#wheres the vine moments that he must surely deal with where he has to hide his smiles

[maximusboltaqon]

enough with the black bolt struggling to not speak due to anger more black bolt struggling not to laugh because something batshit just happened in front of him

[luimagines]

Not sure how familiar you are with Four Swords but would you be interested in writing separate Red, Blue, Green and Vio X reader? Obviously can be in an LU setting but doesn’t have to be! My girlfriend is a massive Four simp I know she’d swoon at this.

As always love your work! ❤️❤️

- Gaylactic-Fire

Masterlist

You've got it!

Color centric scenarios are a go!

Content under the cut!

Green

Your laughter bounced off of the forest canopy as you ran though the foliage.

Green held onto your hand tightly as he led the way, dodging in and out of bushes and the underbrush so frequently that you were sure you were thoroughly lost.

“Green!” You shout after a short twig scratches your ankle. “Where are we even going?”

“Somewhere special!” He replies with a wink over his shoulder.

That’s the only answer you get before he has you climbing over a particularly impressive rock, passing you the basket that he’s brought along and climbing right after you.

You shake your head and try your hardest not to look into the goods that he’s brought. He made you promise before you started out here to not peak and you don’t want to break it simply because you’re curios.

Granted, it a basket and he’s taking you somewhere special away from the people and his especially his brother- you think you can guess what’s inside and what you’re doing.

Green reaches up to where you are and takes the basket but a cheeky finger wave. “You promised~!”

“I know.” You snort. “I wasn’t looking.”

“Mm-hm...” He takes your hand again and begins to pull you along gentler along the rock and moves aside a curtain of vines before ushering you forward.

It’s a hidden tunnel and with wide and delighted eyes you venture forward, your boyfriend at your back before you come to a crystal cave, a blanket set on the dry rock below with multiple candles not only holding the blankets down but decorating the atmosphere with their flickering light, sending a filter of rainbow light across the cave.

A gasp leaves your mouth and you dash in front of the little display. “When did you do this? How did you find this place? I knew you taking me a for picnic but I didn’t think-”

“Happy anniversary.” Green holds out a single red rose in front of him a happy and bashful smile on his face.

Your heart drops to your feet when you accept the flower. “Green... oh, I’m sorry... I completely forgot. I didn’t get you anything.”

“I thought so.” Green admits. “You’ve been so nervous about acing your exams that you weren’t thinking much about anything else. But it gave me all the opportunity I needed to plan this, find this place and set everything up!”

“This is incredible Green, thank you.” You lean forward and kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry I’ve been so stuck in my head recently.”

“Don’t be.” Green takes your hands and kisses your knuckles. “If you pass the test you get to work in the castle as a royal court herbalist. It’s a big deal. They only accept the best of the best.”

 “I’m so nervous.” You say confidently.

“That’s ok.” Green chuckles. “But take a break for a little, yeah? I brought your favorites.”

Blue

You had left him the forge to work on the latest commission but you were beginning to suspect that he hadn’t once paused or taken a break.

And that just won’t stand.

So you walk right on in and wave to Green who’s working the front of the shop.

Green brightens at seeing your face and throws a thumb back toward the entrance to the forge. “Blue’s back there.”

“Has he left at all?’ You ask with a small smile on your lips.

Green shakes his head.

You sigh and shake your head.” That’s what I thought.”

“Gonna get him out?”

“I’m gonna try.” You admit with a shrug and walk toward the door.

“If anyone can, it’s you.” Green calls as you leave and you take a breath to brace yourself for the smell and the heat of the place.

You walk on it and look around, trying to get past the always dim light and spot him in the back by the anvil, the glowing amber light of the metal lighting up his face.

You step as close as you while still being safe of the sparks. 

“Blue!” You call out. 

He stops and looks up from the project before dunking it in the bucket of water nearby.

He leaves it there and begins to make his way over to you with a smile on his face. “Hey. I’m still working.”

“I can see that.” You say with a smile. “I was wondering if you would like to go get something to eat with me.”

Blue stalls for a moment, the idea waging a war in his mind. “...I’m still working.”

“It’s just a break, Blue. It’ll still be there when you get back.” You try to persuade him. “Please.”

You put on your cutest puppy eyes and lean closer, even going as far as to put hand in front of you as you plead your case. 

Blue bites his lip and worries the leather of his gloves but he doesn’t say anything.

