waited for him at the entrance hall. This was your first time at his place despite knowing him for two years, it had just never come up. You took everything in, it was a tad messy but you knew that just meant it was well lived in.

Looking around more you saw some magazines laying on the table, and all his pots and pans hanging on the kitchen wall. ‘That’s right… he can cook too. I wonder if I’ll be able to try it one day.’

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” his voice broke you out from your thoughts. “Here you go.” He handed the bottle of soju in a bag over to you with a smile. You smiled back at him.

“Thank you, Kato-san.” You peered into the bag, and saw how much he had actually given you. The bottle was huge! You thought it would be those 12-ounce bottles.

Your shock must have been visible since he asked you, “Do you not like the flavor I picked out?”

“No, no. That’s not it all. It’s just a lot of alcohol. Especially considering that I don’t think I’ll be able to drink all of this by myself.”

“Let’s open the bottle now then! It’ll be a lot less lonely if we drink it together. And I can see your reaction when you try it too!” He got himself excited thinking about it. “You can leave your shoes here, and wait for me at the table. I’ll bring some shot glasses and something to snack on as well.” He walked off towards his kitchen.

You checked the time on your phone, ‘Just one drink won’t hurt, would it?’ You thought as you bent down to take off your shoes, and left them neatly against the wall.

You walked to the table and sat down on the floor. Curious, you opened the bottle and took a whiff. It didn’t smell strongly of alcohol, it smelled more like something fruity. But you knew that was deceiving and wouldn’t want to drink too much of it.

Turning the bottle around, it revealed the sticker on the front that showed a picture of a strawberry. “So it’s strawberry flavored… hm…”

“Yeah,” Kato came back, placing a plate filled with snacks on the table, then put a shot glass in front of you and one in front of him. “Have you tried it before?”

“No. I don’t drink that much, so this will be my first time drinking soju too.” You gave the bottle to Kato, and allowed him to pour some into your cup. Once it was filled, you took the cup and waited for him to fill his own.

“Then I’m honored to share your first drink of soju. This stuff is really good.” After his cup was filled, he lifted the glass towards you, “For two years!”

“For two years!” You cheered after him and clicked your glasses together. You drank the liquid, and felt it run down your throat. It didn’t give you a burning sensation as other drinks do, and tasted pleasant. You could totally see yourself drinking more, but you knew that if you did you’d regret it the next day. “This tastes really good!”

“Right!?” He began to pour himself a second cup, “I usually don’t get this one for myself, but I figured you’d like it.” You were still on your first cup, you wanted to take it slow and savor it. You could always drink more another day. You could feel yourself start to loosen up with the alcohol in your system.

You continued talking with Kato, and saw him slowly start to lose his filter. You were right to not drink too much, he seemed like the type to handle his alcohol, but his face got flushed with each couple sips and his words began to slur together.

It was cute seeing his composer dissolve, since he’s always professional at work and took his job seriously. Getting to see this side of him was worth

“Ugh.. And don’t get me started on Kambe… He’s insufferable.” He mumbled into his glass as he drank more, “Thinks money is the answer to everything.” You guys somehow got onto the topic of your colleagues, giving your opinions on them and retelling stories about them that made both of you laugh.

Before he could rant more about Kambe, you interrupted him. “Can I ask you something, Kato-san?”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ve been thinking, we’ve worked together for a while. And we’re somewhat close, right?” He nodded along to what you were saying. “Can I call you by your first name?” He froze as you said that, and covered his face with his hand.

“Ah! Uhm…” His face grew hotter.

“I understand if that’s too much! It’s just that, the Chief calls you by your given name. You can call me by my first name too!”

He averted his eyes, “D-don’t… Don’t tease me like that…”

“What do you mean?”

“When you say stuff like that... It gives me hope.” He laid his head on the table, his cheek resting against the cool wood. “It makes me think that I’m not reading anything wrong… That you might like me back…”

“You like me!?” You asked, shocked. “I’m sure there are other people who are much better than me.”

“Tha-that’s not true! Not one… one bit! You are an amazing person!” He sat up in his seat, and used his hands to prop himself on the table. “You make me want to improve myself.. And do right by you…”

He leaned over the table, his face closing in on yours, close enough that you can smell the faint scent of alcohol from his breath. “There are too many reasons to list…” With him directly in front of you, you could see how clouded he eyes looked from the liquor.

He brought his face in front of yours, and closed the remaining distance between your lips. His lips locked onto yours, and he pressed deeper into the kiss. Stunned by the abrupt kiss, your mind didn’t register what was happening until a couple seconds later.

“Wa-wait!” You shoved him off of you. He whined at the loss of contact, and breathed heavily as he regained his breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this! You’re drunk right now! I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

“Ah…” He touched his lips, “Your lips felt so soft…” The blush on his face intensified. Deciding that enough was enough, and that you wanted to stop anything further from happening, you stood up and went to his side.

“Haru.” You said sternly, your eyes strict, clearly showing you meant business.

“Y-yes!?”

“I think it’s time you went to bed.”

“Bed!?” His eyes widened. “(L/n)-san! Don’t you think this is going too fast!?”

“Not us. Just you. You’ll thank me later when you’re more sober.” You picked him up from under his arm and guided him to his bed, and gently laid him there. “Go to sleep.”

“Huh? But I’m … I’m not tired…” Knowing that was bullshit with the amount he drank, you humored him until he eventually fell into a drunken stupor.

You pulled out your phone and looked at the time, “It’s way too late to leave now…” You said to yourself. “I guess I can fix things up around here.” You checked on Kato again to make sure he was sleeping before you cleaned up the table and carefully stashed the strawberry soju, just in case he woke up in the middle of the night and wanted to drink more.

Once you finished clearing the table, you headed towards the kitchen. “Pardon the intrusion.” You looked in the cabinets to find a cup and to hopefully find a cloth of some sorts. After you found a cup, you filled it up with water and placed it on the table next to his bed.

“I still need to find something to put on his head…” You whispered to yourself, “The bathroom maybe? And I could probably find some painkillers as well.”

You opened the door to his bathroom, then opened the mirror cabinet that was above the sink. You ended up finding a bottle of Advils. ‘Jackpot.’ Twisting the cap open with a satisfying pop, you took out two gel pills. As you were putting everything back in its place, you caught sight of a hand towel laying on top of the rim of the bathtub.

You grabbed the towel too, so that you can use it to cool him down. Now back at his side again, you placed the two pills next to the glass of water, so when he woke up he’ll see it and take them.

With a sigh, you walked back into the kitchen and ran the hand towel under cold water. You yawned as you made it back to Kato, and gently sat the cool towel on his forehead. He was still knocked out, and lightly snored with every exhale.

Tired from everything that had happened today, you became drowsy, and watched as his chest rises and falls as he breathes. You eventually fell asleep, your head resting on his mattress.

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

Sunlight shined past the curtains and hit Kato directly in the face, “Ugh..” He groaned as he sat up. “My head is killing me…” He rubbed his face, trying to collect his thoughts from last night. His eyes then landed on you, your body was splayed across the floor next to his bed. “(L/n)-san...?”

He got out of his bed too fast, causing his blood to rush to his head and face plant onto the floor next to you. The thud of his body woke you up from your slumber. “Mmh…? You up yet, Kato-san?”

“You can say that…” He sat up straight on the floor, “My head hurts even more now…”

“Oh,” you peeled yourself off the floor and picked up the water and pills, “here.”

“Thank you,” he quickly popped the pills into his mouth and drank the water.

“You probably won’t feel better for another hour or so... “

“It’s fine…”

You shuffled in your spot, feeling awkward by what had taken place the night before. “Uhm… Kato-san, can I borrow your kitchen? I can make you something to help with your hangover.”

“Hangover…? That’s right, we drank together didn’t we?”

“Mhm,” you agreed. “You more so than me though.” You stood up and walked over to the kitchen, opening the fridge to see what you could make.

“What do you mean?”

Choosing to at least spare him of the embarrassment, you left some of the truth out. “You got really drunk, and started ranting about our co-workers.”

“I- I didn’t say anything weird, did I?” He asked you worriedly.

You pretended to think about it, “Hm...No. I don’t think so.” You took out a few ingredients before you spoke again. “You can go take a bath while I cook. You wouldn’t want to show up to work smelling like alcohol.”

“Right… I’ll go wash up.”

He left his spot and headed towards the bathroom. After he left, you let out a deep breath. “Ahhh!” You covered your face with your hands, “How am I supposed to face Kato-san now!?” You graced your bottom lip with your finger, “His lips… were soft too… But I can’t tell him about that! I’d die due to humiliation!”

While you were contemplating on what to do, you failed to notice the footsteps closing in on you. “(L/n)-san?”

Startled by his voice, you jumped. “K-kato-san! What are you doing?”

“Oh, I forgot to take my clothes with me,” he gestured by shaking them in his hand, “and I wanted to make sure you were able to find what you needed.”

“Yeah, I found what I needed. Thank you for checking in on me.” He went back into the bathroom, and you heard the sound of the water running follow after. “I can’t make it obvious, or he’ll catch on. He’s really good at reading people. All I can do now is finish cooking breakfast, head to work, and throw myself into the void, to never be seen again.”

A few minutes later, Kato came out of the bath with a towel around his neck, his hair was still dripping. “You were right, (L/n)-san. I did thank you later.”

You glanced over to him, “See, I told you so.” You arranged the food neatly on the plate and placed it on the table.

He put his hands together, “Thanks for the food!”

You repeated after him, “Thanks for the food.”

Kato took a few bites of the food and smiled at the taste, “This is really good! You really are an amazing person.” You dropped your food as he said that. ‘Shit, he knew. He had to have known.’

“Umm… Kato-san… I-”

“I hope you know I really meant it, even if I was drunk. And what happened about calling me Haru,” he smirked at you, “(Y/n).”

“H-haru…” You tested his name out, still nervous about everything that’s happening. “I think you’re an amazing person too…”

“Glad we’re on the same page now. Let’s finish the food before it gets too cold, I wouldn’t want to put your cooking to waste.”

#fugou keiji balance: unlimited #Haru Kato #kato haru #fugou keiji balance: unlimited x reader #haru kato x reader #haru katou x reader #haru katou #fugou keiji x reader #plutowrites #the things I do for you haru :/#alternate caption was gonna be; no thoughts head empty only haru kato #rip to my 2 request I'm sorry but it's haru....#kato haru x reader #katou haru x reader #sidenote: i dont like fish and i dont think i ever will but #if he made me his kato family special with the tuna and bonita flakes i will greatfully eat that #thanks for coming to my tedtalk

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merigreenleaf · 4 years ago

Photo

Unexpected Inspiration Series: Concordia’s Art Magic

Blythe could only assume that if Adair was holding a paintbrush, the jar in his other hand must contain paint or ink. Then again, it was Adair. It could just as likely be grape jam. And to think, she'd finally got herself unsticky from Sol's glue fiasco this morning. With some trepidation, she held out her hand. Adair dipped the tip of his brush into the jar, then drew a quick blue swirl on her palm. At least that solved the mystery. It was, in fact, paint. "I wouldn't call a paint smudge much of a glow." "Give me a minute." This time Adair didn't return the brush to the jar and instead held the tip of the bristles just far enough away that they tickled Blythe's skin. She fought back the reflex to close her hand so she wouldn't disturb whatever it was he was trying. When nothing happened for a long while besides Adair gazing intently at her hand, Blythe mouthed to Etri, "What's he doing?" Etri tapped his finger against her wrist, calling her attention back down. She had expected nothing to change and hissed a sharp intake of breath when it had. The swirl was still there, but now there was an aura of purple about an inch away from her skin. When she moved her hand, the strange glow stayed with it. Etri leaned closer for a better look. She pried her eyes away in time to catch Adair looking pleased with himself in an embarrassed sort of way. "So all Weavers' hands look like this?" "Yeah, but not just our hands. Picture that covering your entire body and you get a better idea of how we glow." Blythe made a face and wiped her hand clean on the paint-stained cloth he handed her. "Blech. I'll pass." -Excerpt from an early draft of Colorweaver (Book 1)

Concordia as a whole is filled with artists, craftspeople, inventors, and creative hobbyists. The culture has art at its center and almost everyone joins in, even if it's just a way to pass the time rather than as a vocation. It's a drive passed down from generation to generation and the reason for this is that art magic runs deep in the blood of Concordians. History and myth have blended together into stories telling of how the first Concordians-- several struggling, displaced groups of people who joined together to survive-- asked for help in driving away a threat and to help keep their small population safe. Legends say that the constellations came down from the sky to teach magic to the people. Centuries later, these magics have become the nine types of art magic in Concordia.

(Info about the art magic below!)

Here are the types of magic. These are represented in the moodboard from left to right, top to bottom.

Wordweaving (Glow color: red) These Weavers work their magic into words, both spoken and written. These are the poets, the storytellers, the actors, the writers. They're the ones who can affect emotion or, in the case of my morally ambiguous main character, influence someone's thoughts for a short time. This is probably the most dangerous or easily corrupted of magics, but considering the tests that go into becoming a master artist and the checks in place after someone does, this hasn't been a huge problem. (Dray has just made it a problem by avoiding any real training, which is also not a usual thing-- nothing Dray has done with their magic is correct, if you get down to it, and it means that they are going to have Consequences sooner than later. But I digress.) Another example of how this magic can be used is in the scrolling marquee in front of the theater the characters visit in book 1.

Colorweaving (Color: purple) These are the artists whose tools are ink, paint, pencil, charcoal, etc. They're essentially illusionists with the ability to make what they draw/paint move around on whatever they're using as a canvas. Adair has this magic and while he'll sometimes use this to make animated paintings, his career as a cartographer has him creating interactive maps. As the series progresses, he figures out that if he paints on himself or someone else, he can change their appearance. He may even work out something that Colorweavers have forgotten they once knew how to do: by drawing on the air, it's possible to create a believable 3D illusion.

Timberweaving (Color: dark green) Woodworkers and carpenters, obviously, but their magic does more than just allow them to make sturdy creations from wood. Not that this is anything to scoff at-- this is why the oldest Artisans' houses haven't fallen over despite being built on stilts and almost every generation adding a new room or even a new floor. This magic can also make wood as buoyant on air as it would be on water and is a frequent way transportation is built. Not all vehicles hover a few inches off the ground, but this does include the "float-wagons" my main characters call home. Those are something of a cross between a motorhome and a house and can be driven (albeit slowly) around.

Terraweaving (Color: orange) These are the Weavers who work with stone and clay, sculpture and pottery. Way back in Concordia's history there was a Terraweaver who used to sculpt trainable dog-sized animals to give companionship and help to those who needed it. Not just by way of a service dog-- one of the things she made for a gardener friend was a pet that doubled as a planter. The more traditional ways of working this magic are the ability to work stone as though it were soft clay and putting their magic into buildings to make them more steady and solid, much like the Timberweavers, or to make them resist fires.

Oreweaving (Color: red-violet) These Weavers frequently have chemical or heat magic and often use this to etch, shape, and manipulate metals. They're the jewelers, the smiths, and are probably the most "inventor" group of the bunch. Sol tends to use his light/heat magic in a similar way to how the arcane metalworkers would (softening and shaping metal in his hands), so there's some overlap here in terms of heat with the glassworkers. The reason for this is Oreweaving was originally a kind of lightning magic. You'll still find it used as a kind of "battery" when an Oreweaver works with a different type of Weaver on a project. This could be to extend the life of the magic in something else, because eventually all magic inside a creation will run out and need to be recharged, or it'll be a backup battery. Concordia relies on wind, water, and solar power, so magic is only ever a backup or a way to store power they already have.

Savorweaving (Color: pale green) The Weavers who work with food and drink. What they cook doesn't burn, produce stays fresh longer, herbs don't lose potency or flavor after they're dried, food keeps longer or can be made to be more filling. They're the reason Concordia has the equivalent of refrigerators. These artists can also influence the taste and strength of flavor, and I bet they can look at a person and guess what their favorite foods might be.

Glassweaving (Color: gold) This magic involves heat and/or light. These artists are the reason why Silveridge has so much stained glass! As well as using this to make super-strong glass, some Glassweavers use this magic directly by putting it inside glass globes to be used as lamps. Portable heating, like something to keep in your pockets to keep your hands warm? Probably also had a Glassweaver involved. Concordia's mail system is via pneumatic tubes that run about twelve feet off the ground, and while a few different kinds of art go into creating these, the tubes themselves are made of magically-influenced glass.

Songweaving (Color: blue) This magic involves sound and voice, although in terms of pitch and changing how you sound, not the verbal influence of the Wordweavers. I have a character in later books with this magic who can make her voice sound like anything, as well as throwing it so that the sound appears to be coming from somewhere else. This is also the reason that Concordians are able to record sound and music, as well as amplify it or play it at another location simultaneously.

Threadweaving (Color: blue-green) These are the fiber artists, the spinners, weavers (small "w"), knitters, tailors, etc. They can put their magic into clothing and fabric to make it warmer or cooler than it would otherwise be. (This suits Concordians well because current fashion calls for lots of layers of embroidered fabrics and they live in a warm climate.) This can also make clothing protective, usually against things like weather, but it is also how the Protectorates are able to stay safe without needing to wear something heavy that would look like protective gear. Remember the floating homes I mentioned earlier? Some of these are propelled via large fans, sort of like a hovercraft, but some are made with sails on the roofs. Whether it's land or sea, these sails can propel the vehicle forward even if there isn't much wind and can quite likely store some of the wind for later, should it be a still day.

Not everyone in Concordia has magic particularly strongly: some are only good at never burning what they cook, some have simply a pleasant singing voice, some are above average at writing poetry. Sometimes these people will make this part of their careers, sometimes it'll only remain a hobby they enjoy. If the magic is particularly strong, though, it requires additional training and those people are considered Artisans. There isn't a lot of difference between an Artisan and a craftsperson when it comes down to what they create; the only real difference is that an Artisan has magic as an extra tool, so their end results are different. Considering no two artists ever create exactly the same thing anyway, this means that there has never been more importance placed on the Artisans versus craftspeople. Each person will only ever have one type of art magic; even if they carry several types in their bloodline, one will be dominant and only this one will be usable. Each of the nine types of art magic has its own color that glows in both the artist and the creations they make. Only those with decently strong magic can see this, but it does mean that a lot of people, clothing, objects, and locations in Concordia have almost a stained glass look to them if it's something you can see. Part of the reason buildings in Silveridge are made with white stone is because of these glows. Silveridge is where a large percentage of the Artisans live, so it became a tradition to build and paint in white, then add colorful embellishments. Otherwise think about how badly paint colors might clash with the glows used to create the things in the city! Even if most people aren't really aware of how magic glows, they've embraced this aesthetic. Concordia, and Silveridge in particular, is all about aesthetics.

These are just some examples of what each kind of magic can do. Concordians are always coming up with new ideas-- sometimes those ideas work great, sometimes they fail spectacularly. Either way, the artists and craftspeople are constantly creating. Their art magic allows for greater technology than their world might have had without it. Concordia freely trades their creations, so most of their world has access, as well. At some point I'll talk more about Galanvoth, the country that considers itself Concordia's competition.

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This moodboard is for @homesteadchronicles theme of “craftsmanship” because how could I not talk about Concordia and their art magic when most of my series involves this. :D In the future, I'd love to talk more about the Artisans, the history of Concordia’s magic, and just more world building stuff in general.

Tagging my series list! Let me know if you want on or off the list, it’s all good. And as always, please add me to any writing tag lists you have, whether you’re on my list or not. I love reading about writeblr projects. :)

@homesteadchronicles @ageekyreader @lynnafred @the-gay-hufflepuff @oceanwriter @desperatlytryingtowriteabook @muffindragon227 @theguildedtypewriter @toboldlywrite @wchwriter @dreameronthewind @shadow-maker @pen-for-sword @loopyhoopywrites @emptymanuscript @madmoonink @perringwrites @megan-cutler @elliot-orion @thatwriternamedvolk @indecentpause @writer-on-time @ravenpuffwriter @siarven @musicismymoirail @lady-redshield-writes @bluemartlet @reeseweston @worldbuildingwren @hiddswritingrefs @cay--scribbles @focusdumbass @enasroterfaden @missrobinswritings @joshuaorrizonte @zofiehelen @kainablue @kalis-scribbles @inspirited-goddess

#writing #writeblr #moodboard monday #moodboard #world building #about my world #fantasy series #art aesthetic #worldbuilding #magic #unexpected inspiration series #unexpected inspiration aesthetic

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dnarez · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 4

When the text is like this someone is speaking in English.

......

Waking up to the sun on your back was the best feeling ever.

As you moved on the bed you noticed that your dad had already woken up and probably was on the run of interviews, he said he would be late since the Straw hats will give him a welcome back party, and since it's an "adult party" you shouldn't go.

After changing and going to the kitchen, you saw a note on the fridge, by the super curvy and readable letter it was totally your grandpa.

'Good writing, at least I can read it normally'

Your dad had the typical Doctor's writing, that you learned how to read with time, is like a whole new language.

On the letter your grandpa was telling you to be careful when going out, remembering you that you shouldn't use your quirk unless you felt threatened, some money and a key to the house, he told you to buy something to put on it so that you would know that it was your key.

'So good to be back Grandpa' you smiled and pocket the money and the key.

Taking a traditional American breakfast with homemade pancakes with honey was what you needed for energy.

'Let's go explore!!!'

Taking your cellphone with you, you went outside and took a deep breath.

'Maybe I could find something to do about my future if I walk around'

While walking around you saw that you live next to the train station, a park that has a huge lake, a lot of beautiful houses, and a street with a lot of commerce, a bento box business, small cinema, pharmacy, restaurant that has coffee and curry, but you don't like coffee very much.

There was a bathhouse, even if it was in Tokyo it seems like it had their own world.

You decide to venture farther, still keeping note of the streets names, you lived in New York your entire life, there was no way you didn't knew how to act and the basics of "survival" in a big city.

With a notepad in hand you made your own mini map of the area where you now lived.

After a few hours of drawing the map and walking around you were tired, it was true that Japan had vending machines every place, you wonder how the refill so many of these as you buy some weird flavored Fanta.

"Peach Flavor? How do they do this???" You glare at the can in your hand a little and decides to take a deep breath and drink it. "Oh my god! This shit is good!"

You sat at the bench and drink it happily.

'It's already afternoon! Maybe I should search for a school around here, for what I know it's the place to go to when an earthquake hit us... I hope it doesn't!' You shiver from the thought and goes back to walking after finishing the weird, but tasty peach soda.

As you walk, and ask around, you finally find the school before the sun start to set.

You see the gates open and assume that the students had gone home already, stopping in the middle of the way to add the school and a few more stores that you found while walking, you know that you could just use Google, but you like to hand draw maps, it's very calming.

Someone practically shoves you out the way, making you fall on your ass.

"Watch where you're fucking going!" Looking at the person at fault you see an angry teenage boy, that had an extremely spiky hair, and reminded you very strongly of the old Pomeranian your old classmate had.

"Are you fucking deaf by any chance?? Aren't you going to apologize? Do you even have manners?" The boy clicked his tongue at you, his voice was loud, he reminded you of Zoro and Sanji at the same time, what a weird guy.

Getting up on your own and huffing, you kick his leg. "Asshole! It's your fault too! If you were looking where you're going you wouldn't have bumped on me or is this a pathetic way of you trying to flirt?" You cross your arms and tilted your head to the side.

The angry boy snatched your textbook from your hands and looked through it.

"Hey! Give it back! You shouldn't do this type off stuff you bully!" You try to take it back, but he easily avoids your hands.

"Another damn nerd around here! You gotta be fucking kidding me... HEY!" He saw the note book 'floating' to you.

"Are you some kind of wannabe Villain? If so you are very good at that, I can introduce you to my grandpa if you want it" you say while putting your textbook on your backpack. "He likes rough boys like you"

"WHY THE HELL WOULD I WANT TO MEET YOUR OLD GEEZER??? AND WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN BY 'VILLAIN WANNABE'??? I'M GOING TO BE THE NUMBER ONE HERO YOU HEAR ME?!!!"

"Ouch... my ears... do you have some type of voice quirk? If so you should be careful to not hurt anyone with it" you say not caring about his attitude, your father's friends were like this one day, some even tried to kill you or your dad, so someone shouting at you doesn't really bother you.

"YOU ARE TRYING TO FIGHT ME!?" Some guys come running to him and start to rile him up, at his hand you see small explosions.

"Don't fuck with me, you useless bitch!" They get bigger, and he tries to blow your face up, but with the movement of one finger his arm is raised to the air where his explosion hoes off.

"Okay, fuck you, I'm going to another place that isn't near you" you start to go away, but he grabs your arm.

"WE ARE NOT DONE HERE!" He put his other arm down, "WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR QUIRK?"

You scoff at him, but before you can say anything you hear someone calling your name.

You look at the school entrance and smile wildly at Robin who had some papers in hand and what looked like to be a heavy bag of books.

"Robin-san! Oh! Our would it be Robin-sensei?" You smile at her, the Pomeranian realize your arm from his strong grip, leaving a hand mark.

She chuckles and pat your head "Right now you can just call me Robin, when I'm teaching you anything you call me sensei, okay?" She ignores the boys and put her hand on your back, pushing you to her black car "Let me give you a ride, we can talk on the way to your house"

"Okay! Bye angry guy!" You say as you enthusiastically wave at the said guy "see you around!"

You get inside the car and Robin too, driving you off to your grandpa's house.

On the way she started to talk to you "You are more friendly than I thought you would be"

"There's no time to be shy, I want to make some friends around here, I know that I won't be able to go out that much after the classes start, so I want to have someone from outside to be my friend"

She smiled at you "Do you want help? Me neighbor's son is very sweet, he's also very lonely and doesn't have friends for what I know, I think you two would be friends very quickly"

You nod enthusiastically, "yes please!" Your stomach starts to ramble "oh! I forgot to eat this afternoon!"

"Let's go to the mall then, I pay"

"Woo-hoo! I also need to buy a keychain for my house key, there must be some cute ones at the mall"

...

When you get there you notice the differences between their mall and the US malls, there wasn't many, but you liked this one better.

Robin took you to eat some sushi, you both ate a lot, then she took you to eat ice cream, they looked like bunnies with the mini chocolate bars on top.

You looked around one of the shops for a keychain, until one in specific got your attention.

"So cute!" Robin chuckled at your reaction.

"I think it suits you, and you can give one for your Roci-san and other for Law"

You give her a big smile and run to the cashier to buy it.

You both spend the rest of the day together chatting and having fun.

Robin takes you home when it got dark, you kissed her goodbye and went inside seeing your dad cooking with a frown and your grandpa glaring at his phone.

Looks like something happened...

#trafalgar d. water law #trafalgar law #mha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #mha #bnha x reader #bnha #bnha x y/n #one piece #one piece x reader #boku no hero academia #boku no academia #my hero academia #my hero acadamy #daughter #father

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bubblyani · 5 years ago

Text

Dutiful Wife

(Lucifer Morningstar x Reader)

A Lucifer Morningstar One Shot

Request: Hi! How are you? I was wondering if you could please write an imagine where reader is Lucifer Morningstar’s wife and she walks in on him masturbating and come to help him ;-D Thanks in advance! @kittenlittle24

Rating: Mature (18+)

Authors Note: With time I managed to come up with a story that went well with this request. Hope you all enjoy it!

Friday 7 am.

Morning may have dawned for others, but for Lucifer Morningstar, his day just ended. A satisfactory resolution to an exciting case filled him with much hype, but at the same he needed to unwind. Stepping into his Penthouse, he casually made his way to his bedroom, until a sight made him halt with a huge grin on his face.

“Oh...Hello”

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Baby Blue or Turquoise? With furrowed brows, you were immersed in concentration holding the two dresses. Still in your lace undergarments and stockings, choosing the most suited outfit for work suddenly became the biggest dilemma. For it was an important day and you needed a battle suit.

The vibration of the phone on the dressing table once again reminded you why. Sighing in frustration, you made up your mind. While unbuttoning the baby blue dress, you felt the shoe buckle to be loose. Casually putting the dress over your arm, you bent down to fix it. The moment it felt secure and you got back up, you smiled. You were not alone in the room anymore.

“Good Morning you...”

You greeted Lucifer with adoration, with your buttocks brushing against his clothed crotch as him stood so close to you. You heard him chuckle.

“Heheh...” You heard him chuckle, “It is a good morning indeed”He purred, placing his hands on your waist. With your body in his possession, he savored it in every way, any time. This time his fingers took charge, running them up and down your rib cage to your hips. His touch woke you up more effectively than an ice cold shower. But yet you resisted the desire for a vocal response.

“How did the case go?” You asked, changing the subject. “Ah...Culprit’s caught and locked away, you know the usual blah blah....but I must say...how ravishing my wife looks this morning” Lucifer said, his lips moving towards your ear:

“So ravishing that something needs a good tearing off ..pronto”

When his fingers tickled and pleasured your abdomen, as his lips nibbled your earlobe, a part of you wanted to play along. You knew what your husband was upto. Except the vibration of the phone once again caught your ears, making you groan frustratingly.

“Shit I ...” you began, “I can’t...” you said, throwing your head back.

“What?” Lucifer’s inquiry sounded genuinely upsetting. Sighing, you turned to him. “I’m sorry Luci...” you said, while you got dressed, “It’s stupid work. I need to go soon”

“Well ...this is quite anti-climactic” your husband remarked, as he sat on the edge of the bed. You scoffed. “Oh...don’t I know it” you said, buttoning the dress, “These people at work just won’t leave me alone” grabbing your bag and phone, you looked back at him “I’m sorry. I’ll see you later” Pinching his stubble cheek, you gave him an apologetic look before heading off to the elevator, leaving a silent Lucifer Morningstar to slump on the mattress.

There were many things in life you could not believe. And one of them was how on earth did you end up living in this Penthouse? More importantly, how the hell did you become Lucifer Morningstar’s wife?

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

(1 month ago)

Shaking your head repeatedly, you were at a complete disbelief of your own actions as you felt Lucifer drag you by the hand into the LAPD precinct, which was busy as usual for crime never took a day off.

“Everyone! Hello! ...” Lucifer began clapping his hands, “Ah that’s better...” He said, finally getting everyone’s attention, as they turned their heads to face you both. “We have a huge announcement to make...” he said excitedly.

“Do we have to make this a big deal?” You whispered nervously. Ignoring you, amidst the unimpressed looks of some, he continued:

“It fills me with great pleasure as to say ...” he began, “...that Y/N and I are married!”

You swore you never saw a massive collective of shocked expressions, until that moment. Jaws dropped consecutively like dominos. Eyes widened to great measure.

“What?”

“You serious?”

“Oh my god!”

“Now don’t bring dad in to this” Lucifer said accusingly.

Getting up from her desk, Detective Chloe Decker tried to wrap her head around this piece of information. “How the hell did this happen?”

Sighing, you allowed your husband to summarize as you recollected in the form of a montage reel.

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

Matrimony did not exactly bring the two of you together.

But a case did.

You were fortunate enough to get to know Lucifer when you nervously stepped in to the precinct as an important witness to an ongoing investigation. As the case grew more complicated, your friendship with him blossomed, leading you to offer your assistance with other cases as well.

Nonstop chatter and belly aching laughter were confirmations of how you and him were a force to be reckoned with. Not to mention the amazing chemistry you both seemed to share. People in Your vicinity even began to wonder if any romantic future was possible. Ella Lopez was the biggest enthusiast.

“Just so you know, I ship you both... hard”

She would randomly say, out of the blue on a random case, making you raise your eyebrows.

“Wha-?“ you’d question.

“Really?” Lucifer however would be intrigued, giving you a look of pleasant surprise.

The people were never to blame, for it made sense. But a romantic future? It was never there. At least, none of you discussed it. The mere thought of it was unimaginable, given Lucifer’s Casanovian lifestyle.

One fine day, in the spirit of true partnership, Lucifer volunteered to drive off to Vegas in search of a suspect. Though it was clearly obvious that he was an eager volunteer for the location, not the purpose. With Chloe, Dan and even Ella tied at the precinct, you were more than happy to tag along with your friend.

Thus, amidst the sounds of slot machines, background music and loud chatter, you and Lucifer were on the lookout. But at the same time, you were both knee-deep in a heated discussion regarding the pros and cons of gambling.

“Oh come now...a bit of gambling won’t hurt anyone”

“Hah! You’ll say that now. But what happens when you lose it all to a bet?” You said to him, talking with your hands with a dramatic flavor . In response, Lucifer merely chuckled.

Looking ahead at an elevator, he smiled to himself. “Do you remember the first day we met?”

You looked at him with surprise. “Why all the sudden?”

“Do you?” He repeated. You nodded.

“Yeah of course...” Indeed you did. Getting into the precinct elevator with a handsome stranger, you had no idea it was him.

Lucifer chuckled, as if he just reminisced it with you. “You were so shy, I assumed you to be a victim of catholic school training” he teased.

Scoffing, you opened your mouth in protest. “Well that was only because...ah! never mind” you said, stopping yourself with a smile. “What?” He asked, curiously building up. You suppressed your smile from turning into giggles.

“Well...You were terribly attractive and I...” you admitted it, biting your lip playfully, “Heheheh I guess I didn’t know how to handle it. Oops-“ Moving swiftly, you skillfully avoided the stumble of a slightly drunk young couple holding a bouquet and a bottle of red wine. Flashing their wedding rings, their faces were full of glee.

Unfortunately, Lucifer wasn’t swift enough, as some of the red wine was spilled on his jacket. “Ah bloody hell! That was extremely rude..” he snapped, as the couple went away “....this is Prada by the way”

“Wait!” Putting your hands up dramatically, you were birthed with an idea.

“Sir? ..Hi!” You greeted the bartender nearby, “...do you by chance have any club soda ?”

“Yeah..?”

“And a towel?”

“Yeah...Wha-? Hey Lady!”

To the bartender’s shock, you reached in to grab the soda gun and a towel. Though it was not what he expected, Lucifer watched you with fascination as you began to wipe off the stain from his jacket with focus.

“Club soda. Solves everythin-”

And to your surprise, Lucifer’s hands made themselves home on your waist, only to pull into a kiss.

Eyes widened, you felt embarrassed when they closed involuntarily, kissing him back in kind. Intense yet full of comfort; not bad for your first kiss together. But still, you were amazed. Where the hell did all this come from?

Pulling your lips from his, Lucifer looked at you excitedly. “Let’s get married!”

Your jaw dropped. “WHAT?” You said, surprised by how he sounded firm, sure and happy. “What...what have you been drinking?” You asked, as his hands remained on your waist. “You...” he replied seductively, brushing his nose against yours. And like a side effect from a drug, you knew you were being distracted.

“Omg did I just help you propose?“ the bartender asked with excitement.

“Yes” Lucifer replied happily. Eyes widened, your jaw dropped back down again.

“NO! And...why are you listening?” You asked the bartender angrily.

“Hey lady! You took my towel”

“Fair enough” you sighed.

“So...” Lucifer asked, making you turn back to him, “...what do you say?”

You scoffed, still fazed by all that happened. “Lucifer...Are you insane?” You inquired. “On the contrary....” he began, “ I strongly think we should get married. Besides, you seem to be quite comfortable in my arms at the moment” Feeling more embarrassed than before, you pulled away from his arms.

With a deep breath, your put your hands on your waist. “If you think I’m the type to say yes to a shotgun wedding, then you got another thing coming mister. I’m not that kind of girl...in fact, I’m married-for-life kinda gal” you said, pointing at yourself with exaggeration.

It was true, this was definitely not the way you expected him to propose, let alone profess his love for you. But was it really love for him? You were scared to know. For you certainly stowed your deep, secret love for him inside a thick treasure chest in the deepest corner of your heart. “Besides...what about your life? The bachelor privileges? It’s not gonna be the same” you stressed.

“I am serious Y/N...” Lucifer assured, “You’ll be stuck with me for all eternity. Come on...” he said, getting closer to you, “You do love me don’t you?”

As those words haunted you, a hypnotic feeling overcame you. He was doing that thing he always does. And you knew there was no escape.

“Yes...”

You blurted, before getting back to your senses to see his naughty smirk. “Wait a minute...” you began, “Did you just get me to confess and accept a marriage proposal at the same time?” With his victorious laughter and claps, you knew he did. You sighed.

“Damn you, Morningstar” you muttered with a scowl.

“No damn needed when I already am love”

Truthfully, you do love him and now you’re about to be wed. You should be overjoyed. But it was certainly unexpected.

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

“Come on! Show it”

Ella begged, making you show the golden ring which was paired up with an exquisite engagement ring that adorned your finger.

“Oh my god...look at that!” She exclaimed “it’s so beautiful” amidst Lucifer’s proud look.

“He really went all out huh?” Decker said, standing next to you.

“Yes he did” you replied, eyes still on the rings. You felt her hand rest on your shoulder. “Congratulations Y/N...” she sounded sincere, which made you smile, “Thank you Chloe”

“Still hard to believe though”

“Dan!” Decker and Lucifer snapped at Espinosa, who merely shrugged in response. “I’m just saying ...a guy like Lucifer...I.. I could never imagine settling down” he said. You tried to hide your smile.

“Well Daniel.. a guy like me can be full of surprises” Lucifer replied. You maintained your stance as Ella pulled your arm further towards her to check the rings in detail, with a crowd of police officers surrounding her.

You looked at Lucifer. “Seriously dude...” you whispered once again, “...am I’m your security blanket Or something ? I don’t buy this” you said, only to be kissed by him gently in return. His kisses certainly manage to shush you for a while. “Now my dear wife...off to consummation!” He said, making you blush as he lifted you up bridal style.

“Shhhhh!”

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

(Present) You stepped out of the elevator as the doors opened with a ding!Clenching your fists, you regretted ditching him like that. You regretted not even comforting him with a kiss before leaving . After all, he was your companion for life.