You wait for a moment and drop your hands. “Is that a no?”

It’s hard to hide the disappointment in your voice and facial expression and you know that Blue sees it.

But you smile a little and nod. “That’s fine. We still have that date planned this weekend, right? I’ll.... I’ll see you then.”

“No.” Blue takes of his gloves. “I’m coming. Let’s go get lunch.”

“I- Really?” You blinked and don’t bother hiding your grin. “And you’re commission?”

“It’ll be there when I get back.” Blue takes the apron off and puts it on a nearby hook, taking your hand as he begins to leave the forge.

You’re sure that there’s a lot of safety hazards that he’s currently throwing out the window but Green is good at this too so hopefully he’ll cover for Blue.

You both exit and Blue is barely holding himself together. He’s just short of sprinting away from the shop entirely, waving to his brother on the way out while you giggle and give Green a wink.

It’s lunch time!

Red

“RED!” You cried out into the open. “RED!”

No one answers.

“Oh man, why me?” You whine and begin jogging down the road. “Of all days! ...RED! RED!”

Still nothing.

You at least take a moment to thank your lucky stars that there’s no one else on the road beside you or else they’d think you’re crazy for simply yelling out a color and expecting something to happen.

“I’m here!” You hear him call out at last.

Relief covers your entire body in a single wave and you pick up your pace. “Red, where have you been? Vio is going to have an aneurism about being on time with the dinner with your dad and grandpa and ....oh dear...”

You look up and see a very familiar red tunic... hanging upside down- hat on the ground and boots in the air, a single foot stretched out and held by a rope trap connected to a very tall tree.

You blink and sit yourself on the forest floor under you. “How is it that only you get into these kind of things?”

Red sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t know this was even here.”

“Clearly.” You run your hand through your hair and take a deep breath. You look around him and take in the tree. It looks like it can be climbed easily enough and if you can get up, you can undo the rope at the top, get your boyfriend out and then still have enough time to go doll yourself up for the first family dinner you’ve been invited to.

No pressure.

“You’re so lucky I love you.” You get up and pat Red out of the way to get a good grip on the tree bark in front of you.

“What are you doing?” 

“Getting you out Sweetheart, what does it look like I’m doing?” You reply and begin the climb.

“Please be careful.” Red gulps a bit and tried to ignore the amount of blood that’s been rushing to his head.

Finding the rope that holding your lover hostage is a bit more challenging than getting into the tree to begin with but you find it well enough.

You don’t have anything sharp to simply cut him free but you do have two hands- determination, spite and a whole lot of gumption at your disposal to try to undo the knot in the tree.

It’s takes an age.

But when you see that you’re making progress you get excited and tell Red to get ready to fall.

He doesn’t respond but you can somewhat see him nod and try to figure out how on earth he was going to land without hurting himself.

You feel like you should be helping him in that regard but you’re not on the ground anymore and someone still has to get the knot out.

It slips and Red falls right into a practiced roll like the professional that he is and you cheer on his behalf. “YAY! Red, you’re free!”

He laughs and goes to stand, wobbling immediately at the rush of blood but manages to stand on his feet.

You drop down from the tree after him and rush to give him a hug. “Hey there handsome!”

“Hello beautiful!” Red hugs you back. 

“Come on now! Or we’re going to be late!” You jump and begin to pull back through the forest. 

You do not want to give his family a bad impression of you after all.

Vio

“My love, you have to get up now.” Soft lips brush against your cheek with a sweet peck before a hand shakes your shoulder somewhat.

You blink your eyes open with a smile and roll over to the other side, completely ignoring the man in front of you.

“I saw that.” Vio chuckles and continues to shake your shoulder. “You said you’d help out in the shop today. you have to get up if you want to be there on time.”

“Nu-uh.” You hum and try to burrow deeper into the warm blankets.

Vio shakes you a little harder.

“Five more minutes.”

“No.” Vio says your name with the same exasperation as he would when dealing with Red. He hates that you two have this in common.

You’re content to stay in bed and fall back asleep until the blankets are unceremoniously ripped away from you.

The cold air had you curling in on yourself in an instant and you whined as loud as you could without opening your mouth to show your annoyance toward your boyfriend.

“Time to be awake now.”

“I don’t wanna~” You groan and roll around again, looking for a familiar mop of blond hair. “Why must you do this to me? I thought you loved me.”