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

A hot shower and a well deserved nap did not stop Lucifer from keeping his mind off you. When night time dawned, He carried out business as usual, he played some tunes on the piano to liven up LUX, yet it all seemed out of focus.

“How could she do that? How..how dare she do that?” Lucifer suddenly muttered to himself , with a tone that was evident with hurt.

“Who?” One of his beautiful customers cried out through the loud music.

Lucifer shook his head, “My wife...” he shouted, “sorry...I was just thinking of my wife” he said. The woman raised her eyebrows, but curled up to him even closer. This was not new: A beautiful woman who clearly seemed to be lusting after him at from the first glance.

“Well...if she’s not treating you right, then maybe you need someone who does” she purred as she ran her manicured fingers along his forearm. Lucifer chuckled, “Heheheh...I appreciate your concern but I know seduction when I see one, and clearly you’re nowhere close to stage 1. Excuse me...”

Amidst her shocked expression , Lucifer slowly got up from the couch, before making his way over to the elevator.

LUX was always rife with temptation in all forms, and it was Lucifer’s mini playground.

But not today, not tonight.

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

The silk robes caressed and comforted his chiseled frame as he changed into them. An early night away from LUX, it certainly was a first.

Pouring himself a glass of whiskey, he looked over to check his phone. Messages filled the lock screen. All irrelevant. For none of them were from you.

He sighed, Lucifer did not like this feeling. Never in his existence did he imagine being surrendered to human emotions this way. Snapping out of it, he sank onto his bed, hoping to find a humorous yet silly video online to quench his amusement. A cat video perhaps.

But instead, he decided to watch something different. And one video in particular.

Being Lucifer’s wife meant a lot of spoiling. Including dates at fancy restaurants. He would always be amused by how enthusiastic you were about your food. The way you made romantic conversation with the food. The way your eyes shone with each bite. So much so he ended up recording you indulging on your cheesecake on his phone one fine evening.

“So Y/N...what exactly are you up to here?” His voice was on the background as the video focused on you. Smiling, you dug your fork into the delicious treat. “This my friend...is the greatest cheesecake in the world” you spoke to the camera with conviction. You closed your eyes as you took the bite. Pleasure filled your veins like an injected drug, spreading it around, resulting you to produce a sound which was without a doubt similar to a moan.

Lucifer froze. Eyes glued to the screen, he kept watching you continue to make erotic noises indulging the condensed treat. “I think me and this baby need to go somewhere private” you joked, wiping the dessert off your mouth with a wink.

As innocent as this video appeared to be that day, it had a complete different effect on Lucifer tonight. Those moans haunted him. He could not help but envision you from this morning. Nothing but lace lingerie standing in the way of him and your naked body. The feel of your body against his.

He was awakened. His body was clear proof.

He dialed your number frantically and repetitively, only to discover it’s engaged. He even typed with urgency, “Where are you?”

No reply.

For the man who had almost everything, he suddenly felt as if he had nothing. Nothing as important as your presence.

Gulping the whiskey down, he leaned against the headboard. Starving in the desert that was his lonesome and desperation, he needed you. And patience was too virtuous of a quality for him as he felt his hand dig inside the waistband of his silk boxers, until he fully clasped his manhood.

Pulling it out, he allowed his eyes to close. The image of you kept him company, making sure his imagination pleasured you while he pleasured himself. Fully erect with arousal, his hand moved in steady rhythm, providing him with the temporary comfort he desired. His imagination ran wild, and so were you in it. He touched you, he tasted you, he ravished you with no end. Immersed in rich satisfaction, his lips finally managed to form the word he was dying to say:

“Y/N!” Except his eyes opened in a flash, to find you actually standing a few feet away.

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

You did not expect this. Not even one bit. Marrying Lucifer Morningstar, you were well aware of the risks of infidelity. A minute part of you were concerned to find him in bed with another, as a punishment for your disregard this morning. You were ready to feel like a fool.

But this, this certainly was unexpected.

He looked ethereal, even in the most erotically compromised position. His twitches, his soft moans, his vulnerability made you wonder: did he miss you that much?

More importantly, were you just going to stand there, and ignore your strong arousal?

“Well...speak of the me” Lucifer breathed, releasing his grip from his manhood. Words were not required for you to respond. You walked over to him slowly. For all you wanted to do was to provide your full assistance in the matter he was engaged in. Grabbing the hand that he held out, you balanced yourself climbing on top of him, your panties lightly grazing against his erect shaft in the process. You moved forward, resting yourself on his stomach as you looked down at him.

Drunk in his gaze, you could not believe this man was yours to begin with. Truthfully you felt that every single day.

Hand still interlocked with his, you guided it all the way up to your collar, putting your own hands on his sides so he was free to unbutton your dress. As he unbuttoned one, you were reminded of every single time this bed witnessed your love making, including the very first. Gasps left you when the buttons flew off the way he tore the dress open, only to pull you by it, kissing you at his hungriest.

At last. Fucking Finally.

The hunger seemed to be intense enough, you needed eternity to indulge in his lips while his hands caressed your buttocks. Flipping you down to the bed, you began to feel more naked the moment you felt him grab an end of your lace panties, tearing it off your frame with a grunt until it was left in pieces.

“So...something really did need a good tearing off huh?” You remarked, as you felt him open your legs up. He smiled with mischief. “Don’t forget, I’m a man of my word” Lucifer replied, and you couldn’t help but agree throwing your head back, when you felt your moistened slit swallow his shaft whole, in an instant. With the flexibility of a skilled acrobat, he bent low. You winced as he kissed every inch of your stomach from your hip bone all the way up your ribs while he moved inside you. Impatient, you reached in from your back, to unhook and peel off your bra. For no inch of you preferred to be left out from his attention. Your enthusiasm certainly made him chuckle evilly.

“My! Aren’t you the Dutiful Wife?” He said, eyes on yours before slowly moving lower to enjoy the new view. You bit your lip with a smile. “Why not?” You panted, “When my husband pleases me so...ah!”

You flinched as Lucifer’s teeth dug into your left breast. Involuntarily forming a hickey, he compensated by soothing it with kisses and generous licks over your hardened buds in the midst of your cries of pleasure. However you did not complain.You were more than happy to claim ownership of his love bite.

“Lucifer...” you breathed, holding his face “Please know..I never regret marrying you”.

He froze with surprise.

“But I do regret not doing anything this morning...” you continued, taking a deep breath, ”I regret not kissing you at least” panting, you added “I’m sorry-”

“Apology accepted my darling” Lucifer interrupted you before pressing his lips against yours. Pulling away, you held his face again. “I’m serious” you said, “You should know...when I...love you,” you added with adoration, “I don’t want it to be short or forgetful. I want it to be real..to be right. Cause it’s you Lucifer”

You could not believe what you just said. As if your heart suddenly spilled out with an overflow of emotions. Completely in disbelief, Lucifer smiled happily.

“Is this what it feels like to be the happiest husband ever?” He asked. You smiled, nodding in response.

Being the loving husband, Lucifer resumed his steady rhythm; increasing pace with added arousal. And being the loving wife, you held on to him tightly; throwing your head back with louder moans.

There will be a lot to talk about in the morning. But you looked forward to it , for all was finally well with this marriage. And you knew for sure Lucifer will love you right, in every single way.

——————————————————

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morelikesin · 5 years ago

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Morning

A small drabble on an emotional morning with Phoenix and Miles 💕 This takes place any time after Dual Destinies. I'm writing it where they're already married. This is just a quick bit I wanted to write when I had the idea :') I also drew a quick something at the end. The fic is under the cut!

Phoenix really wished he had more days off - everytime he was, there was always a great smell in the house from Miles' cooking. Being off work more often meant more of that, even if a little less bank coming in. It would definitely be worth it.

Lifting himself up from the cushioned mattress and tossing aside the velvety soft blankets atop of him, he stretches his limbs with a low groan - reaching his arms back before pulling them into his lap as he relaxed. Taking in a deep breath, he pulls his legs over the side of the bed and hoists himself over so he could see what was on the menu this morning.

Closing the lid of the cooking pot to steam the rice, Mr. Edgeworth hummed quietly to himself a peaceful little tune; one of which he'd seem to be making up as he went along. Turning his attention elsewhere as the grains cooked, he lowered the heat for another burner to medium, where he was cooking miso soup. Adding in a good few tablespoons of yellow miso paste, he whisked the substance into the already simmered broth before adding some previously cut up blocks of tofu. Raising the spoon to catch a quick taste, he found it was light, slightly sweet, and smooth in a way he quite enjoyed. Something was missing though, of course - turning towards the fridge to grab a few stalks of watercress to chop and throw in.

Stepping out from their bedroom and making his way downstairs into their kitchen, Phoenix paused a moment to simply watch his love candid from the steps. Miles, dressed in his soft, white robe like every morning accompanied by his perfect-as-always hair. Phoenix could nay say the same, given his own styling takes ten minutes on a good day.

Watching the way he so gracefully moved even without knowing eyes were on him was incredibly cute - though Miles would never let him say that, with how against that description he was when it was of himself. For now, Phoenix knew Miles was cute. Handsome, of course. Sexy, of course. Cute, of course.

Phoenix made his presence known by making a soft yawn as he walked down the last few steps, walking into the main kitchen and making sure to gently hold his hand against the small of Miles' back as he stood next to him. The latter shook his head slightly whilst quickly chopping up the watercress aforementioned - swiftly picking them up between his hand and the knife and tossing it into the soup.

"Good morning, Wright. How did you sleep?"

Phoenix made a darling little laugh that Miles loved so much - the type with a sort of deepness to it; a sort of breathlessness. "Well, I slept just fine with you by me, hun," he spoke prior to pressing his lips against the prosecutor's cheek, "with you being as warm as a radiator and all, ha..!"

Miles scoffed. "Very funny. Is that all I'm good for in bed? To keep you warm?"

"I was about to say no, but..'keeping me warm' sure has a lot of meanings. And I think you're good for all of them." Phoenix sighed, sporting a small smile as he pressed his face into the nape of Miles' neck contently - lips gently kissing his shoulder. It earned a sweet, if calm, sigh from the prosecutor.

"..I could say the same for you. But it's much too early for this, mm? We can work out our flirtations after we eat breakfast."

Phoenix kept his dorky smile splashed on his countenance as he pulled away, raising a hand to brush back some strands of hair from his eyes - finding himself not too annoyed today with his 'naturally-spiky-but-not-spiky-enough-and-more-messy' bedhead. "That works with me; everything smells so good!"

Miles looked flattered from that. "Thank you, Wright. It is certainly better than what you normally make yourself in the morning-"

"Hey- don't knock cup coodles! I could live off of those."

Miles furrowed his brows and gave a glance to Phoenix in exasperation. "This is why I'm the one who feeds us. Anyhow.." The former smiled to himself as he pulled a plastic package of soba noodles in front of him on the counter - removing the wrapper and slowly adding the noodle block into the miso broth. "Maya called me earlier. She asked me to tell you that she'll be unavailable all day."

With Phoenix opening the fridge door to grab something to drink, he paused to speak before grabbing the carton of orange juice - much like many of their groceries, an expensive brand that Phoenix wasn't used to, and Miles' choosing. "Oh? Was she planning on taking Trucy and Pearls somewhere?"

Miles shook his head as he wiped off his hands with a damp washcloth that he'd set beside him prior, "Sort of. She wanted to make a trip to Hazakura Temple - she and Pearl are to train while Trucy is their...how did she put it, ah.. 'hype-man'." He felt silly even recalling the term, but Phoenix's expression seemed to prove that he knew what he meant.

"Hah- well, she'll get no bother from me then. I'll just check up on them when they get back. We have the whole day to ourselves, for once.." Phoenix meekly spoke - pouring himself a glass of the aforementioned juice before guzzling it down in a post-sleep thirstiness. He wiped his upper lip with his wrist as he went back in to pour some more.

"It is rare, isn't it..?" The prosecutor seemed somewhat sorrowful in stating that. "I want to make the most of it. It's not often I'm not out travelling, or you're not on duty, or there's no emergencies."

Phoenix parted his lips to speak, before sighing and looking down to his cup solemnly. He set it down. "...Yeah. But..I still love you all the same." He looked back up to the love of his life; a carefree smile pulling at his lips and a special brightness glittering in his eyes, "We're a family. Things are..always going to come up, but our time spent away or together feel all the same to me. The only difference is that I get to actually kiss you, in times like now. Being apart..just reminds me of how much I trust you."

The words hit harder than Miles expected them to. Even with the defense attorney's unorganized nature, and his less-than-articulate manner, it was somehow more meaningful to him. Phoenix was always emotional, and true to what he said - this was no different. Edgeworth's expression was strong; brows furrowed up and eyes purposefully lying low.

Phoenix paused, "..Come here."

He gestured for a hug after his gentle words; Miles all too eager for the embrace. Phoenix's arms draped over Miles' shoulders, wrapping around his neck as to pull himself closer. Vice versa was Miles wrapping his arms tightly around Phoenix's waist; both of their heads lay upon the other's shoulder, welcoming what warmth was available. They held each other for what felt like so long, and simultaneously not long enough; the only reason for their part was so they could meet at their lips, instead. Passionate, and yet soft - just a simple press without much else, yet it was all they needed. By the end of their embrace, their heads leaned forward to touch at their foreheads while holding each other's hands between their chests. Their thumbs occasionally brushed over each other's wedding rings.

"..You know how much you mean to me, Phoenix."

"I know, Miles." He huffed out a short breath before breaking into a smile, "..You could always just say 'I love you'."

And with that, the silver-haired Edgeworth broke into a laugh and slowly pulled away, "Alright, alright..I love you. You know that."

"I love you too, Miles."

Phoenix watched as his love went back to his work - Miles grabbing his wooden chopsticks as to stir the noodles. The more defensive of the two sat at the dining table, glass in hand.

"...I'm going to guess that you won't want onions in your serving of noodles."

Phoenix pretended to gag in response to Miles, "Ghk-! Absolutely-! Onions taint everything they touch..." He hesitated, "..Other than onion rings. But that's the only good thing with onions!"

Edgeworth rolled his eyes with a playful smile, chuckling to himself a bit at just how strongly Wright felt over such a thing as onions. "Of course. Though, you're missing out on their flavour, dear - I've never met someone other than you who has a distaste for them."

"You haven't met anyone with any tastebuds," Phoenix scoffed back - earning a snort from the other.

"Oh, have I? Dear, I think you're referring to yourself there."

The defense paused; his face lifting as his cocky court grin curled onto his lips. "Unfortunately, Edgeworth, I think you have some words to eat. Clearly my statement is right - anyone who's ever tasted an onion could tell you that it tastes like damn garbage."

The prosecution stifled a laugh, lolling his head to look over his shoulder at his rival. "Oh, Wright. I'm afraid you've buried your grave - onions obviously give any dish they're added to an excellent depth of flavor."

"Well obviously they do not- ow-!" Phoenix burst into a soft laugh as Miles leaned over to smack his arm with his chopsticks - ending their court imitations. "Hun-!"

Miles rolled his eyes and looked back down to his cooking. "My love. We don't need to argue over onions. Besides, I'm not about to settle a case over opinion."

"Ha-! Well then, baby doll, I'm prepared to settle a case of any kind. Maybe you just don't have that kind of determination?" Phoenix jested, taking another swig of his orange juice.

"Of course you would be, Feenie." Miles hesitated before chuckling to himself. Swirling the noodles inside the pot, he shook his head. "That's a new one. I don't know where that came from... It's sort of cute, no? Feenie. Hm."

When Miles went to look at Phoenix for his approval, he was numb; his husband's face suddenly not as lively as it once was. His eyes gazed low, gazed dryly. His hands tensed around the glass he held, knuckles bearing white. Worst of all, his countenance really held no expression at all - the fact that it was so stiff, so miserable looking was what'd caused Miles to choke back a breath.

What was it about that name that suddenly struck Miles as odd? Feenie. Feenie.

"It's.. uh.. not great, honestly, Miles. No offense or anything."

"I'm- sorry." Miles was admittedly stunned - a little ashamed, a little confused, very concerned. "..For some reason its.. ringing a bell-"

"Dahlia."

"I'm..sorry?"

"..Dahlia used to call me that. You know, before.."

The room was drenched in silence - Miles struggling to find any words to say. What could he say to that - what should he? Though, the look on Phoenix's pitiful face urged him to find something.

"...I didn't mean to hurt you, saying it. I-" Miles hummed to himself and turned his head to Phoenix, lip bitten and unsure how to word himself. He slowly looked back down to his cooking when words couldn't properly form in his throat.

"It's fine." Phoenix nodded - looking away and tapping his fingers on the table in a sort of anxiousness. "You didn't know."

"I didn't remember," Miles scolded himself, "I should have remembered such a thing like that."

Phoenix looked a little put off. "Don't feel guilty for that. It was so long ago - I.. I didn't expect you too."

The soft bubbling of the broth in the pot filled the silence between them; chopsticks occasionally hitting the sides of the pot, Pess jingling her collar as she scratched herself from the living room all the while. Phoenix tried to will Miles to turn around so he could assure him it was fine, without words - however when Miles never did he spoke up hesitantly.

"I didn't mean to ruin the mood."

Miles quickly scoffed and turned to look at Phoenix with a pained expression, "You didn't, Phoenix. You were just telling me of something that hurt you."

"It's just a nickname, though," Phoenix laughed at himself, seemingly ashamed, "It's a little stupid to hurt so much over a nickname, isn't it?"

"I don't think so," Miles replied, his tone hurt from his husband stuffing his emotions down - such a thing from Phoenix was rare, and it made this hurt just a little more than usual. Setting the chopsticks horizontally on the counter, he ushered himself away from the stove to lay a gentle, lithe hand on Phoenix's forearm, and leaning down so he could rest his chin atop his head.

Phoenix nearly melted into his touch, feeling comforted by Miles' body and his warmth. Finding solace in the safety of his arms, Phoenix allowed himself to exhale a deep breath and relax. Unsatisfied with the arrangements, however, he shook his head and gestured his head down. "Get in front of me a bit, Miles."

He wasn't about to complain, though as he moved in front of Phoenix to kneel, Miles was still a tad confused. Before he could ask why Phoenix wanted him to, the man placed his hands on the prosecutor's cheeks and leaned forward to kiss his forehead.

"I prefer looking at you, dear," Phoenix hummed. He moved his hands down to take Miles' own - raising them to place endearing kisses against flushed knuckles and fingertips, much to his husband's timidity. "..Thank you. For not minding putting up with me and all."

"Ah, yes," Miles started, smiling, "I married you because I simply 'didn't mind putting up with you'."

Phoenix laughed as he realized the hilarity of what he had said, "Hey! You know what I mean!"

"I married someone I just 'put up with'." Miles continued, chortling to himself, "Not in an act of pure love or anything."

Phoenix hushed Miles' teasing by leaning down and pressing his lips against the other's - the two humming against the warmth before falling into the quiet passion, then lingeringly pulling away. Their hands kept their doting hold still.

"..I love you, Phoenix. However, breakfast is due to overcook."

Phoenix shrugged and pressed his lips against Miles' cheek, unwilling to pull away as proven by how he spoke against his skin. "I don't mind."

"Suppose you wouldn't," Miles breathed out, amused.

Miles held himself in Phoenix's grasp before reluctantly pulling away to take charge of the stove again. Phoenix didn't seem to be happy with such an arrangement, so he took it upon himself to stand and wrap his arms around Miles' waist, head resting on his shoulder. The prosecutor pressed his palm against Phoenix's forearm in silent fondness - his other busy stirring food.

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myownworldstayout · 5 years ago

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New Friends Ch. 4

Ch.1 / Ch.3 / Ch.5

(Here you guys go!)

Adrien grew impatient as he lingered on the front steps of the school. Where was Marinette? They had the same class so he knew she got out of school when he did. What else did she have planned?

Aside from that, how many other people was she going to tell about Lila? Adrien wasn’t sure what to think anymore. Weren’t they in this together? She agreed not to expose Lila so what was going on?

His pacing came to a pause when he heard a familiar voice.

Adrien turned to see Marinette walking down the steps, muttering to herself about her schedule and homework assignments. Before he could call out to her, though, they made eye contact.

(Change to Marinette’s PoV)

Marinette and Adrien both froze, staring at each other for some time.

Finally, Adrien found it in himself to move.

“We need to talk.”

“Adrien, I don’t thin-”

“Mari, please.” The boy pleaded.

This caused Marinette to hesitate, biting her lip.

Taking the opportunity, Adrien took a step forward, lowering his voice.

“We agreed not to tell anyone. What are you doing?” Even though his voice was solely one of concern, Marinette felt herself getting upset.

“I didn’t deliberately find people to tell, it just happened.” She defended. “After yesterday, I was upset and Luka found me. He was worried so I told him what happened.”

“But this isn’t the way to take care of Lila-”

“I wasn’t taking care of Lila, I was taking care of me!” Marinette raised her voice slightly, but quickly brought it back down.

Adrien stalled, not expecting her outburst.

“No one believes me, Adrien.”

“I believe you.”

That’s not enough. Marinette thought, a bitterness rising in her throat.

Adrien, unaware of her true feelings, took another step forward, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Any other day she would have melted at his touch.

Not today.

“So believe me when I say exposing Lila isn’t the way to get others to believe you.”

Anger flared up in her chest and she yanked her shoulder out of his grasp.

“Really? Because it worked.”

“Mari, it’ll only make you look bad-”

“And I don’t look bad already?”

“If you just let her lies crumble themselves-”

Marinette let out a huff, opening her mouth to argue.

“And how long is that going to take?” A voice interrupted instead, taking the words right out of her mouth.

The two looked up to see Felix just now exiting the school, walking down the steps towards them.

“Felix, this doesn’t concern you.” Adrien said calmly, trying to be patient.

“If the class is dumb enough to fall for Rossi’s lies so far, no matter how incredulous, it wouldn’t surprise me if she kept her grip on this school until we all go off to college.” Felix continued, not acknowledging Adrien’s insinuation to leave.

Marinette, though it pained her slightly, agreed with everything Felix was saying. Lila had been stringing the class along for a while now- a month, at least. Who’s to say they’ll ever catch onto her lies?

“We have to have faith in our friends.” Adrien, however, seemed to strongly disagree, and it made Marinette uncomfortable.

“Why should she? They didn’t have any faith in her.” Felix responded curtly.

This threw Adrien. He looked to Marinette for help, which was a grave mistake.

The girl panicked, stuttering out a few “uhm”s and “well”s as she fiddled with her hands.

“Is everything okay?”

Marinette then felt a soft hand on her shoulder. Another savior. She glanced up at Luka, meeting his electric blue eyes with appreciation. Kagami, Aurore, and Wayhem were right behind him, all looking on the scene with a mix of concern and suspicion.

With so many people now involved, Adrien didn’t see a point in trying to continue the conversation.

He blew out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“We’ll talk more about this later..” He grumbled, before turning on his heel and walking to his awaiting car.

No. Marinette thought as she watched him drive off. We won’t.

She had made her decision, and not even the charming “ray of sunshine” could change her mind.

~~~~~~

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Tikki asked later that night, not to dissuade her, but to make sure Marinette wasn’t going to regret it.

“I.. yes. I’m sure.” Marinette’s eyes filled with determination. “Felix is right. Why should I have faith in them when they didn’t have faith in me?”

She didn’t think she could blatantly ignore her friends, but she would stop blaming herself for Lila’s actions. Marinette wasn’t going to let that be the focus of her life any longer. She would fight back when she felt the need to, but maybe she could just ignore Lila for now?

Tikki didn’t argue with her. She simply helped her holder with her homework for the evening. At least Marinette had some friends again. If she wanted to spend time with them, what was the harm?

~~~~~~~

Marinette walked into class the next morning feeling much more at ease than the day before. Sure, Lila’s lies still bothered her and they would undoubtedly give Marinette more trouble later. However, Marinette told herself, that was all the more reason to enjoy this moment of peace. So, as Lila rattled off her newest story to her mesmerized fans, Marinette quietly took her new seat in the back.

Felix wasn’t there yet, giving Marinette some time to think of what she could do with her new group of friends. They could come over to her house to play games or bake treats together. Or maybe they could go on a picnic together! Marinette could bring all kinds of sweets, along with a blanket of her own design and complimentary drinks or-

“Oh, I almost forgot to ask, do we get Marinette’s treats before or after Miss Bustier’s class?” Lila suddenly asked, bringing Marinette’s daydreams to a halt.

The class, for once, appeared to be just as confused as her.

“Marinette isn’t bringing any treats today.” Alya spoke up, giving the ravenette a questioning look.

Marinette shook her head, confirming that she had indeed not brought any treats this morning.

“Oh! My mistake!” Lila apologized, flailing her hands a bit. “I just thought since Marinette is such a good friend to you guys that she brought in cookies from the bakery once a week? Now that I think about it, I don’t even know where I got the idea.”

Marinette glared at the Italian girl. It was obvious she was just trying to get free cookies while stirring up more trouble.

Somehow, the class rallied behind her and Marinette found herself pressured to make them cookies, for she would be awful and horrible and the worst if she didn’t. But then, Marinette felt compelled to. A spiteful thought poked the back of her head and festered and clouded over Marinette’s mind.

Her lips curled into a smile. “Sure, I can bring some cookies to class tomorrow if you want.”

They wanted cookies? Alright. She’d give them cookies.

The class let out a few cheers and excitedly began chatting to each other about their favorite flavors.

Not even a few minutes later, though, the excitement died in their throats as Felix Culpa walked into the classroom. He was met with eyerolls, glares, and a few bitter grumbles.

Felix ignored all of them, walking straight to the back seat, once again sitting next to Marinette.

“Good morning.” She greeted with a smile, pleased he chose to sit next to her again. This time, he couldn’t use the excuse of not being able to sit anywhere else, since almost all of the were still empty.

Felix hummed in response, pulling out another book he had started the day before.

At least he’s not ignoring me like everyone else. Marinette considered, studying him for a moment.

“Hey, Marinette. Why don’t you come sit over here?” Alya suggested, keeping her glare on Felix.

Oh, now you want to sit with me? Marinette thought irritably, but she kept a smile.

“That’s okay. I wouldn’t want to take Lila’s seat. Tinnitus is a serious issue, you know.” Although her tone was innocent, it was also just a bit too sweet.

Felix hid a smile behind his book, but Alya frowned.

“Lila can sit next to Adrien, it’s fine.” She reasoned.

Now Nino frowned. He didn’t like being sacrificed to sit in the back with the wet blanket.

“Oh, please, let the pastry girl sit in the back. The farther from me, the better.” Chloe cut in, rolling her eyes.

Alya was quick to turn her glare to Chloe.

“I’m sure she’s just as happy to be away from your sorry attitude.” The reporter snapped.

Felix raised an eyebrow towards her behavior, Marinette furrowing her eyebrows. So Alya would defend her against Chloe, but not Lila? Weird.

“Guys, no one has to fight.” Lila spoke up, probably starved of attention already. “If you want to sit next to Marinette, I’ll move to back. I’m sure I can borrow notes after class?” She offered, slowly rising out of her seat like a lost kitten.

Of course, the class rushed to comfort her.

“It’s really alright.” Mylene assured.

“You can stay in your seat.” Rose smiled.

“Marinette said she was fine anyway.” Alya swiftly recanted her previous request towards Lila’s pity party.

There it is. Marinette and Felix seemed to think at the same time.

Lila finally “gave in” to their persistence and remained in her seat. Around that time, Mrs. Bustier walked in, demanding the class’ attention, and started the lesson.

The class settled in their seats and got out their tablets. Marinette stayed in the back.

~~~~~~

Felix blew out a sigh as he powered off his tablet to put in his backpack. It was just his luck that he was placed in the most incompetent class of his new school. Nevertheless, he supposed there were some people who weren’t complete idiots.

“Luka said they’re eating at the cafeteria again today. Are you gonna join us?”

The girl next to him smiled warmly, hoisting her bag over her shoulder.

Marinette.

Although she could be obnoxiously sweet and a bit naive, she was also sensible, hardworking, and honest. Those were qualities he could admire.

“No, I’m going to the library.” Felix answered, picking up his brown, leather bag as well. He hadn’t had a chance to go through their book collection at the school yet.

“Oh.. alright.” Marinette faltered. Was she disappointed? That was a first.

She then pulled another bright smile, covering it up.

“I’ll see you after lunch then.” She said hopefully, waving as she hopped down the steps. With that, she was gone. And Felix was by himself again.

He stared after her for only a moment, before starting for the library. If he remembered correctly- and he usually did- it’s the room to the left of the gym.

Felix ignored the hateful looks and whispers he received as he walked. Truth be told, he didn’t mind his classmates hating him. In fact, he quite enjoyed it at times. It made things much easier to focus on his work. Quietly. He was actually a bit enthusiastic about seeing their book collection. He’d heard it had quite the selection. That was a main reason he transferred to this school.

Unfortunately, he was only able to get to the gym when someone called out to him.

“Felix, wait up!” Lila nearly cooed, running over to him.

He kept walking, ignoring her greeting.

She was persistent, though.

“I’ve been wanting to talk with you!” She beamed, coming up to hang loosely on his arm. “I felt like we got off to the wrong start.”

Felix jerked his arm out of hers, quickening his pace without a word. He wasn’t interested in whether or not they got off to the wrong start. Lila was too flamboyant for them to ever be friends. Not to mention her lies and manipulations of the whole class. Felix might be cold to the touch, but he, at least, had morals.

Lila flinched and took a step back, her hazel eyes glazing over in shock. She knew Felix was more closed off than her other classmates, but that usually worked.

The girl recovered quickly, shaking her head and catching up to Felix again.

“Are you going to the library? I haven’t been there recently, but my uncle owns a library the size of this school back in Italy. Do you mind if I accompany you?” She asked sweetly.

“Yes.” Felix answered shortly. This boy wasn’t budging.

It was then Lila’s smile fell, her eyes getting wide and teary.

“I-I didn’t mean to bother you..” She began, her gaze cast to the floor. “I just wanted to be friends.. Was it something I said? Did-”

Lila gasped. “- did Marinette say something to you?”

Felix’s fresh glare told her everything she needed to know.

“She did say something! Felix, please understand, whatever she told you isn’t true. Marinette doesn’t like me very much.. I know that, but-”

Felix let out a frustrated groan, causing Lila to pause.

“I don’t care what Dupain-Cheng said.” He bit off. “That isn’t the problem.”

Lila frowned.

“Then what is?” She asked in a hopeful tone. If she could find out the problem, then she could fix it. After all, Lila couldn’t have someone siding with Marinette. Once one person does, others might start to join in, and all of her hard work would go to waste.

Felix’s reply, however, shattered her hope in an instant. “You.”

“I- what?”

“You are the problem.” He repeated, shooting her another icy glare.

The blonde didn’t pay attention to her sputters, simply walking passed her towards the library. Felix had business to attend to, and Lila wasn’t it.

~~~~~~

Lila scowled as she stalked back to the classroom for next period. That did not go as planned. That was worse than when she confronted the pigtailed girl.

At least Marinette gave her a reason as to why she didn’t like her. Felix just brushed her off without so much as a care in the world. That might have been what irked her the most.

Everyone had their quirks. Everyone had their ticks. And Lila had a specialty for finding those out and using them. But Felix, Felix wasn’t as naive or open as everyone else. He was guarded from the start. That was a problem she wasn’t quite sure how to fix.

But as frustrating as it was, that wasn’t what she couldn’t wrap her head around.

“Are you okay?” Alya asked as they slid into their seats.

Lila looked up at her classmate, pulling a tight smile.

“Of course! Just thinking about homework.” She lied, stealing a glance towards the back.

Marinette appeared to be absently talking about something while doodling on her tablet. Felix intently listened, throwing in a comment or critique every now and then.

That’s what Lila didn’t understand.

He’s cold to everyone. She nearly growled at the thought. What’s so different about her?

Out of everyone in the class, Felix just had to talk to Marinette, the only person who wasn’t blinded by her lies.

“Class, attention please.” Mlle. Bustier spoke up, tapping her pointer to the chalkboard.

Lila’s eyes suddenly lit up as something clicked in her mind.

“You are the problem”, Felix had said. That was why he talked to Marinette. She was the only one who didn’t like her.

Lila felt a smile spread across her lips. Very well. If she couldn’t persuade Felix to her side, then she would flush him under with Marinette.

Tag list: @unabashedbookworm @bluerosette23 @minightrose @rhub4rb @clumsy-owl-4178 @kuroko26 @angstyrastuff @fanboy7794 @choaticneturcl @dargeon-lissa @kristycocopop @alumneia

(Again, sorry If the tag doesn’t work. some of them just won’t cooperate)

#Felinette #Felix Culpa #New Friends AU

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pidgetyy · 4 years ago

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My application for The Underpass, a roleplay hosted by @fireflythenightlight (and which I found through my dear friend @validwofjobs). Legacy is a mostly-human, slightly-pheonix girl who loves planning ahead, making new friends, and her two identical pet giant geckos, Lychee the pet leachie and Guinep the familiar leachie-salamander. The rest about her can be found in these incoming walls of text under the cut!

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Backstory-

Legacy grew up with an older and younger sister, the treasured “only son” of her parents, especially her father. Her name, before she realized she wasn’t a boy and chose a new name for herself, was Terrence. Her family lived in an apartment above a pet reptile store, run by her father. She got her familiar, Guinep, as well as her beloved pet, Lychee, when she was 8. She bonded with Guinep especially as her familiar, but the identical Lychee received plenty of love too, and in the first few years she had trouble telling apart the identical and closely bonded New Caledonian Giant Geckos by anything other than their temperament- Guinep was very calm, but Lychee tended to be a lot more snappish. Lychee followed Guinep’s lead in warming up to Legacy quickly, but remains a little aggressive towards strangers.

Legacy was almost 15 when she finally admitted to herself that she didn’t think she was really a boy, after two years of suppressing and refusing to believe her own feelings. She began to grow her hair out, and stared longingly at the girl’s section of stores, but didn’t dare to expose her identity to her parents, whose reactions she couldn’t predict in the slightest. After about a year and a half of planning and psyching herself up, she finally had the guts to come out to her parents. The fallout didn’t come to the extremes she’d read many a horror story of online, of physical abuse or conversion therapy, but her parents still refused to acknowledge her preferred pronouns or name, and began to threaten homeschooling her, to keep “their only son” away from “the influence of those queer friends of yours.” She refused to be homeschooled, and her parents responded that, if she insisted on this, then they wouldn’t be paying college tuition for a daughter they didn’t have. Upset to say the least, she haphazardly packed the belongings she thought of first and could fit in her backpack, and left. It was the largest decision she had made in her life, and it was completely unplanned.

Her grandma on her mother’s side lived in a small house halfway across the city, and Legacy hoped her parents hadn’t shared the news with her about her identity, because she couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. It came as a surprise not that her grandmother knew, but she actually accepted Legacy, scoffing and asking her to “give me your real name, girl” when she introduced herself grudgingly as Terrence. For the next few months, she lived there happily, upset about some of the belongings she had forgotten to bring but definitely not willing to go back to her parents, who didn’t bother to come find her (after her grandmother had sternly told them over the phone not to come unless they were going to treat their daughter right). Her grandmother bought her real girl’s clothes, and even helped her dye her hair a bright shade of bubblegum pink she’d had her eyes on for months. She finished highschool a semester early, something she had already been planning to do since before coming out. Her grandmother, unfortunately, was starting to decline in her old age. She was in stage 4 of Alzheimer’s disease, beginning to get to stage 5, when she was finally deemed no longer able to care for herself and was placed in an elderly person’s home to be cared for. By that summer, Legacy was back on the streets, preferring them against going back to her parents.

She took a job as the sole member of the “Maintenance Crew” of a cafe/coffee shop in a slightly busier part of the city in order to pay for her own living necessities and her leachie’s. From age 17 to the start of rp, Legacy worked there, cleaning up spills, keeping tabs of what sanitary supplies needed restocking, and keeping the rest of the shop sanitary. She made use of the keys she had to the shop, coming in before dawn, and definitely before opening hours, to clean the shop and then to clean herself, and fix her hair to look presentable. On particularly cold nights, she would spend the night there, more to keep her beloved pets warm than for any other reason. Though her high body temperature was usually enough to keep herself and the leachies warm, she didn’t want to risk any of them getting sick on especially stormy or windy winter nights. Most nights, she would instead find a friend happy to lend a couch for the night, or a fellow homeless person she trusted enough to watch her back while she slept next to, for safety reasons.

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Personality-

Legacy is a generally cautious and consistent person. She sticks to her daily routine and her plans rather than acting spontaneously without thought. Unexpected changes and surprises are strongly disliked, because she hates being unprepared for something and sometimes has trouble dealing with surprise changes to her own plans because of that. Besides not being a big fan of practical jokes, she tries not to act outwardly uptight or prissy in social situations, even if her careful organization, tidiness and plans may make her seem like it. Most people wouldn’t pinpoint her as a homeless kid if they saw her, because she dedicates a considerable amount of time and money to making herself look very clean and neat. Half of the backpack she wears is filled with two other outfits, which she mixes-and-matches often. When she feels like a fashion change is in order, she’ll donate some clothes and buy new replacements for them at a local clothing exchange store.

Her careful and well-put-together nature stems from a deep fear of making mistakes. Legacy hates the thought that she might make some mistake, do something wrong that could ruin her life as it is now, or change it beyond recognition (even if the change was for the better). So instead, she chooses inactivity. Though she could probably find a permanent place to live if she got a second job and saved carefully, she doesn’t, and instead spends most of her paycheck on unnecessary things like new clothes when she no longer needs it to buy food and water for her and her pets. She waited and planned for over a year to come out to her parents, and it still didn’t end well, so now she just tries to avoid taking any risks like that again (besides hiding her gender- she’s definitely done doing that. She presents as female and uses her real, chosen name. Most people don’t even realize she wasn’t born a girl). Legacy prefers to be a follower in social situations, rather than a leader. That way, she’s less likely to take the brunt of the consequences if a wrong decision is made. Safer. She prefers being safe, and right now her routine and life is safe and predictable, so she doesn’t see a need to change it or plan to end up anywhere else in her life.