That actually manages to get Vio to laugh before he crawls into bed next to you and lays down close enough where his nose just barely brushes yours. “I do love you. It’s why I’m making sure my lover can keep their promises and not become a hypocrite. It won’t look good on me if the love of my life begins slacking.”

You hum and close your eyes, reaching out for his hand and taking it into your own. You pull it up and give him a small kiss on his knuckles and sigh. “I suppose it really wouldn’t do you any good if your lover was a scoundrel.”

Vio snorts. “That and Red was excited about you joining in him in the front today so he’s been talking non stop about it.”

You groan louder and roll away from him, going so far as to roll off of the bed and hit the floor with your full weight.

Vio winces by the sounds and pushes himself upright. “You ok?”

“I really hate it when Red get disappointed.” You groan as loud as you can before getting up and stretching your arms over your head. “He always looks like he’s about to cry and then I want to cry with him and it’s a whole mess. I swear sometimes he does it on purpose.”

“Sounds about right.” Vio smiles and begins to put the bed together. “Go get ready. I’ll clean up.”

You yawn and nod. “Good morning by the way.”

“Good morning.” Vio says through his giggles. “Blue is making breakfast.”

“He’s gonna burn the toast again.”

“When does he not?”

“I can hear you!” Blue shouts from the stairs just beyond your bedroom door.

You snort and pop your head out. “Sorry Blue!”

Vio smirks and adjusts the corner until they’re flat and decent again. He’d be lying if he said that these weren’t some of his favorite mornings.

Bonus Shadow!

“I know you’re there~” You grin, not looking behind you as you attempt to finish the dishes for the night.

The flickering candle light made the shadows appear longer than they would usually and they sifted with the wave of the fire as the candle burned into the night.

No one answered your little tease but you knew you were right.

There a thickness in the air when you took a breath. It was your only clue that you weren’t alone. Others might have been frightened or confused by your relaxed nature when something was going on but you knew you just had to wait a minute and the problem would solve itself.

You were being watched but you wanted to coax him out.

“I’m almost done here.” You smile and let the water rinse off the plate you were holding before putting in the rack. “Then we can head upstairs a little while. Not much we can do in the dark.”

“I beg to differ.” The voice replies. “There’s plenty to do in the dark.”

You smirk. “Then beg.”

“Well that’s not very nice.” Arms come to wrap around your waist as a chin hooks onto your shoulder.

You giggle as a strand of hair tickles your cheek and you try to blow it aside with a small gust of air but it doesn’t work.

You sigh and let it happen, taking care to not get the person next to you wet. You take the next plate and rinse it under the water, trying to get the soap off of it and put it away to be dried later.

“Are you done?” The voice whines.

“If I say yes, will that you make you happy Shadow?” You smirk and turn your head to look at him. 

Truthfully, he looks exhausted as it is. He has dark circles under his eyes and paler complexion than usual. He takes a minute to respond as he looks at the dishes in the sink and back to you. He takes a breath and nods.

You snort and dry your hands, turning around to hug him back properly and rest your head in the crook of his neck as well.

“Do you want to go to bed?” You ask him. “You look tired.”

“I am tired.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

You both stand there in the middle of your kitchen and sway a little, taking in each other warmth and comfort.

Shadow takes another breath and straightens up from curling around you. “Yes, please.”

[redorich]

In the HermitCanyon au, How is my favorite Bee armored Admin doing? How long does it take for Xisuma to become.. aware of what is happening? For the first few sections it seemed like he was in a coma/unconscious. In the most recent bit Impulse tells Etho to get Xisuma, so at least theoretically he can now move, but how long has it taken him to get there, and where is he on the scale to full recovery? Are the other hermits keeping him safe with rabbit stew? (if they have rabbits that is...)

Part 2 of this.

Etho comes back twenty minutes later with a solemn look on his face. (At least, Puffy assumes. She can't actually see most of his face because of that mask of his.)

"X is in a bad way today," he says quietly. "I can take Puffy to him if you guys would like to stay here with Zedaph."

Impulse and Tango look nervously at each other. On one hand, they very much would like to stay with Zedaph, who is mostly healed but still very loopy and probably should not be moved. On the other hand, allowing Puffy deep into the Hermits' inner sanctum is a risk in and of itself, let alone with only one Hermit with her. Etho's a good fighter and a wily bastard, but Puffy is most certainly no slouch.

In the end, it comes down to trust. How much can they show Puffy before they can no longer trust that she won't snitch? How sure are they that she won't try to kill them all and steal their stuff?

"Tell Xisuma I said hi," Zedaph warbles from the bed in the corner of the room, out of any window's line of sight.

As Etho presses a button which removes a panel of the wall in a whir of piston noises, Puffy snorts out a little laugh. "I'll be sure to do that."

Tango nods subtly to Impulse. If Puffy brought Zedaph back to the canyon, saved him from a painful respawn, and didn't once ask for anything in return, then the Hermits can trust her at least this much.

Etho leads Puffy through a short hallway into a large circular room with a domed ceiling. The room is mostly quartz, though the walls are lined with sea lanterns and oak leaves. It’s beautiful. This place has been hiding under her feet this whole time?

“This is the Atrium,” Etho says, “or at least the main one. Come on, getting a mule will be more trouble than it’s worth if you’re not carrying anything.”

Puffy is speechless, utterly and profoundly, when Etho takes her through a tunnel on the opposite side of where she entered. It almost looks as though the tunnel here was carved by hand, then completely redone in dirt and grass and vines to give it a secretive, high fantasy look.

“Hey, Etho!” says a dark-haired man with a big smile as he comes trotting out of a branching hallway to the left. “Hey--” He catches sight of Puffy and his smile dissipates into panic. He shouts incoherently and dives back into the hallway he just exited.

“Hey Bdubs,” Etho greets impishly, then turns to Puffy. “Man, it’s like he saw a ghost or something. Maybe Mothman.”

Puffy bleats out a surprised laugh. Up ahead, she spots another Hermit lurking around the corner of the archway Etho is leading her toward.

“Etho,” says a tall blonde woman. “Cleo wants to talk to you about, er...” The blonde woman glances at Puffy. “Her thing,” she finishes lamely.

“Well, as you can see, I’m a bit busy at the moment. Would you mind telling Cleo so she doesn’t skin me alive?” Etho says sweetly.

The blonde woman snorts. “Face the music, Mothman. I’ll take care of Puffy from here. I assume you’re taking her to Xisuma?”

Etho wilts. Clearly, whoever this Cleo person is, she’s not someone to piss off. Puffy wonders what Etho did.

“See ya around,” Etho waves, somehow both cheery and morose at the same time, like a funeral for someone nobody liked. Puffy and the blonde woman watch him go.

“My name’s False, by the way,” the blonde woman says. “Thanks for the bandanna. Normally I’d be wearing it, but I just got back from beating up Iskall.”

The woman-- False-- laughs. Puffy is once again taken aback by the idea that the Hermits actually use the items that she makes for them. 

False takes off in a brisk walk toward the archway she’d come out of. Jumping a little bit at being torn from her thoughts, Puffy hurries to follow. It’s hard to keep up, since all Puffy wants to do is stare. She must be in the living quarters-- they let her in the living quarters?! Each door matches the high fantasy, underground sort of aesthetic, but a few doors are left open and each one is remarkably different on the inside. One room is built entirely out of red and white concrete, whereas another is Nether-themed with actual fire, and the room down the hall is entirely underwater!

One door is different. It’s got blue-purple banners along the frame, and when False opens the door for Puffy, she can see that the room is made of blackstone bricks. Maps of the Dream SMP line the wall, and in the center of the room there is a mildly ornate table made of warped wood.

At the end of the table in the back of the room, opposite the door, sits a trio. To the left, there is a plain-looking man with a beard and an “at” symbol on his shirt. He speaks in a Southern accent to a man on the right side of the table, who wears a red sweater and twirls a feather between his fingers like the cat that got the canary.

In between the two, at the head of the table, rests someone very unique. He’s obviously tall, that much is obvious even when he’s sitting down. He’s also got mesmerizing purple eyes which glow faintly against the dark of the blackstone. Puffy doesn’t know why, but she gets the feeling that they’re supposed to be glowing much brighter.

As taken by the man’s eyes as she is, Puffy doesn’t notice the non-invasive breathing tube the man also has (a cannula? She doesn’t know what it’s called, but that sounds right) until the man’s gaze falls upon her, still standing in the doorway next to False.

“Oh,” the man says. “You’re not supposed to be here. Welcome.”