Her caution about life decisions and other areas doesn’t quite extend to the social side of her life, however. Legacy’s a people person and a definite extrovert. She likes to surround herself with new friends at any chance she gets, and has a great memory for faces and personal details. Since middle school, she hasn’t forgotten a friend’s birthday or favorite color. Stranger’s opinions generally don’t have the power to change your whole life around, so with that low-risk assessment of friendship Legacy goes at making friends with a sort of wild abandon. Her charisma isn’t exactly impressive, but that doesn’t matter when she can just walk away and try again with someone else if the first person doesn’t seem to like her all that much. Even though she could listen to details about a person she barely knows for hours, and loves to learn new details about anyone, she’s dismissive of people’s opinions, especially if they’re about her. Few people have ever managed to become such an ingrained part of Legacy’s life as to earn the title of “Friend I actually care about and will make an effort not to lose.” Legacy shows up at many a party, flitting between groups for a while usually before finding someone she likes enough to hang out with for the rest of the night or couch-crash with, but refuses to get any farther than slightly tipsy even if the drinks are free. Being drunk is far too risky a thing for her to ever have attempted, even as tempting as it sometimes was. Party-going and friend-making are a few items on the short list of things she rarely, if ever, plans for.

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Extra Facts™-

-She is, by a small percentage, a Phoenix hybrid (1/8th, or 12.5 percent to be precise) by her great-grandmother on her mother’s mother’s side. She doesn’t have the identifying wings because of her lack of more phoenix-hybrid ancestors, but does have the noticeably higher body temperature and small flame-producing ability. She doesn’t have a ton of control over the flames, and they’re likely to appear, purposefully or not, when she’s feeling strong emotions.

-her favorite color is, by far, pink. Second is light green.

-Partially because of favorite-color influence, partially because of its sweet flavor, her favorite food is watermelon.

-She isn’t a vegetarian, but she generally doesn’t like meat very much.

-She wishes she had the spare money to afford an instrument. Legacy used to play the flute in her middle school band, and loved it, but she left it behind in her parent’s house.

-Lawful neutral

-She’s a Libra (her birthday is September 28th)

#the underpass #underpass rp #underpass application #original rp #original story

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snelbz · 5 years ago

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Lovely, Chapter 4 {ACOTAR}

Written along side the beautiful and talented @tacmc. Look out for Chapter 5 coming soon. :)

Find previous chapters here: Lovely.

“I’m going to ruin this.”

Rhysand chuckled. “No, you aren’t.”

Feyre blinked, placing her palms on the bar top. “Fine. Teach me your ways, bartender.”

“We’ll start with your favorite,” he said. “What is it?”

“Sex on the beach.”

Rhysand lifted a brow.

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Rhys held up his hands in a motion of surrender.

He taught her how to properly pour a shot, how to count as she poured. He showed her how to layer for certain drinks, told her what flavors worked best together and even had her to try to create a few drinks.

They tasted horrible, but since he had closed the bar early for the night, Rhys and Feyre drank them anyways. Rhys became more and more flirty as he became intoxicated and Feyre was loving every second.

“I hope you’re a better bartender than this,” Feyre giggled, perfectly aware how close together they had become.

“This isn’t…horrible,” he lied, hesitantly, downing the rest of his glass’ contents.

“You’re a shitty liar,” she whispered.

Rhysand laughed, and the sound of his laughter was more intoxicating than the over-vodka-ed drink in her hand.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, swiping her keys out of her purse from behind the counter.

Rhys grabbed her wrist. “If you think I’m letting you drive, you’re not only beautiful, you’re also insane.”

Feyre began to blush, not quite understanding what one had to do with the other but with how drunk Rhys was, she wasn’t sure he did either.

“I’m not trying to leave,” she giggled. “I’m cold and I have a hoodie in the car.”

“Oh.” He let go of her wrist. He grinned sheepishly. “My bad.”

She quickly dashed out to her car, unlocking the door, reaching into the backseat and grabbing the University of Velaris hoodie she kept for just these occasions. It was full of holes and paint splattered and she loved it. Pulling it in, she ran back across the street into the bar, completely ignoring the hustle and bustle of the rest of the night life of Velaris.

Rhys had set up a bottle, two shot glasses, salt and a lime on the counter. He rubbed his hands together. “Time to teach you the easiest drink, tequila shots. So easy even you couldn’t mess it up.”

“Oh ha-ha,” Feyre said, tossing her hair up into a bun as she stepped around the bar.

After acing her first round, but Rhys claiming it was a fluke and making her do it again, they had both had two more shots and Feyre found herself drawn to Rhys. He was leaning against the inside corner of the bar, laughing at something she had said, when she stepped in front of him.

He immediately stopped laughing and stood up straighter, towering over her. He breathed, “What are you doing, Feyre darling?” as she brushed her fingers against his hand.

He began to lean towards her, noting how she was beginning to lean into him, and watched her blue-gray eyes close. Her lips were so close to his, he could-.

The door to the bar opened and Feyre stepped back, Rhys unable to go anywhere as he was backed into the corner, but their eyes were still locked on each other.

“Feyre?”

She knew the voice instantly. Had done her best to block that voice out of her head these past weeks.

But somehow, he was here. She had forgotten to lock the door behind her when she’d come back from grabbing her hoodie.

Tamlin stood in the doorway.

“What the fuck are you doing with him?” He asked.

“What the hell do you want, O’Brien?” Rhys asked, his jaw locked. Feyre could see his hands in fists at his side.

She’d never seen Rhys be anything other than happy. Granted, they hadn’t spent much time together, but he was always the life of the party. The man in front of her now was dark and frightening. Almost like he’d put on a mask.

“Apparently saving my girlfriend from-”

“I’m not your girlfriend,” Feyre interrupted. “Not anymore.”

Realization hit Rhysand’s violet eyes. “Wait, this is your ex? Tamlin?”

Feyre looked back and forth between the two of them, curious as to how they knew one another, but too shaken up to ask.

“Come on, Feyre,” Tamlin said, eyes still locked with Rhys’. “I’m taking you home.”

“No,” Feyre said, although it didn’t come out as strongly as she had hoped.

“Rhysand here is not someone you want to associate with,” Tamlin went on, meandering closer to where Rhys stood, unmoving. “He’s a poor, pathetic college dropout who only owns this bar because it’s in his dead daddy’s name.”

Feyre was appalled that Tamlin could speak so horribly about someone that Feyre saw as purely beautiful. Rhysand’s chin only lifted.

“Get the hell out of here,” Rhys said, pressing his palms against the bar. “You have one last chance of my asking you to leave before I kick your ass and call the cops.”

“Feyre, let’s go.” Tamlin hadn’t looked at her once, not since he’d first walked into the bar. His eyes had been locked on Rhys and she’d never seen such hatred simmering in those green eyes. “You’re drunk, I’m taking you home.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t want to go home with you, I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”

Tamlin sighed and reached across the bar for Feyre’s hand. The second his fingers wrapped around her wrist, Rhysand’s fist made contact with his jaw.

Feyre gasped, jumping backwards as Tamlin stumbled and held his face.

“Get out.” Rhys ordered, once more.

Tamlin’s green eyes were ablaze as he looked up at Feyre. “You don’t know who he is.”

Feyre said nothing.

Rhysand grabbed Tamlin by the back of his shirt collar and pushed him toward the door, jaw already beginning to bruise.

He shrugged Rhys off and walked the rest of the way to the door, but as he pulled the door open, he looked back. “You just made the biggest mistake of your life, Lunasa.”

With that, he was out into the crisp evening and Feyre and Rhys were left alone again.

The haze of the alcohol had never left, and suddenly Feyre felt dizzy. Rhys was at her side before she could even begin to tip to the side. “Let me get you some water, I think you’re in shock.”

Shock.

She couldn’t process why, but she knew he was right. Tamlin’s sudden reappearance has jarred her enough that she was struggling to even speak.

It wasn’t until she’d downed an entire glass of water

that she asked, “How do you know him? Tamlin?”

Rhysand froze from where he was cleaning up a spill on the counter. “We….go way back.”

Feyre blinked. “That’s not an answer.”

Rhysand’s face fell into his hands. “I’m sorry I hit him. Well, no, I’m not. But I am sorry I hit him in front of you.”

Feyre leaned back against the bar stool as she repeated, “How do you know him?”

“We went to school together,” he replied, simply.

Feyre waited for more. He didn’t continue.

“I should go,” she said, slipping down off the bar stool.

“No, no, please.” Rhys was back in front of her, his hands on her cheeks, framing her face. “We went to school together, we were even friends when we were kids. But then something happened with our fathers and things changed. Our lives changed. I just…” His violet eyes guttered. “I don’t want to get into it tonight, please. I was enjoying spending time with you. With just you.”

Feyre wanted to look away but she couldn’t. His eyes were captivating. He was captivating. She’d be a damned liar if she said that she wasn’t into him.

“I’ve been with a liar,” she said, quietly, gesturing to the door that Tamlin had just left through. “I’m done with lies.”

Rhysand hung his head.

Shame.

He was feeling shame.

“I will tell you, soon, just...please, not tonight,” he begged. His eyes were full of worry, full of pain. Whatever it was, Tamlin had never mentioned Rhys. It wasn’t Rhys’ fault. Whatever it was, it wasn’t his fault.

Feyre wanted to lean up, wanted to kiss those full lips. She wanted to see what would happen if she closed the distance between them. She wanted to know if his lips were as soft as they looked. She wanted to know if he’d be the type of man who would wrap an arm around her waist or if he’d tangle his hands in her hair. She wanted to know if he’d be a tease or if he’d take lead. She wanted to know so many things.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she snaked her arms around his waist and she hugged him. She felt him relax in her embrace, felt as his arm encircled her shoulders and locked right.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “Thank you.”

She pulled back and looked up at him.

He was smiling again, though that darkness was still haunting his eyes. She wanted him to laugh and smirk again, so she said, “Show me how to make a martini worthy of James Bond.”

He threw his head back and laughed, not letting go of her as he said. “Now that, I can do.”

————

Elain was frantically walking around her kitchen. She kept opening cabinets, but wasn’t taking anything out of them. The stove was on, the oven was on, the radio was on, and Lucien was sitting on her counter drinking a glass of wine.

“I’ve never seen you this worked up over a guy before,” he said, taking another sip. “I mean, what the hell did he do to make you this worked up?”

Elain blew her bangs out of her eyes. “He’s perfect, that’s what he did.”

Lucien raised a brow. “Perfect? In the eyes of Elain Archeron? What are we talking about here? Tall? Handsome? Clean cut? How many suits does he own?” Elain stopped her pacing. “He’s…not my usual type.”

“What?” Lucien asked. “You mean he wears Prada instead of Armani?”

“I’d be willing to bet he doesn’t own a suit,” she said, then amended her sentence when she remembered he was wearing one when they met. “Okay, maybe just one.”

“I knew it,” Lucien said, crossing one leg over the other. “What does he do? Investment broker? Stock market?” He stopped and groaned. “Tell me it’s not another lawyer.”

Elain walked to where her wine glass sat next to him and took a sip before saying, “He’s a tattoo artist. He owns his own shop.”

Lucien only blinked at Elain as she took a larger sip of her wine.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I just heard you, he’s a what?” Lucien said, slowly setting down his glass.

“You heard me,” Elain said, eyes rolling. “And, I prefer you don’t make such a big deal about this.”

“What else is up with this guy?” Lucien asked, giving her the third degree.

“He has a baby,” Elain whispered, watching the wine as she swirled it around in her glass.

“A baby?” Lucien hopped off the counter and walked to where Elain was standing. “Does he also have a mortgage and a secret wife? Honey, this is no bueno.”

“You don’t know him, Luce,” she sighed. “He’s sweet and funny and so, so handsome. And no,” she added, “Before you ask, I will not see if he has a gay brother.”

“You’re literally the worst wingman of all time,” he sighed and tossed back the dregs of his wine. He looked around the kitchen. “Alright, we’ve got 45 minutes until he’s here. Let’s work some magic.”

“Work some magic?” Elain asked, brows raised. “Really? Because I’ve been trying to work magic all day.”

Lucien rolled his eyes, meandering down the hall to her bedroom. “Well, I know you’re not wearing that.”

Elain looked down at her stained tee shirt and shorts. He had a point.

“You cook,” he called as she heard him open her closet. “I’ll find your outfit. What statement do you want to make?” There was a short pause. “Are you sleeping with him tonight?”

“Lucien!” She laughed, nearly cutting her finger as she chopped the vegetables and tossed them into the pan.

“Alright, alright, don’t tell me.” Her best friend could be so dramatic. “But seriously. What look do you want? Flirty, casual, slutty, cozy?”

“Flirty and cozy,” she called back.

“Are you doing your hair or no?”

Elain ran a hand through her messy hair. “Probably just a top knot.”

She didn’t hear another peep out of him until he came 20 minutes later. “You clothes and jewelry are laid out on the bed.”

“How did I get so lucky as to having a stylist as my best friend?” Elain smacked a kiss on his cheek.

“Down, girl,” he drawled, refilling his wine glass. “Save it for your hunky tattooed boy.”

“He’ll be here in about half an hour,” she said, glancing at the clock. “Oh, gods. Luce, you gotta go.”

He paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. “What? I can’t stay and meet him?”

Elain barked a laugh. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m trying not to be offended,” he mumbled, drinking from his glass.

“I just…” she stopped, staring at her own wine glass. Lucien had been joking earlier, but would it be the night something happened between them?

“He hasn’t even kissed me,” Elain started, trying to state it matter-of-factly. Instead, it came out softly.

“Oh, El,” he breathed and his face softened, then he smirked. “Are you sure he’s not gay?”

“Lucien!” Elain cried, trying not to laugh. She pushed him away.

He smiled though and she realized so was she.

He said, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical reason he hasn’t kissed you. And after the meal you’ve made him tonight, he’ll probably ask you to marry him.” She smiled at him and he grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. “Now go change, I’ll leave as soon as you get back. Someone has to watch the food and I need to finish my wine.”

He gave her a light shove and she made her way to her room. She found a simple outfit of a large, cozy knit sweater, black leggings, thick, long socks, and plain silver jewelry. Comfortable but cute. Just what she’d wanted. She took a couple minutes to touch up her makeup and hair before heading back down the hallway.

She realized two male voices were floating down the hall towards her and she could easily recognize both.

She froze, trying to listen in.

“I didn’t know you had a kid,” Lucien was saying.

Azriel cleared his throat. “Yeah, well…”

Elain took a step into the kitchen. “Hi!”

Az turned, his smile lighting up his face. “Hey,” he breathed.

Lucien cleared his throat. “You didn’t tell me Azriel Draeven was your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my- Don’t you have somewhere you needed to be?” She asked, cutting herself off.

“Since dinner isn’t for three, I’d say so,” he sighed. “It was good to see you again, Azriel. Don’t tire her out too much, we’re supposed to go to the gym in the morning, bye!”

It all came out in a rush and before either of them could say anything, he was out the door, taking his wine glass with him.

Elain was staring at her front door, gaping, cheeks turning a bright shade of red. “He- I- He- Ignore him.”

Azriel just laughed, breathlessly. “I didn’t know you knew Lucien.”

“I didn’t know you knew Lucien.”

Azriel shrugged, hands shoved in his pockets as he took a step toward her. “We went to school together.” A moment passed, and he took another step closer. “It’s good to see you. Sorry I’m early. I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“It’s okay,” she said, leaning against the counter. “Early is good.”

“You look beautiful,” he said and she blushed again. “God, that blush does things to me.” He brushed a thumb over her flushed cheek.

Elain couldn’t stop herself as she leaned up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. She pulled back and breathed, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait any longer to do that.”

He watched her for a moment, and that moment seemed to pass by too slowly. She needed him to say something. Anything.

But, he didn’t.

Instead, his hands found her waist and he pulled her closer, kissing her much, much slower.

He tasted like mint. His lips were gentle, soft.

She felt like he was holding back.

When he let go, his mouth leaving hers, he said, “Sorry, it didn’t last long enough the first time.”

Elain giggled. She honest to God giggled, and said, “Are you hungry? Dinner should be ready.”

“I could eat,” he smiled.

He helped Elain make their plates, piling his plate extra high with the homemade macaroni and cheese she’d made. He’d carried her food out of the kitchen.

“Do you want a drink?” She called. “I have wine and beer.”

“White or red?” His voice didn’t come from the dining room like she’d expected.

“White.” She peeked her head into the living room and found him on her couch.

He looked back at her. “I’ll have a glass.”

She asked, “You don’t want to sit at the table?”

“There’s a little too much space at the table for my taste. I’d rather be able to sit next to you.” He smiled and patted the spot next to him.

“Okay,” she said, smiling and walking back into the kitchen. She poured two glasses of moscato and grabbed silverware and napkins, before making her way back into the living room.

She set the glasses down on the coffee table before sitting by his side. He was devouring his plate, which made Elain feel good, but also found it humorous that he ate his food so quickly.

“So, did you have a good day at work?” she asked.

He nodded, swallowing before he said, “Only had a few appointments, so I didn’t stay the whole day. How about you?”

“I have a wedding coming up so I was extra busy,” she said, her thigh brushing his.

He set his plate on his lap and rest a hand on her leg, not to high as to make her uncomfortable, but he had this uncontrollable urge to touch her, to be close to her.

“How was your visit with Asher today?” She asked, taking a bite of roast chicken.

“It was great,” he smiled, but she saw the hesitation in his eyes.

“What?” She asked, running her fingers down his arm. She trailed her finger down one of his many tattoos. She marveled at the fact that it felt just like regular skin. She’d always imagined it would feel different, more rough.

“Just…” He shook his head. “We’ve got another meeting with our lawyers coming up and I’m sure Ianthe will make another bullshit reason as to why she can’t come.”

Elain hesitated. “I hope I’m not overstepping when I say that Ianthe is a hot mess.”

Azriel had bitched a lot to Elain about Ianthe in recent days. He laughed, quietly. “No, you’re not overstepping. In fact, you’re being quite nice.”

She nudged his shoulder. “Well, if there’s ever anything I can do...you know, let me know.”

His smile softened. “You are a beautiful woman. Inside and out.”

His words were soft, but they still made Elain’s stomach erupt into a fit of butterflies.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she said, taking another bite of chicken.

“So,” he said, setting his empty plate on the table in front of them. “You make me dinner, you get me liquored up. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to take advantage of me.”

She blushed and looked away. His fingers found her chin and he turned her face towards him. “I’m kidding,” he said, brushing his thumb over her lips.

“But are you wrong?” She asked, voice flirtatious although her heart was nearly about to burst through her chest.

Azriel raised a brow, a small grin on his lips. “Elain Archeron. Who knew you have a naughty side?”

His voice was light, but she saw the look in his eyes shift.

Lucien’s words from earlier flashed through her mind.

Are you sleeping with him tonight?

Maybe not. But did she want to?

She didn’t say a word as she twisted, throwing her leg over one side of his body. She straddled him, and his hands settled on her hips, pulling her close and their lips found each other’s.

Her hands framed his face and she gasped as he nibbled on her bottom lip. Her messy bun got a little messier as his hand dove into her hair.

He pulled back, breathing heavily. His hazel eyes were dark. “I really was kidding. I didn’t have any expectations coming here tonight. I just wanted to see you and spend time with you.”

She didn’t answer as she crashed her lips against his again.

She knew that.

She knew who he was, knew his heart. She also was fully aware of how bad she wanted him.

She wouldn’t give him all of her tonight, but she would give him just a taste.

Something to keep him wanting more.

Something to keep him wondering about the secret fantasies of Elain Archeron.

~~~

It was almost seven, and Nesta was still in her dance studio. It had been a long ass day.

When she’d woken up and found Cassian gone, she had taken the hint.

She wasn’t looking for a relationship, she hadn’t even planned on sleeping with him until she’d gotten drunk. But she didn’t expect the pain of waking up on her couch alone. She didn’t expect the subtle ache in her heart when she realized he had left without waking her, without saying a word.

She had spent all day trying not to think about him, but had failed. Every minute, all day, her mind had drifted to him. She wanted to storm down the hall, into his classroom, and demand why he’d left.

But, she didn’t. She had remained professional. She had a hell of a headache, but she remained professional.

She was packing up her things to go home when a soft knock came on the door of her studio.

Cassian was standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with a small smile his mouth. “Hey.”

Nesta blinked. “Hey? Did you just say hey? Are you kidding me?”

“I mean, hello?” He shrugged. “Was hey too informal now or something?”

Nesta scoffed and picked up her bag, tossing her flats into it. “You’ve got some fucking nerve,” she mumbled, trying to pass him at the door.

He gripped her wrist, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Nesta shook her head, turning her back to him as she shoved her belongings into her bag. “You may leave.”

Cassian hesitated from his place in the doorway. “I’m...sorry, did I do something wrong?”

Nesta wanted to scream, wanted to slap him in the face before grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. “You seriously don’t see a problem with what you did?”

Cassian’s eyes went wide. “I don’t know how to tell you, sweetheart, but you were a willing party in everything that took place last night.”

“That’s not what I mean, you ass!” She turned and glared at him.

A look of genuine confusion and hurt was on his face.

She asked, “Where did you go this morning?”

Cassian blinked. “Home? To shower? And get my shit together so I didn’t look like a hungover bum in first period this morning? And, considering I walked to your house, I had to walk back to the bar and get my truck. I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful. I was going to text you when I got home but I don’t have your number. Then, you know, you ignore me all day…”

He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. She had never seen him look so...genuine. The cocky grin was gone.

She asked, “You didn’t leave because I’m a one night stand?”

“What?” He asked, taking a step forward. “Fuck, is that what you thought? I’ve been trying to take you on a date since the night I stepped on you in the street.” He reached for her, but stopped, not wanting to overstep his boundaries.

His hand fell back down to his side. She had to admit, she liked this side of him. It was real.

“I would never do that to you,” he said. “I like you. A lot.”

Nesta couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help as the tears welled in her eyes.

“Hey, hey, no,” he breathed, stepping forward and taking her face in his hands. “Please don’t cry. I’m so sorry you thought that. I’ve been trying to catch your eye all day.” He chuckled lightly. “I didn’t expect you to still be here. I guess I got lucky that my eighth graders trashed my recording booth earlier and I had to stay late.” He smirked and a laugh bubbled from Nesta’s lips. “That’s better,” he whispered, eyes flicking from her eyes to her lips.

His thumbs were brushing her cheeks. He was so close. He breathed, “Can I kiss you?”

She pressed her trembling lips to his in answer. It wasn’t the same kind of kiss as the night before. Those kisses had been hungry, lustful. This one was gentle, sweet, slow.

When he pulled back, Nesta’s tears had stopped, a small smile taking their place.

“Are you busy tonight?” She asked, quietly.

“I was going to go to Rhysand’s, but he’s training a new bartender. Probably best that I don’t.” He chuckled. “I’ll end up being given the mess ups and I still haven’t recovered from last night.”

Nesta paused. “I think that bartender might be my sister.”

Cassian laughed. “No offense, but I definitely think I’ll pass now. Do you want to come to dinner with me?” He smirked. “I mean, you’ve already slept with me, it’s the least you can do.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re still an ass.”

His grin widened. “Is that a yes?”

She gave him a long, suspenseful look as she said, “Yes.”

“Good,” He said, offering his hand. “I’ve got an idea.”

He drove her to the supermarket in Velaris, telling her to stay in the truck and he’d be right back. He returned and tossed the bags he carried in the toolbox in the back before she could even ask what was in them.

When she got the look in her eye and opened her mouth to ask where he was taking her, he smoothly said, “Trust me, you’re going to love it.” He rested his hand on her thigh. She didn’t ask him to move it.

He drove outside of town and backed his truck up to the lookout point overlooking Velaris. The sun was just beginning to set and the skyline took Nesta’s breath away. She’d never seen the city from this perspective.

She heard Cassian hop out of the bed of the truck and turned around. With a grin, he lowered the tailgate and she melted at the sight in front of her.

A picnic was laid out in his bed, complete with a bottle of wine and checkered blanket.

“Attractive and romantic?” Nesta mused. “An interesting combination.”

Cassian huffed a laugh as he hopped up into the bed, taking her by the hand to help her up, too.

“I’ve always known you’ve found me attractive,” he winked.

Nesta just rolled her eyes. He poured wine into two solo cups, and handed one to her. She raised an eyebrow and looked at him as she took it.

He sighed. “It was either real wine glasses or the blanket, which would you have preferred?”

She crossed her legs and rested the cup on her leg. “Definitely the blanket.”

“That’s what I thought.” She could hear the smile in his voice as took a drink and began to unpack their dinner.

Chicken salad, potato salad, and ham and cheese from the deli. There was a bag of chips and two bottles of water that he pulled out last before offering her a little bit of everything.

“So,” he began, cramming a slice of honey ham into his mouth. “Tell me something about yourself.”

“My mother died when I was thirteen,” she said, reaching for the chicken salad. He choked on the ham in his mouth.

He coughed and took a drink of wine. “That...is not what I expected you to open with.” She chuckled softly. “I was thinking more along the lines of when you started dancing or your favorite movie or how good I am in bed.”

“Don’t you mean ‘wall’?” She smirked. He shook his head and swiped a piece of cheese from the pile in front of them. “And I figured might as well get it out of the way. It’s something I don’t dwell on. It’s the reason I threw myself into dancing.”

She shrugged. “Feyre had her art and Elain was taking care of our father. So I had my ballet.”

He asked, “Didn’t you go to VIA?”

She nodded and drained her wine glass. “It’s always been my dream to come back and instruct there.”

“So, now all your dreams have come true?” he asked, brow raised.

She laughed, shaking her head. “I’m happy. I’m at a point in my life where a lot of my goals have been met, yes.”

“But not all?”

She shrugged. “There’s always something to work toward.”

He nodded and refilled their glasses. The sun has almost set and she couldn’t help but notice the way the rays gilded his loose hair. She could see bits of gold in his dark hair. “What about you? Where did you go to school?”

“Good old VHS. Velaris High School.” He leaned back on his elbows. “I played football there. Got a scholarship to the University of Adriata and majored in music theory. I’ve always loved music, even more than football.”

“I wouldn’t guess that by looking at you,” she admitted.

He grinned. “Yeah, most people don’t. But, I don’t know. There’s something about music...getting lost in it. It makes me feel...peaceful.”

“I get it,” Nesta said, thoughtfully. “I feel the same way about dancing.”

“What about your sisters?” Cassian asked. “Have you always got along?”

Nesta chuckled. “With Elain? Yes. Feyre? We’ve had our ups and downs. I love her, though. And she loves me. Sometimes we just have an interesting way of showing it to each other.”

Cassian laughed as he took another sip of his wine.

“How about you?” she asked. “Family?”

He took a moment to think about it. “Never knew my father. To be honest with you, I’m not even sure if my mom knew my father. But she was a great woman, my mom. She passed away when I was in middle school. I moved in with Rhys after that. He was my closest and oldest friend. His mom took me in, raised me as her own. No brothers, no sisters. Just Rhys and Azriel.”

Nesta listened as she chewed. Cassian tipped the wine over her cup and refilled it, regardless of the fact that it wasn’t empty, along with his own.

“When did you start dancing?” He asked.

“When I was seven. I begged and begged my mom to let me start but wouldn’t with two babies at home. So as soon as Feyre turned three, she let me.” She swirled her glass, watching as the bubbles in the middle from the fresh pour spun. “I fell in love pretty instantly. I asked her to sign me up for every style of dance I could. I waited and waited to join pointe, but it had such a high age requirement. The day I was finally allowed to start...” She trailed off and looked out over the city, the last of the day’s light fading. “My life finally started to make sense. It was like a key clicking into a lock.”

“I know that feeling,” he said, falling back on the blanket as the stars of Velaris came out to play. “I love that feeling.”

She smiled. “Me too.”

She laid down next to him, his fingers instantly finding hers. She felt invincible with him. Beautiful. Flawless. Completely and utterly alive.

——

The hardwood of the bar against Feyre’s back was uncomfortable, but the feel of Rhysand’s body pressed against hers as he kissed her was enough to forget about it.

Her leg was thrown over his hip and he had one elbow leaned by her head as his other hand roamed her body.

They’d made sure the door was locked after Tamlin had left and before long, their hands began brushing which lead to lingering looks and finally Rhys had crashed his lips against hers and lifted her up to sit on the bar. One thing led to another and he was now on top of her, playing with the hem of her shorts.

Feyre pulled back and giggled. “I don’t think this is very sanitary. Your customers would be outraged.”

He grinned. “Eh, they don’t scare me.” He brushed her hair out of her face as his smile softened. “Are we drunk?”

“Oh, most definitely,” Feyre laughed, resting her palm against his cheek, “but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t wanted to kiss you like this every time I’ve been around you.”

Rhys lifted a brow. “Oh yeah? It’s because of my undeniable beauty, isn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes, leaning up to give him one more quick kiss. “Maybe it’s because of your undeniable cockiness.”

He smirked and looked up at the clock behind the bar. “Did you know,” he drawled, his lips brushing hers again, “that it’s 3:45 in the morning?”

Her eyes went wide. “Shit, it is?” She turned her head and looked at the clock. “I need to go. I have to be at the Farmer’s Market at 7:30.”

Rhys climbed off of her and hopped off the bar, helping her down as well. “Let me walk you to Nesta’s. You said it’s close, right? I’m not letting you drive anywhere.”

“That’s probably for the best,” she laughed, grabbing her purse and heading for the door.

Rhys locked the door as they left and immediately took her hand in his as they began to walk towards the residential district.

“I’m really glad I met you,” he said.

Feyre arched a brow, her fingers tightening around his palm. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “You’re a really amazing woman.”

Feyre looked away from him, up into the night sky. “I’m really glad I met you, too.”

She couldn’t help but compare. He was so different from Tamlin, in every way. She didn’t realize that the opposite of Tamlin was exactly what she needed.

They didn’t say anything else as they walked, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was warm, like slipping into bed on a winter’s night. It was easy and familiar.

She slowed down as they approached Nesta’s house. She stepped up onto the porch and he followed, stopping behind up. “This is it,” Feyre breathed, as she turned and looked at Rhys.

His hand wove into her hair. “Can I give you a proper goodnight kiss?”

“Please do,” she said, leaning up on her toes to meet him. His tongue brushed along the seam of her lips and she opened for him.

They kissed until she couldn’t breathe, until she was dizzy and high on the heady scent of him. “Goodnight,” she whispered, stepping back and leaning against the door.

“Goodnight,” he replied and pressed one last, soft kiss to her lips, before backing away and making his way down the porch.

When he reached the sidewalk, she called out, “Wait, how will you get home?”

She could see that handsome smirk on his face from across the distance. “Don’t worry, Feyre darling. I don’t live far.”

He waited until she was safely locked in the house before he began to walk away.

——

Elain was high on him.

Her heart was nearly about to beat out of her chest as he hovered over her. Her back was against the couch, the weight of his hips on hers as their lips crashed into one another’s a dream come into reality.

She had kissed men before, but none of them had felt like this.

They had done nothing but kiss the whole night, nothing but the occasional sigh or whisper leaving their lips.

Suddenly, Azriel pulled back. “How cheesy would it have been for me to bring you flowers?”

Elain’s brow furrowed. “Nobody’s ever bought me flowers before.”

“I’ll remember that,” he said, leaning down to brush a kiss to her neck.

She laughed. “Were you thinking of bringing g me flowers?”

“Mhmm,” he mumbled against her neck, “but I thought you’d be tired of flowers.”

“I love flowers,” she said, smiling like a fool. “The world could use more flowers.”

“The world could use more people like you,” he said, pressing another kiss to delicate curve where her neck and shoulder met. “Passionate.” Another kiss. “Caring.” Kiss. “Selfless. Kiss. “Beautiful.”

Elain was blushing, her face and neck on fire as he kissed his way back up to her lips. He pulled back and said, quietly, “I had this whole corny speech planned but I can’t remember any of it. I can’t get past the feeling of your lips, how good you feel against me. Be my girlfriend, Elain, please. I want you in my life. I want you in Asher’s life.” He paused and swallowed. “I know dating a guy with a kid probably sounds miserable, but-.”

She pulled him down the collar and pressed her lips against his, shutting him up.

“Yes,” she whispered against his lips. “Yes.”

#lovely #lovely ch 3 #throne of ashes and beauty #throne of ashes and beauty x tacmc collab #tacmc #tag team prompts #tag team multi chapter #nessian #elriel #feysand #acotar #lovely acotar #toab #toab tacmc lovely

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miumiu-chan · 4 years ago

Text

Miyase Go STORY 1 Chapter 10-4

Subbed video: STORY-1 10-4

-Rulong’s Apartment-

[RULONG]: “Ohh, it’s about ready to drink.”

[RULONG]: “The fragrance is also good. Here, go ahead and have some.”

[REI]: “............”

[RULONG]: “Hm~m, Little Flower, you refused the water earlier too.”

[RULONG]: “If you stubbornly don’t take anything in, you’ll need an IV later?”

[REI]: “......Why aren’t you having some as well?”

There was only one cup. It could be poisoned.

[RULONG]: “There’s no poison in it, so don’t worry. I still don’t completely know what drugs are effective against Little Flower.”

[RULONG]: “And showing hospitality with tea is the manners of “Licorice”.”

[REI]: “Licorice......?”

[RULONG]: “It’s kanzō*.” (T/N: the Japanese word for licorice, because he says Licorice in English.)

I knew what it was. It was a plant often used in herbal medicine.

[RULONG]: “The leaves we used for the shag flavor earlier are also licorice.”

[REI]: “Shag......?”

[RULONG]: “The hand-rolled cigarette.”

That smell that was different from the aroma of the craft tea, I remembered it.

At the same time, remembering Miyase-san's coldness, I felt suffocated.

[RULONG]: “That shag is also made by my family.”

[RULONG]: “The previous generation who was also the founder was a really great merchant, you see.”

[RULONG]: “It was the first licorice-flavored shag ever invented, and that’s why it became the organization name.”

[RULONG]: “——so, since you’ve heard that much already, why not drink?”

[RULONG]: “Because from the point that you trust me and take the tea into your mouth, Little Flower will be semi-family.”

[REI]: “Semi-family......?”

[RULONG]: “Those that you can talk more about with than with other people, yeah?”

The temptation in the sweet scent was strong.

This person properly saw through my regret and inferiority.

For the DCD, my current self was nothing but a burden.

At the very least, I wanted to collect information.

[REI]: “......-, I will drink it now.”

[RULONG]: “Go ahe~ad ♪”

I didn’t really get the taste of the craft tea that was in my mouth.

I just felt the temperature on my tongue and swallowed mechanically.

[RULONG]: “Congrats. With this, Little Flower and I are no longer complete strangers.”

[RULONG]: “Do you want to ask anything?”

Rather than considering the intention of the induction, I chose the option to openly question him.

[REI]: “What do you intend to do with the flower drugs from now on?”

[RULONG]: “Ah, that? I can't answer that. Sorry.”

[RULONG]: “The only things I can tell you are personal things.”

[REI]: (Personal......)

[REI]: “......That Miyase-san is trying to crush the Kujo Family with you”

[REI]: “......Does he hold a grudge because of his mother’s suicide?”

[RULONG]: “Before answering, Little Flower has to present the information that you have.”

[REI]: “Miyase-san’s mother was confined by the Kujo Family's predecessor, and suffering from a mental illness chose to die——is what I know.”

[RULONG]: “Anything else?”

[REI]: “In the same year, the Kujo Family predecessor also died......”

[RULONG]: “That's right. Go-chan’s papa, committed suicide after Go-chan's mama.”

[REI]: “H......!”

[RULONG]: “Licorice, you know, doesn’t respect people who waste their own lives.”

[RULONG]: “Life is the biggest consumable, it’s the best product.”

[RULONG]: “That’s why, I’ll give a hint to Little Flower, who is trying hard to collect information without giving up on your attachment to living even in this situation.”

-Kujo House / Living Room-

[KUJO]: “——Go, is now a good time?”

With the news of my mother’s death, abandoning everything except breathing, I answered without looking at Soma-san.

[MIYASE]: “What is it......? Right now, I can’t talk about any decent things.”

[KUJO]: “Father died.”

What idiotic things are you saying, I ridiculed.

[MIYASE]: “The fake funeral is over already, isn’t it?”

[KUJO]: “He’s really dead.”

[MIYASE]: “........................Ha?”

An intense breathlessness hit me, as if my throat was clogged by the incense burner. I felt nauseous.

Unable to stand it, I lifted my face slowly and Soma-san was reflected in my sight.

He was also looking straight at me.

[KUJO]: “He seems to have been put together with Ryoko-san’s coffin.”

[KUJO]: “An excessive use of a drug was detected in the body.”

[KUJO]: “——It was the same illegal drug as Ryoko-san’s.”

The hairs on my whole body stood on end at once, and I tried to strongly hold down the vomit.

I couldn't vomit anything, because even the gastric juice had frozen in my empty organs.

[MIYASE]: “What are you saying……?”

[KUJO]: “Go, I——“

[MIYASE]: “Shut up.”

[KUJO]: “——“

[MIYASE]: “Soma-san......”

[MIYASE]: “...——When you said “I do not hold a grudge against you” to my mom, what did you mean?”

[KUJO]: “............”

[MIYASE]: “I am sure you said that to my mom yesterday.”

[MIYASE]: “I kept on thinking about what it meant.”

[KUJO]: “That was——“

[MIYASE]: “Were they words of sympathy towards a mistress?”

[KUJO]: “It’s not!”

[MIYASE]: “How is it not!”

I grabbed Soma-san's collar and pressed him against the wall with fury.

When I looked at his pained expression at a close distance, I calmed down a little.

[MIYASE]: “......Just now, you said “it’s not”, didn’t you.”

[KUJO]: “............”

[MIYASE]: “Please explain. So that I can understand.”

[KUJO]: “-............”

[MIYASE]: “Explain it! Nii-san*!!” (T/N: Big brother)

My grip tightened up on his collar.

Rather than pressing him, it was as if I was clinging on to him.

I hit his body against the wall. I glared one-sidedly.

Is this sibling interaction?

Because I didn’t know how to do something like depend on my brother.

[KUJO]: “......Go, I think of you as my brother.”

[MIYASE]: “——!”

Pulling away the hand that was touching, I staggered a step back, and distanced another step back.

There was no “explanation”.

This person admitted that he was insulting my mother's existence, while calling me his “brother”.

He went out of his way to say “You are not guilty”, and heavily pressed that blame onto my mother.

[MIYASE]: “You are......the same as Kujo Soichiro. With that arrogance.”

[MIYASE]: “——To the extent that it robs people of their lives.”