False steps forward, breaking Puffy from her trance. “Puffy, this is Xisuma, Joe, and Grian. I’d introduce you to them as well, but... you know.”

“I don’t know-- oh,” Puffy says awkwardly, catching sight of the massive crochet blanket she’d made for the Hermit months ago, draped across Xisuma’s shoulders.

“Why are you here?” Grian asks with a tilted head. “No offense or anything, but I just lost a bet. I had three diamonds on Cub bringing you in here eventually-- he’s the one you usually meet at the barrel, you know.”

False interjects, “I didn’t bring her down here, it was Etho!”

“Shoot,” Joe says. “Cleo wins yet again.”

“It was Zedaph, actually,” Puffy says. All eyes turn to her. “I found him on the surface. He was really injured, so I brought him back here. Impulse and-- Tango? Yeah, Tango-- told Etho to take me down here.”

Puffy uncharacteristically twiddles her fingers a little bit, feeling in over her head. “Uh, you know I’m not gonna tell or anything, so... Why am I here?”

The full weight of Xisuma’s piercing stare falls upon her. Even as fragile as he looks, even as strong as Puffy is, she feels a jolt of apprehension.

“You’d know more about the red vines than we do,” he begins. “Etho mentioned that they’re what hurt Zedaph; he’s mentioned them on multiple occasions, and never in a good way. How long do you think it would take for those vines to reach our village, and what do you think would happen once they do?”

“As far as we’re aware, there are several players who are proponents of the vines, and claim they originate from some sort of egg?” Joe adds. “I’ve had a hard time calculating how big of a mushroom we’d need to make an omelet out of the egg, but apparently most of my fellow Hermits do not in fact want evil eggs on their omelets.”

“And how come the End is inaccessible?” Grian cuts in with a whine. “I want my elytra.”

Xisuma huffs a laugh into the cannula. “As you can see, we have many questions which only a native Dream SMP player like yourself can answer. In the interest of keeping ourselves safe--” he trails off into a coughing fit.

Puffy bites her lip, feeling as though she really shouldn’t be seeing this. Joe rests his hand on Xisuma’s back.

“You give us answers, and we’ll give you diamonds, netherite, whatever you want. And when we move out-- well, it wasn’t much of a secret anyway-- we’ll offer you a safe place with us,” Grian speaks up on Xisuma’s behalf.

A thousand thoughts spin inside Puffy’s head. She feels like Dorothy in that tornado, and Grian’s offer is the Wicked Witch. “Did you guys really save Tommy’s life?” she finds herself asking.

The Hermits seem taken aback.

“The blond kid?” False asks. “Yeah, but he was unconscious the whole time. I think Scar told the kid to keep us a secret, but... I don’t think any of us expected that to actually work.”

Puffy laughs disbelievingly. “He’s the one person on the entire server who keeps insisting that you guys aren’t real.”

“That’s good to hear,” Xisuma says quietly. “Do you have an answer for us, or would you like some time to consider?”

There are a thousand and one variables Puffy needs to think about. What is Dream’s stance on the Hermits? Who will she be setting herself against by allying with the Hermits? What will Puffy have to expect, from both underground and surface-dwelling players alike? Which players can she take in a fight?

Fuck it, she thinks. “You’ve got yourselves a deal.”

Xisuma smiles. Despite his ill condition, she gets the feeling that this nice, mild-mannered man is far more dangerous than she could ever hope to be.

“I’m glad to have you on our side, Puffy,” he says. “Thank you for your help.”

[withoneheadlight]

I’m s o r r y but I made myself sad over this one so naturally I’m here to share the pain

Okay so I was thinking about the alternate timelines//realities thing and what if there’s a universe where Billy dies, and a universe where Steve dies,, and somehow they meet ~maybe in the Upside Down???~ and Steve is like 🥺 b i l l y,,, but Billy can’t deal with it??? Like, “you’re A Steve, but you’re not MY Steve”

| quick heads up!: mentions of death and mourning ahead |

.