[KUJO]: “Nh......”

[MIYASE]: “You are———...er.”

[MIYASE]: “You are not my brother.”

-Rulong’s Apartment-

[REI]: “No way......-, is that really true?”

[RULONG]: “My family’s researcher is a perfectionist.”

[RULONG]: “Researching everything as detailed and obsessively as possible.”

[REI]: “Then......after all, Miyase-san holds a grudge against the Kujo Family because of his mother, and wants to take revenge……”

[RULONG]: “That’s what I thought. Go-chan too.”

You “thought”......?

[REI]: “Does that mean that the current perception is different?”

[RULONG]: “Little Flower should have understood it from the Hanafuda game earlier.”

[RULONG]: “In Go-chan’s case, not just the cards in his hand, even the set couldn’t properly be seen.”

[REI]: “......Even Rulong-san can’t see all of Miyase-san?”

[RULONG]: “I can't give you any more hints.”

[RULONG]: “Because I don’t trust Little Flower completely.”

[RULONG]: “Even if I said we’re family, it’s still semi.”

[REI]: “That there’s hints means that there is an answer after all.”

[RULONG]: “What do you think? I wonder if Little Flower can see through the meaning of the set that Go-chan made.”

[REI]: “If you know anything, please tell me now......!”

[RULONG]: “And what if I said I was involved in the death of Go-chan's mother?”

[REI]: “Eh......-“

[RULONG]: “But, we’re a family. A family*.” (T/N: he usually says family in English but the second one he said in Japanese, kazoku.)

[RULONG]: “And with that, the serious talk is over ♪”

[REI]: “——!”

Suddenly I was hugged tightly by the waist, and my neck was bitten sweetly.

[REI]: “H......! P-Please stop......!”

[RULONG]: “I~ don’t wanna.”

[RULONG]: “This flower tea, in my country you give it to a woman you want to sleep with.”

[RULONG]: “You feel down because of Go-chan’s coldness, right? I’ll comfort you.”

[REI]: “Wai-! Really st——“

[MIYASE]: “You promised not to touch the product.”

[REI]: (Miyase-san......!)

[RULONG]: “Ah, you’re back.”

[MIYASE]: “Rulong, let go.”

[RULONG]: “Why? Go-chan doesn't need Little Flower, right?”

[RULONG]: “A Japanese woman has a clean and good smell from her moist skin, it’s making me feel a special excitement.”

[REI]: “N-No......!”

The appearance of me being embraced by him was seen by Miyase-san.

Although I was desperately struggling, his restraint was skillful as if it wasn’t a big deal to him.

[RULONG]: “Even if you resist, I’ll still do it. It actually makes me burn more.”

[REI]: “!”

[MIYASE]: “............Do as you like.”

[REI]: (No way......!)

He left.

The closed door resonated with a dry sound.

The view of his back that disappeared was on the other side of it.

......This was the first time I saw Miyase-san's back so clearly.

We were always next to each other or talking face-to-face.

Such a person, now was——...

[RULONG]: “Hmm, will it take about 15 seconds?”

[REI]: “Eh......”

The sound that seemed to cancel my confusion was the sound of the door opening and closing fiercely——

[MIYASE]: “Rulong, if you wanted to uselessly stir me up, you’ve succeeded.”

[RULONG]: “A~ha. It hasn’t even been 10 seconds, Go-chan really is the best.”

Miyase-san, who had a smile like it was plastered on, approached me,

And firmly pulled my arm so that I got up from the reluctant Rulong-san’s knees.

[RULONG]: “You should’ve just done that from the beginning. I’ll leave you two alone.”

Saying it as if he knew it all, he went out of the room.

-Rulong’s Apartment / Corridor-

[RULONG]: “Having Little Flower reach Go-chan’s set by herself is my reserved card.”

[RULONG]: “Xiao Go, I won’t lose*.” (T/N: He says this in Chinese. Xiao is like a term of endearment that just means “small” or “young.”)

#stand my heroes #sutamai #miyase go #translations

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gem-quest · 5 years ago

Text

[ O P H E L I A ... ]

“There is no life I know to compare with pure imagination. Living there, you’ll be free, if you truly wish to be.”  - Pure Imagination

Real Name: Catriona “Cat” Walsh Age: 20 FC: Saoirse Ronan Species & Class: Specter Bard Guild: Moonstone   Description of In-Game Powers: Specters are Gem Quest’s non-corporeal undead player race. They’re notable for only having 9 stats instead of 10, with Strength being omitted from their stat lineup because they literally have no physical bodies. Instead, their Willpower stat serves as their Strength equivalent. This means they have a rechargeable meter of how much they can possibly interact with physical objects before taking a rest or recharging with a spell or potion. Beyond that, Specters are distinguished by their inability to be damaged by non-magical weapons, increased susceptibility to light magic, and inability to be healed via healing potions or traditional physical healing spells (only a period of rest or spells/potions aimed at restoring mental wellness can heal them). The non-magical weapon immunity is amazing lower levels, but it’s not long before everything thrown at you seems to be enchanted or blessed or cursed or whatever. Weirdly enough, as far as the whole “incorporeal being” conceit is taken in other aspects, Specters can indeed take potions, as well as eat and drink. They get decreased buffs from some potions and foods, though. To balance this out, spells that provide small buffs and aren’t explicitly light-aligned are extra effective on them.

There’s a lot of frustration with the class because of its “fake” weapon resistance, since any old dagger with any mild enchantment or magical effect at all on it can hit them. They can’t viably hit physical things in combat without specifically taking Knight, Rogue, Rider, or Mage-Knight as their class. And even then, they’re arguably the weakest race choice in the game for non-magical melee combat. Meanwhile, a lot of physical things and all magic can still hit them very hard very easily.

All of this said, there ARE skills to really like here, too - namely, superb mobility. Specters can pass through physical materials five feet thick or thinner as long as those materials aren’t specifically enchanted to prevent phasing. They float slightly by default and have a rechargeable flight ability that allows them to lift much further off the ground in short bursts. They also have a rechargeable ability (with more uses per charge than flight) that allows them to teleport from where they stand to any spot they can see within 20 feet without a spell as long as they haven’t been hit with an attack in the past 5 seconds. This gives them excellent mobility even in the heat of battle and allows them to have a lot of control over their position and angle. It also means that it’s often smarter for them to worry less about defense than about being hard to hit in the first place.

Place of Birth: Dublin, Ireland

Appearance: Ophelia has a Specter’s signature slightly translucent skin, under-saturated color palette, and skirt hem/legs that trail off into mist. Her eyes are a stormy gray, and her wardrobe is almost exclusively black and white. When it comes to fashion, she prefers some of the more dark Victorian-inspired looks in the game as opposed to the high fantasy, renaissance, or medieval looks that a lot of other characters favor. That said, she’s got a pretty extensive and well-curated wardrobe behind her. She considers it highly important that she have at least one appropriate black and white ensemble to wear in each and every level in order to fit in with the theme. That said, she also has her own signature look that she uses as her “default” (the outfit she’s wearing in her pic at the top of her audition - full-body edit to be shared later!). Oh, and she loves gloves and capes. LOVES THEM. And kind of hoards them, tbh.

Places Most Likely to be Found In-Game: Ophelia’s favorite haunt at the moment is the City of Magic in Level 11. It’s the logical home base for a character who’s both a crafting/magical class AND a ghost. There’s a high enough concentration of both useful items and ingredients AND sufficiently gothic-flavored areas and NPCs to suit all her needs, both practical and aesthetic. She’s set up her own little shop in one of the many background spooky haunted house locations within the shadier-looking part of the city, and her Aesthetic demands she sometimes hangs out at the city’s main graveyard.

Beyond that, she can sometimes be found in various libraries and shops across the levels she can access, looking for interesting bits of crafting knowledge, hints of new items she could try cobbling together, and items that she could modify or combine with something to make can even more useful item. She’s also been known to turn up in random wilderness or roadway portions of levels in the first half of the game, foraging for crafting components that grow or randomly generate within those environments.

Current Inventory:

Screaming Lute (x1): Ophelia is very, exceedingly proud of her combat lute. She crafted it herself out of her bardic starter instrument. Specter Bards begin the game with an instrument they are capable of interacting with consistently. Cat has decided that, within Ophelia’s story, this was Ophelia’s lute in life, and it was destroyed shortly before her death as a way of intimidating her. Anyhow, Ophelia has heavily modified her starting weapon to the point that she thinks of it as an entirely new item. It’s covered in strange etched carvings and shifts between glowing with an eerie red light from the inside and constantly trailing wisps of white smoke. She uses it as her primary weapon in the game, as strumming specific notes and chords on the lute lights up some of the etchings and fires off various spells and magical effects and spells Ophelia has been able to learn. The lute downright shrieks whenever she uses it to cast a spell. How does it work, you might ask? That is a very long story, and one I’m saving for another post XD Most of the spells Ophelia has at her disposal are cast through her rune-covered lute and will be catalogued in her lute info.

Whispering Flute (x1): Ophelia likes rhymes and the aesthetics of symmetry. A secondary combat and utility weapon of hers, this is a flute enchanted to fire off up to three charges of Ventium per day, and one charge of Murmurationium per day. A good insurance weapon to sneak into a dangerous social situation, as it’s a perfectly normal and usable flute until she uses it to unleash the fury of the cold cruel winds of death upon you XD

Empty Unbreakable Bottle (x5): Ophelia favors magical items strongly because Specters can interact with non-martial ones automatically, without having to expend any extra effort or have at least X amount of Willpower to do so. Unbreakable Bottles are the cheapest magical container commonly for sale in game that’s capable of reliably holding liquids, so Ophelia likes to store all liquids important to her in them. And she likes to have at least a couple of empty ones on her at all times in case she wants to take a sample of something or otherwise just needs one.

Unbreakable Bottle of Rune Ink (x5): Rune Ink is an item that can be used as permanent and unfading ink that’s nigh impossible to remove or cover up. More importantly, though, it allows a PC with knowledge of the game’s runes, basically a language of magic that appears in a level or two and on some items, to write runic symbols that absorb nearby magical energy and store it within the object with runes written on it.

Enchanted Carving Tools (x1): Basic carving tools, enchanted to be able to create magical items and inscriptions. Ophelia uses them for crafting both magical and non-magical items, since any given item needs to be enchanted for her to be able to actively use it for long stretches of time anyway.

Enchanted Mending Kit (x1): Enchanted mending/tinker’s tools able to repair magical items without damaging their magical properties. Ophelia uses these to repair any repairable item sent her way, for the same reason she also uses enchanted carving tools for everything.

Paxanimi Potion (x3): A potion that mitigates psychic damage or corruption and provides a temporary boost to a player’s Psyche stat. For Ophelia, as a Specter, this is the closest thing she gets to a reliably available health potion.

Psychometry Scroll (x1): Allows caster to make one inquiry about the past of an object or place, then projects a scene or quote from the object’s or place’s history that provides a relevant answer to that question into the caster’s mind. Without crafting very specific questions, the results can often be vague and unhelpful, as the game will take the path of least resistance in providing a vision that meets the requirements of the inquiry.

Ictuium Scroll (x1)

Second Sight Scroll (x1) (Learning)

Assorted Random Crafting Bits and Scraps

She actually has more inventory kept hidden away within her home base rather than coming with her everywhere. Most of it is just more tools and materials and many, many changes of clothes.

“How much does it weigh? Can I touch, smell, and taste it? Can I put it in my inventory? Is it magical? Is it combustible? How many knowledge checks can I roll on it? Does it match my outfit? Can I keep it?” - Catriona, literally every time she sees any new item in D&D

Strongest character trait: Imagination

Strengths: Ophelia is an immensely imaginative and resourceful person who comes to Gem Quest from a background of extensive fiction reading and making famously effective TTRPG characters. It helps that she researched Gem Quest *extensively* before starting and continued to be active in forums and the GQ Wiki right up through getting stuck, along with getting early advice and support from a beta tester acquaintance. Her ideas are typically wildly innovative and a bit risky, but to her credit, they pay off more often than not. She’s slow to trust others with much critical personal information, but pretty open to giving others a chance and to judging people based on her own experience rather than on gossip. Thinking on her feet is second nature to her, and she’s rarely at a loss for ideas. Her devotion to her character and planned story arc have helped her to maintain a degree of focus and stability that’s thus far proven to be her most valuable coping mechanism.

She’s generally friendly and pleasant despite her spooky aesthetic, story, and demeanor, and she will genuinely try to help anyone who asks her for it. In business and in social encounters, Ophelia is considerate, well-mannered, and often downright chatty, though she usually knows to take a hint when people make it clear that they don’t want to talk. She makes and offers a selection of odd but useful items at very fair prices because she’s not here to make a profit - she just needs enough resources to keep going. She’s earned a bit of good will based on that. Her skill in puzzle and strategy-based quests and willingness to dispense hints on the above, along with her crafting, has garnered her a good reputation as a support player and PC shopkeeper within her guild.

Weaknesses: Even knowing that the game is now a matter of life and death, Ophelia still seems to care more about her in-game narrative and goals than practicality, survivability, or winning. A vibrant creative type who wishes no irl harm to anybody, she has a hard time conceiving that even the most blatantly destructive PCs would truly do harm to anyone outside the narrative. She catches most of the references you make and then obnoxiously, steadfastly denies that she has caught them if you inquire, because Star Wars doesn’t exist in the world of Gem Quest and of Ophelia, dammit! While her coping methods might be working for her internally for now, her devotion to staying in-character makes her a bit of an acquired taste. She is very, very particular about sticking to character, even when it’d be more practical and less annoying for her to drop it. She’s been known to make important decisions that risk her safety (and sometimes, indirectly, that of others) in the name of “authenticity” to her character and story plans.

Far, far too curious and adventurous for someone with a Defense stat of 2. She has lots and lots of interesting ideas, all of which she gives equal chance to, plenty of which aren’t good. Just because her creative ideas pay off more often than not doesn’t mean that there aren’t times when they don’t pay off. And when they don’t pay off, they tend to not pay off SPECTACULARLY. Reasonably likely to get herself killed enacting some inventive and exceedingly high-risk scheme to take out a dangerous boss before it can do damage.

For some folks, the mix of creepy aesthetics and backstory and acting choices with effusive goodwill and pleasantness is more off-putting than inviting. Arguably talks too much, especially when she’s nervous or upset. Has a weakness for getting emotionally involved with NPCs, particularly minor NPCs with chains of side quests or that can serve as temporary companions, despite theoretically knowing that they’re just chunks of code. Seems physically incapable of just sitting back and relaxing for a few without having to start some new project or come up with some new big subplot or plan.

Plenty of folks are happy to buy her crafted items, but she has a bad reputation as an active combatant due to a few infamous Incidents. At this point, only the truly uninformed, the truly desperate, the truly experimental, or the truly crazy in Moonstone would willingly party up with her XD

“Death has made me less than kind. And very, very creative with a broken lute, who knew?” - Ophelia

Player Stats: Ophelia’s defensive strategy in combat is just to not be hit at all. Her Defense stat is dangerously low, with any points that could buff it up as she’s gained levels and experience instead going to Agility and Luck. She prefers to draw her “defense” from stats that she can get more versatile use out of. She’s unusually low in Charisma for a Bard and has only enough Willpower to allow her to craft with physical items. She can’t wield non-magical weapons at all. However, she opted to invest a bit more in Psyche than a lot of other players did since a lot of a Specter’s durability lies in their emotional stability. She also has uncommonly high Intelligence, which combines with her Psyche and Luck to equip her well for puzzle-based and strategy-based challenges.

STRENGTH: X

DEFENSE: 2

CHARISMA: 6

PSYCHE: 7

WILLPOWER: 7

CAUTIOUSNESS: 4

AGILITY: 8

ENDURANCE: 5

INTELLIGENCE: 9

LUCK: 8 

Personality: (A lot of this is already in her strengths and weaknesses, so I’m putting a bit of a summary and some extra detail in here.)

She eats fictional media for breakfast, means well, talks a lot and talks often, has an overall spooky quirky nice one vibe (you know the type), fancies herself an actress regardless of the feedback she might receive, will (un)live and die in-character out of a fruity cocktail of artistic integrity and spite, is the Bard equivalent of a TV mad scientist who tends to cause the problem at the start of the episode with an experiment and then solve it in the last 2 minutes with a crazy genius plan that’s then shown to have not *totally* worked in a post-episode stinger, and is too smart for anyone’s good.

Building a clear narrative here helps her bring some degree of organization and order to the wild creative whirlpool that is her brain. She’d never considered herself much of an escapist until she discovered GQ, where she hasn’t escaped from responsibilities and work and struggle so much as she’s found an intoxicating degree of control over what her responsibilities and work and struggle are. She can write a meaningful story here, be its central driving force, have the impact she increasingly feels like she’ll just never be able to have in real life, and stick her epic quest out to a glorious conclusion. Ironically, she’s a weird mix of always needing an outline and a sense of narrative while ALSO constantly bursting with new ideas and clever but risky plans that she takes quite seriously. Cat harbors perpetual mild guilt for feeling so restless and unhappy - after all, she’s lived comfortable life and has a family who loves, and it’s not like people have to like anything she makes or does or says in order for her to have a high quality of life.

“Think you're escaping and run into yourself. Longest way round is the shortest way home.” - James Joyce

Biography: Catriona Walsh was born in Dublin, Ireland to an Irish mother and an American father of Irish descent. The family moved to New York City for her father’s job when she was just 5, but she and her mom remain close with her mom’s side of the family back in Ireland. After 3 years in New York, the family moved to Columbus, Ohio, where Cat spent the rest of her young life, except for summers. Most summers since she was 13, she’s stayed a couple months with an aunt and uncle who own a small tour company in Dublin. From 16 on, she’s been helping with business while there. Now she’s at college in Dublin and working at the company on the weekends, in exchange for staying with her relatives. She’s studying business for her parents and literature for herself.

Cat has always had a great fondness for the tour company, though mostly for the actual tour guide end of it. She’s a natural storyteller and explorer who delights in going off the beaten trail and sharing all she knows about xyz subject with anyone who seems interested. Unfortunately, her improvisational bent has landed her in trouble with her aunt and uncle more than once. There are schedules to keep and itineraries people pay to be taken through, after all. This landed her behind the front desk of the office answering phone calls and administering group ticket sales, which she very nearly hates.

School is hard, especially with her true interest pushed to the side by necessity. Feeling like none of her ideas ever get taken seriously is hard. Making friends that last beyond one semester sharing a class is hard, and as she gets further into her college career, her future looks increasingly stifled and bleak to her. Attempts to get some poetry and original music off the ground haven’t gone anywhere, ending in some spikes of faceless nastiness that prompted her to delete her one YouTube account and take a step back from social media about a year and a half ago. Sure, she knows she’s supposed to have a thicker skin than that if she wants to go anywhere, and she *does* want to go somewhere. But she can’t seem to make her skin much thicker. She wants to argue with her uncle and aunt a bit more, as she increasingly disagrees with them on quite a few things, but they’re both extremely conflict averse, and she can be extremely lacking in tact about things she’s suitably worked up over.

Through it all, she knows full well that so so many people have it worse, and that she has no reason to feel restless and dissatisfied and unhappy. It’s just that she has a hard time connecting with people and feeling heard. She’s not alone, so why is she lonely? Cat takes refuge in being the zany, intensely individualistic artist who’s sometimes worth inviting to a party for the interest value and who surely has friends somewhere - you just haven’t ever met them.

For the past year or so, all the time Cat has for herself and an increasing amount of time that used to go into schoolwork has been split between her long-time refuge in tabletop roleplaying and her new favorite place: Gem Quest. She’s part of two Dungeons & Dragons games currently being run on Roll20 (well, was a part of them, anyway), both of which she plays as a multiclassed build with some degree of casting put together for a mix of strong utility and intricate storytelling. Gem Quest continues a years-long trend of being in love with exactly one fantasy video game at a time and playing it as much as possible, though it’s her first MMORPG.

Catriona researched Gem Quest *extensively* before ever getting it or creating her character. She heard about it from a fellow member of one of her online D&D groups, an avid gamer happened to be a beta tester. Cat was drawn in by the idea of being able to entirely occupy the space of a created hero within a sprawling fantasy setting and be a version of herself designed as a protagonist in a world designed to be impacted by her. She had a cousin who had a VR headset but decided it just wasn’t really his thing, so it wasn’t hard to convince him to let her use it for this. After waiting to see more setting and story info during the early general release and researching everything there was to know about GQ thus far, including via discussion with her beta tester acquaintance, she entered into the game a short while after launch. She’s had time to level up, mostly in being an item crafter and utility character with a surprising capacity to serve as a highly mobile glass canon blaster (and inexhaustible source of very creative and very insane plans) in combat.

She also has a whole, novella-length backstory for her character - a summary of which I will post later! - that she treats as her character bible and guide for all in-game interactions. It’s based on a single image of a skeleton in a black and white dress in some official art of one of the higher levels where there are a lot of scenic skeletons lying around. This is the sort of brain Cat has XD  

Ophelia, as a character, is the ghost of a minor noblewoman and court musician who was betrayed when she starting poking around into the disappearance of her older brother at court. Her desires to find her brother and for vengeance brought her back as a Specter, but she came back a world away from the place she died and has to go on a quest to make it back and finish her story. Cat built the character to be tied to a mid-to-late game puzzle-heavy level so she could have a big climatic Moment there. Then, she’d continue to the end in search of her fictional brother. Ophelia wields a spectral lute as a spellcasting focus and spends a lot of time pursuing leads about both her brother and her murderer (aka quests Cat finds thematically/aesthetically good for Ophelia).

Cat is VERY set on seeing this plot through and being the hero of her story, from start to finish, despite what’s happening with the game now. She does her part to provide puzzle guides and crafting support for those working to beat the game, but she’s not going to rush through her story and suddenly snap back to being poor little ungrateful and inexplicably depressed Cat who has no place in anything and can’t do anyone much good with what she’s got. While she’s in the game, she’s going to be Ophelia. At least Ophelia has a *reason* to be unhappy and restless, a wildly creative and wildly striving brain tied to the world with a few wisps of smoke. And at least Ophelia is good at what she does.

Never mind how much she adored aggressive exploration and creative combat at first. She’s learned well enough that she’s just a liability there, she’s bad at being in a group, and, not so different from real life, she’s at her best when she’s just at the shop counter being support. She’s already been booted from a couple of parties over her crazy plans, play style, and general personality. And there have been more than enough incidents with her pulling something crazy because it was in-character and genuinely seemed like a good solution with the resources given, usually with at least decent results but always with high risk, that no one in the know is willing to party up with her anymore.

She’s kind of stuck either in her shop or going solo. At least she makes good things, though, right? And she’s just taking her plot slow because of she’s savoring and developing her story, not because people don’t really like conquering life beside her out here either, right?

Right?

Relationships: I’m very much open to some plotting and planning with anyone who’d like to try working something out!

In regards to side characters or such of my own, I have some ideas already for this. I’ll fill these in as I finalize my ideas a bit more!

Char 1 -

Char 2 -

Char 3 -

Playlist: TBF Pinterest: TBF Extra: TBF

#ophelia #catriona #cat #moonstone #character info

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beatrice-blaze · 5 years ago

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Black Coffee, Two Drops of Silver || Bea & Kaden

Coffee Plus was a place Bea often escaped to when it was raining. She'd have preferred to spend the day wandering the woods, but with the weather, it wasn't the safest plan. Being at home made her feel too much cabin fever to spend the entirety of her day off there and so she had decided to camp out at the coffeeshop. She was reading a thick book that her father had recommended, "The Wolf's Hour". She didn't typical lean towards horror books, but she would read anything her parents suggested for her. She was only about a quarter of the way through the book, but she was two coffees in and was a bit jittery at this point. Putting her bookmark in, she strongly considered getting another coffee as she stared intently at register from her seat.

Kaden wiped his hand on his jeans before pulling open the door to Coffee Plus. It was almost not worth bothering, he was sure he looked a mess but that wasn't going to stop him from going straight to the only halfway decent cafe in town, especially after all that. The rain had washed away most of the blood and dirt from his run in with a camazotz earlier but his victory had been hard earned. Kaden probably should have gone straight home and hit the shower but he'd earned this coffee. The place wasn't very full, which made sense. It was the middle of a rainy day, he supposed a lot of people were at home. But there was one face he recognized. Bea seemed to be reading a rather large book and sitting all by herself and he had said he'd say hello if he saw her here. Might as well, right? "Interesting book you're reading," he said as he approached her with a smile on his face, his coat and most of the rest of him dripping wet from the rain. "The Wolf's Hour." What an interesting title. Seems like he made the right call after all. "Any good?"

Bea's eyes snapped away from the register up to Kaden and she smiled as she met his eye. She hoped that she didn't look completely deranged when she was staring into space. She was surprised to see him there, but then again, she had recommended the shop and he had said he would say hi. She was almost disappointed that she didn't have some poisonous plant on her to show him. Keep her brand of being the lady casually carrying poisons and all that. Him being soaking wet was definitely not how she was expecting to see him though, but it had been raining pretty hard. "Did you get stuck outside without an umbrella?" She asked, slight worry in her voice. He could get a nasty cold like that. She was tempted to check her bag to see if she had an extra umbrella for him. She tapped the book's cover,"So far, I like it. My dad recommended it. I'm not usually one to read horror, but I like the premise. Are you here to try out the coffee?"

Kaden pushed his hair out of his face, trying to keep the wet mop from falling into his eyes. Any attempts at styling it from earlier that morning had been washed away awhile ago. "You could say that. Not sure an umbrella would have helped.I was out taking care of an assignment. Call about an oversized bat." Oversized was mildly putting it. Camazotz were fucking huge and this one had been no exception. He leaned with his forearms against the chair across from her. He couldn't help but smirk. Of all the books she could be reading. And her dad recommended it? Too many possibilities were swirling in his head to put all the pieces together. He'd have to see where the chips fell. "And here I'd think you'd get enough horror living in this town." He'd have to come up with some way to test his theories on the fly. It was either she was a werewolf or she was covering for one. Maybe even the one he saw last night. "Yeah, I'm here for coffee after a hard day's work. Needed something to keep me going after all that. Mind if I join you?"

"Bad day to get sent out on an assignment like that," Bea said sympathetically. "Somehow, I have a feeling that an 'oversized' bat isn't the weirdest thing you've seen in White Crest, though." She was sure that with his job, he'd seen a hell of a lot more of the crazy things White Crest had to offer. If anyone would, it would be animal control or the cops. She supposed Regan saw a lot of weird things too. His smirk kind of caught her off guard, she wasn't sure why he was smirking, but she couldn't say she didn't like the expression on him. She shrugged, "I guess I'm desensitized to the brand of horror that White Crest produces." Her smile brightened, glad that she had someone to sit with now. "Of course, sit down! I love company. I was about to get another coffee, do you want me to grab you something? You look like you need something extra hot."

"It doesn't bother me too much. I'd rather be outdoors than in an office, whatever the weather," Kaden said with a shrug. "You're right. There was this one time I saw some lady in the woods picking a whole lot of poisonous plants. It was so weird. Never seen anything like it" He threw her a smile, hoping she'd take the joke. Not that he was all that worried, so far she'd been sharp, honestly quicker on the draw than he was the other day. Funny, smart, pretty; it was a damn shame she was more than likely a werewolf. "Thanks. I've got it, though. I'm already standing. And I don't know if I should drink whatever you bring me," he said, adding a wink at the end. "What do you want?" He hoped she'd say cream, sugar, anything in her coffee at all. It would make slipping the bit of colloidal silver in her coffee a lot easier.

Bea nodded,”I understand that. I know I couldn’t work a normal job in an office. I just don’t like the rain that much.” Her eyes crinkled at corners as she let out a laugh, she hadn’t expected him to turn that around on her. “At least she left an impression. Now you’ll never forget her.” She liked talking to Kaden, he was funny and he was definitely a lot more comfortable this time around. She pressed her lips together in an attempt to stop from smiling at her own expense. It didn’t work well as she could feel her smile anyway. “I promise today I have nothing poisonous on me, but if you insist.” She paused, knowing that she really should not have her third latte. She was pretty sure that lattes had more caffeine than coffee... “I’ll just take a coffee with a splash of milk.”

"Coming right up," Kaden told her before heading off to the counter to order two coffees. He drank his black so keeping them separate would be easy enough. While waiting for the mugs, he rummaged through his coat pockets ahead of time, hoping it didn't look too suspicious. He was pretty sure most people didn't care a dropper with collodial silver on them at nearly all times, but then again, most people in town thought the vampires were funny looking cosplayers. Once he had the coffee, he took both to the little customization station on the side. Slipping two drops into hers was easy enough. He pretended to put a sugar in his even though the thought of that disgusted him, too sweet. "Here you go, coffee splash of milk," he said as he took a seat and handed her the mug. Now he just had to see if she reacted to the silver at all. It wasn't much, just a drop, if she wasn't a monster, she'd hardly notice it. Sure, there might be a taste, he didn't know, he didn't make a habit of drinking silver, but all the same. "So, you've been here longer than most, what's the worst you've seen here? You know, if oversized bats sound tame to you."

As Kaden went to get the coffee Bea tidied her space up. She put her book back into her bag and made sure she had no texts to respond to before putting her phone face down. She liked having coffee with people, it was one of the best way to get to know someone. She took the mug. “Thank you,” She smiles at him before taking a sip. She was not prepared at all for the flavor that was about to hit her. That was not that how the coffee here normally tasted. She swallowed and cleared her throat, trying hard not be rude, but that wasn’t good coffee at all. She cleared her throat again before blinking and forcing a pleasant look back on her face. Maybe the milk was bad. “I’ve seen so much at this point I think half the stuff happening is normal. The blood puddles and writing was a bit weird. I’ve had an ... animal get into my house and completely destroy my kitchen and living room. Broke windows and everything. A few of my friends from high school went missing just to come back years later like nothing happened. That’s obviously just a few.”

Kaden watched her intently as she sipped her coffee. He tried to seem casual enough, taking a drink from his as well, hoping it would hide the small smile on his face while waiting to see what would happen. "Are you alright?" he asked as she clearly had some trouble getting the coffee down. "Too much milk, not enough?" Allergic reaction? Are you a werewolf? "I almost forgot about the blood puddles. Amazing how quickly the weird shit becomes mundane. But I have to say, I'm a little surprised the department didn't get a call about that animal running through your house. I'm not sure whether to be offended or impressed." He was trying to keep his eyes off her mug, waiting to see when or if she'd take another sip, see if the reaction was different or worse. "Missing friends? Did they just run away and finally make it back or..."

Bea debating lying and telling him it was fine. She didn’t want make a big deal of nothing, however, she had obviously had a reaction to it and pretending she didn’t seemed a little too late. “I think the milk might be bad. Must be a sign from above that having a third cup isn’t a good idea,” She joked as she put the mug down. She felt bad in a way that she wasn’t going to drink the coffee, but she couldn’t force herself to be that polite. “I can’t imagine living in a normal town after White Crest. It would be so boring.” Oh, crap, she forgot he was animal control. “I took care of it. My sisters and I are figure it out on your own type of people.” That wasn’t even a lie, they did do things on their own because it usually ended up being easier for everyone involved. “Well, the most recent one hasn’t told me what happened, but he was missing for thirteen years and then just showed back up in town.”

The list of suspicious behavior from her was adding up. Kaden couldn't be completely sure, not yet. He needed something more definitive but question was what to try next? "Ah, I'm sorry. Hopefully this doesn't mean I'm bad luck." It most likely did. Hunter meeting a werewolf was only every lucky for one party and he planned to make it his. "Good to hear. But you know, next time if that happens, you can always call for help. I can't say much for the rest of the of the department but I like to think I'm pretty decent at what I do." His brows furrowed as she described the missing friends. Had to say, he was interested in finding out if she was a werwolf but he wanted to know more about this weird shit first. "The most recent one? I know you said friends but I don't know, I thought this happened all at once. There's multiple? That's a long time to be away."

Bea shook her head,”I doubt you’re bad luck. After all that day if you were bad luck I would have accidentally poisoned myself when we first met or something like that.” She liked Kaden’s company. He was witty and he didn’t mind when she teased him. Though the first time they had met he had acted weird, he was much more relaxed now and it just made her more comfortable with him too. She chuckled,”I’m sure you’re good at what you do, but really it’s alright. We live pretty far into the forest anyway, so we’re used to figuring stuff out on our own.” Growing up in White Crest gave Bea the opportunity to see the occasional missing poster for her friends and acquaintances, some had run away others had no answer yet. “There’s multiple. Cindy was a runaway. But Dario... He... His whole family died, but his body was never found. Yeah, it is. He’s not quite the same, but I think that can be expected from anyone after thirteen years, let alone whatever he went through.”

Kaden's face scrunched up as listened to her. It was hard to wrap his head around all this. He knew this town was weird and full of monsters and he fully expected people to go "missing" here. He never expected to hear about people coming back. It was enough to make him forget what his goal was with Bea. "Really, whole family died and he shows back up thirteen years later? I knew this place was strange but that's..." He shook his head as he trailed off. "Now you've gone and made me curious. Did he really just show up again out of nowhere like nothing happened? How'd you know him, anyway?" He leaned against the edge of the table, waiting to hear what she'd say next. He couldn't be sure how or if this could fit into the puzzle he was trying to piece together on her connection with wolves, but he had a sneaking suspicion whatever happened with this Dario guy was no run of the mill missing persons case. Maybe he was the wolf, killed his family and ran off. Maybe part of a pack, her pack maybe? There were plenty of possibilities.

"I think it was a house fire and maybe he wasn't there when it happened, but I'm pretty sure all his family is gone now. He didn't tell me much and I didn't think it was right to pry," Bea said softly. She felt bad for Dario. He had lost so much and came back to a town that didn't have much to offer him. "Just responded to something I posted online randomly, though I'm not sure he knew who I was at the time." Now her face flushed slightly as she had to admit how she knew him. "He was my high school crush. Took me out on a date and everything a week before he went missing." It felt odd calling Dario her friend, but in a way, he was, now more so than they had been in high school. At the end of the day, when he went missing she cared a great deal for him. "I didn't expect to finally have him message me back after the date thirteen years later, but here we are."

Kaden was rapt as she explained the whole story, both fascinated and a little concerned this was a possibility in White Crest. Just when he thought nothing could surprise him with the supernatural. "Sounds like you had a busy week, then. Glad he's back, though. Your friend." He took another sip of his coffee. "Still got a crush? Long lost love rekindled?" he asked, giving his eyebrows a waggle. Maybe he could lighten the mood a little. It didn't need to be dreary inside as well as out. Kaden noticed her coffee was still untouched. He didn't see any hives or rash on her, but that didn't mean anything. "You sure you don't want me to get you another coffee? A better one?" Surprisingly, he did genuinely feel bad that he was there, subpar coffee in hand, and she had nothing. God, he almost wanted to shake it off. He should really stop that, caring. This was meant to be recon, nothing more.

Bea liked the fact that Kaden listened to her so intently. He didn't seem to be one of those people who got distracted when other people spoke and it was oddly nice that she had someone to talk to about this, especially someone who wanted to listen. She could have told her sister how strange it was that Dario was back, but the younger woman was far more concerned with whether or not she was going to see him again. She let out a laugh, answering in a light tone, "Maybe a few years ago I would have said yes, but I'm not sure relationships are meant for me." Of course, she wanted one, she loved romance and the idea of having a family, but she had spent years with her ex and he had walked out of her life so easily. She wasn't sure she ever really got over that. "I think if I have a third coffee, I might bounce off the walls, but if you don't mind dealing with that, I'd take another." She knew she should cut down her caffeine intake, but there was very little chance she actually would.

Kaden definitely understood the sentiment. "I can't blame you. Not really sure they're meant for me either." Attachments weren't really a luxury a hunter could take often. It was hard to put trust in anyone who wasn't a hunter. It was too easy to be disappointed when you discovered a monster. He had to remind himself that's what he might be talking to now. "Doesn't bother me," he said with a shrug. He stood up and picked up her mug to take it back to the counter. "I'll take my chances." He talked to the barista behind the counter, told them how the 'milk' must have been bad. Seemed like his accent and charm had done the trick for once and they brought him a replacement. For a moment, he considered putting another drop of silver in this cup as well. Try again, see what happened. Something kept him from doing it, though. He couldn't be sure what. It was like a twinge in the back of his mind that just told him to just bring the coffee back, be normal for once. He told him self it was because he didn't want to risk getting caught a second time. It wasn't that, though. "Take two for you. Hope it's better this time. Sounds like you deserve the break."

#chat log: kaden #Black two drops of silver

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