Ahhhhhh, Kelly!. Bring the pain, bring the pain, we’ll deal with it together, cry together, blow our noses together! 😢😢

i’ve been having my mind full of that alt timelines/realities idea these last few days, and that’s surely the reason why that’s what I saw in your beautiful 3-sentence fic, both because a post i saw about one of the boys dying (i can’t find it now. please human who posted it, tell me if it was yours!) and bc of this marvel @edith-moonshadow (<3) wrote in one of my posts. and then you sent me this ask and wrote that fantastic piece and-- IT'S ALL BEEN VERY COSMIC AND PLANETARY ALINGTMENLY and i didn’t want to make myself sadder or make you sadder but,

,

I can imagine how it’d go. Both of them trapped on the upside-down. Both of them bleeding out. Sliced down as they are, right through the middle. Half a Billy and half a Steve, the wound still fresh with the part they’re missing and I imagine they could barely stand it, right at the beginning, the mere sight of that other that’s not― That’ just not. What was once love rotting into hate, into feeling trapped, doomed, to live in this cage with the constant reminder of their loss.

And Billy’d miss the way Steve used to roll his eyes at him, and the way Steve used to sigh all dramatic like ‘God, Billy Hargrove, you’re too much for me I swear’ but would then wink and pull him close and steal a kiss, voice falling low to smile a ‘Definitely way more than I deserve’ into his mouth. Would miss the way Steve used to brush his hair to the side, bite at the curve of his neck, and words, they always sounded better when Steve traced them against the shell of his ear ‘Tell me I’m your pretty boy’ he’d say and Billy would tell him, would try to catch his lips but ‘Ah-ah’ and Steve’d shake his head, brush their lips together ‘First babe, you gotta tell me how much I love you’, holding him tight and not letting him go ‘till Billy would get over the way his cheeks were blushing, and tell him. But―

This Steve. This Steve doesn’t love this Billy. Doesn’t love Billy. This Steve gets mad and yells at him when Billy’s been ‘Too fucking much, I swear! You’re too fucking much’ and it hurts, when he puts his hands on his hips and looks exactly like his Steve. And it hurts even worse, when he sets his jaw and looks wrong and like somebody else completely (And it hurts even worseworseworse, when he finally says it, what they both think. When he opens up those pretty lips Billy used to kiss, to love, those pretty lips that used to say ‘I love you’: “Of all the monsters in here, you’re the only one that gives me nightmares”).

This Steve never calls him by his name. This Steve doesn’t look him in the eye. This Steve hates him.

And weeks pass, and months pass, and they repel each other, can't stand each other but ―they can’t, either, even if none of them ever says it, bear the idea of splitting apart. And Steve’s house is not Steve’s house, but it makes do, with its walls re-painted in horrors and damp seeping through the floral wallpaper of the hallway his mama used to be so proud of. And there’s mold growing in the mattress and invisible night-terrors that bite living in the blankets and it gets cold at night. Cold and lonely and hopeless. And Steve doesn't want to and Billy doesn't want to but. They sleep together. Back to back. Touch only where they have to touch. Not to freeze (not to feel. Except they― ). Wake up together (like they used to). Steve's face buried in Billy's curls and the smell, the smell is the same. Exactly, perfectly, dishearteningly. The same. Right there, all along the tenderness at the curve of Billy’s (this. Not his. Thisthisthis. Never his) neck.

And weeks pass, and months pass, and it hurts. Every minute, every second and every tiny, tiny particle of time. Because this Billy is not Billy and Steve―

Steve’s missing a half. Steve’s an open wound and it doesn't matter how much alike they are, how much they feel (exactly, perfectly, dishearteningly) the same under Steve’s touch, because this Billy is another Steve's and he doesn't fit, and he wouldn’t ever heal, against his skin but― his blue eyes are the same and those curls of his look like they’ve forever captured the sun in the same way and his scars are gone but when the creatures hurt him and draw new ones Steve recognizes under his fingertips the familiar shapes of his back, the way Billy bleeds, the way his skin feels warmth against his palms and,

Billy.

Billy recognizes the way Steve touches him, the way he groans a "Be quiet for frikin’ once. And hold still!" but then, lower, softer, a whisper “Shhh. C’mon. Shhh. Just a second, alright? I promise I’ll be careful” and Billy does and bites down his tongue and the pain and the tears as Steve stitches the wound and Billy wants to ask him to sew his whole body, too, all along that wide wide line where it used to fit that half he’s missing, but what he says is "Would you kiss me once? Just once? So I can feel like I still have him?".

And it's the same. And it's different. And it's not Steve. But it is. Steve. And they kiss and Steve’s crying, because is thesamethesamethesame, the way Billy’s lashes are falling and Billy wants to say ‘I love you’, but he doesn't, and it becomes a lump in his throat as they kiss and kiss and kiss for hours, on that bed they’ve been sharing, that bed they’ve only been touching for survival, and when they're done, Billy wants to ask Steve to sew his lips together too. So he can’t ask him again. So he can not want to but― the nights are cold and lonely and hopeless. So they touch. And they kiss. And weeks pass. And they touch and they kiss and they fuck. And months pass. And they kiss and touch and fuck and fight. And they need each other. Want each other. Hate each other. Hate themselves. And then Steve says "I'll never love you. I'll never love you like I loved him" and Billy says "Neither I will”. And they’re both are bleeding. Been bleeding for so long. Bleeding out. And they won’t heal, a Billy-less and a Steve-less, as they are. So it spreads. The rot. And it's even worse like this, hating what there’s left of themselves. Because they don’t fit but it feels like they do, when they touch and they kiss and they fuck. When they fight.

(When it feels like love but― isn’t).

(Can’t be)

And weeks pass and months pass and neither of them says it (‘Wanna touch you again, kiss you again, fuck you again’), even though they're both thinking it and it’s been almost two and a half years. Five hundred days. Five hundred nights. Of hiding from each other, of finding each other in this endless night, when the dormant creatures start to crawl out of their nests, when the darkness is filled again with growls and howls and screeches. With danger. Vines coming back to life after their hundred years of sleep and then something’s coming something’s coming something’s coming and,

“Take all you can”

“Get the bat!”

“Run, Billy run!”

“Block the door! Block the door!”

“The head! Steve! Slam ‘m on the head!”

“Come on, come on, come on! Let’s get the shit outta here”

and then,

“The gate. Somebody must be opening the gate”

They find it.

Seven feet. That’s how far it is. That's how close they are from making it. And must be some kind of cosmic joke, so Billy laughs at it. Gives that one to the universe. Chokes on his own blood.

Steve’s blurred, less and less clear every time he blinks. Still the most beautiful thing Billy’s ever seen.

“C’mon, pretty boy” he says. Squeezes Steve's hand tighter. Just one second. It’s the end of the end of the world and Billy feels like he’s spent a whole lifetime like this. Stealing Steve Harrington in seconds. So he can steal one more. That’s always been the deal. Just a little more, a little more, since the moment he saw him “You know you hafta go”

Salt. Tears. That detail, Billy always forgets: they taste exactly like the ocean.

“Nah. I’m thinking that― they won't split us apart. Not this time”

Tears. Salt. The ocean on Steve’s lips. Taste like coming back. Coming Back home. But,

“It’s ok, pretty boy. I’m not him”

Steve shrugs. Smiles. Dots on the curve of his cheek. Eyes like the first day of fall. It’s in the curve of his lips, where Billy’s history has always been rewritten.

“But there was a me, that loved you. And there was a you, that loved me. And I guess it’s just impossible. Not to do it again so―” and words, they always sound better when Steve traces them against the shell of his ear, says,

“Can you kiss me? So I can know how it is to have you?”

And it’s the end of the end of the world.

(But,

Time Swirls. Space wraps around itself. Reality flickers. So maybe― maybe it really is. The end. But. Maybe,

There's a house. Steve’s house. And is not the same. But it’s not different, either. And there’s daylight pouring down the hallways, burning bright against that soft-gold wallpaper his mama’s always been so proud of. And the mattress is soft and warm and feels familiar. And the blankets smell like softener and old memories. Like new memories. Like us. Us.

“Tell me how much you love me”

Steve brushes Billy’s hair to the side, runs his lips all along the curve of his neck, leaves a kiss behind his ear. And it’s the same, but it’s different and Billy know it’s always, always gonna hurt. Because they’re still a Billy-less and a Steve-less but. They’re always gonna be a Billy one Steve loved, a Steve one Billy loved. They’re this Billy and this Steve.

But there’s this one thing, that’s always gonna be the same. This one thing neither of them would ever do in halves.

“I love you with all my heart,” he says, and draws Steve closer, closer, ‘till there’s barely any space left between them.

And they allow themselves to feel, where their wounds touch.

Allow themselves to love.)

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH.2

Getting back to your little one story cottage, you can only manage to rush in and run about in a mad dash as you try to accomplish getting ready for work and getting something to eat. Running through choices in your head as you change and freshen up, nothing sounds good. There's not much time since your shift starts at nine and to make it to the store you need to leave by eight twenty. You got home at eight fifteen, and while Nate, your manager, has never seemed to give a fuck what you did at work you're still in your probationary period and would like to keep the easiest job you've ever had.

It's a really simple gig, seeing as the store you work at is actually a front for some illegal activity. The variety of crime you aren't sure of, but you are aware there's no way you guys do no business and yet they can afford to pay thirty dollars an hour. Thankfully just keeping your mouth shut and being nice to little Jo, the owner's daughter, is enough to keep you in the cushiest job in the world. The store's front is a regular old book store, all the books are real, the registers work, you're able to sell books and you've run to the bank to do the weekly deposits twice for Book & Nook. The front is very legitimate or it would be if the amount of customers ever equaled the sales made.

Again you don't ask questions, because for thirty dollars an hour you get to goof off for a couple hours a day, plus you get a bonus when you watch little Jo at the shop. She's a real sweet eleven year old, she's got tourettes and took a shine to you the first time she saw you tic. While you both might not suffer the same disorder she finds the common ground nice, like it's not just her. It's not even hard to watch her or enjoy her company, she'll come bouncing in with her excited chittering and hands clapping spilling all the latest gossip that comes with being in middle school. And boy is there a lot of gossip.

It's really nice seeing that Jo has friends at school and is even considered a “popular” kid. You remember how tough school was because no one understood you and teachers never cared enough about your personality to bring up the fact that it was clear to most faculty members that you had Autism. You excelled academically so what did it matter if you got picked on for oversharing information or for finishing assignments the minute they were handed to you. As bittersweet as the parallels are you're so glad Jo doesn't have to go through that. Never would have thought a southern school could be so accepting, much less a middle school at that.

Tearing through the kitchen you honestly can't find anything that you want to eat right now. And even after a long night of hiking/dissociating you don't think you're that peckish at all. Figuring it's best to at least take something to quell any future nausea you grab a Pedialyte Pop from the freezer. As fast as you entered your home you left, and not before ensuring twice that the door was locked and secured. While living on the outskirts of town saves you from many potential robberies, and worse salesmen, there's still the chance of some lunatic with an ax hiding out in a closet to murder you. Better safe now than sorry later.

Pulling into park behind the shop right at nine is a blessing. You run into the shop to clock in blurting out a quick 'Morning' to Nate, who was carrying a particularly large box, as you passed by him. In a flash you were back at your car retrieving your newly prized deer skull. Lungs burning a bit from the all out sprint you just did you took a little extra time to close the trunk and lock your car up to catch your breath, and avoid any light headiness you might get from the empty stomach workout. Eager to share the wonders of death with your best work friends, and by that you mean Nate your manager...and only other coworker, you rush back into the building.

The shop was quiet as usual as you made your way through the door though you were in the back room where only employees could roam you had the slightest suspicion that the front of shop was just the same. It's there you find Nate, now lugging a medium sized box around to a side table. He did this a lot you suspect some type of smuggling but hey plausible deniability and all those legal matters. The taller dark haired man sees you and just as he's about to wave you over, notices your prize with a raised brow.

“The fuck d'you bring in the store?” he doesn't seem amused by whatever it is he thinks you're up to. “Deer skull.” Lifting it up in one hand and pointing at it, “Found this guy on my hike last night...or rather this morning actually.”

“YN, we talked about this, you said you'd get some sleep last night. No adventures remember.” he's only two years older than you and yet he acts as if he's ten years. He must be an old soul, or enjoys the role of care giver...or you're making him go gray prematurely, anything's possible.

“Eh, I remember saying I'd 'try' and get sleep.” for someone who's body is running on fumes your cheekiness is astronomical, “operative word being 'try', remember.”

It's a long silence as Nate decides if he wants to deal with your bullshit at this moment. After a minute or so he concedes leaning back on the table behind him. “Let's hear it.” and you perk up immediately.

“Cool, so I was walking along the tree line and spotted him, tried to find more but seems there's only one piece. Judging by the size of his antlers I'd say he was nearly fully grown. Now my plan is to do whatever treatments taxidermists do to bones and,” you continue to word vomit at the tired twenty-six year old in front of you, about the joys and wonders of taxidermy and the likely hood of ever finding a skull so nicely preserved.

“I can do that in here right?” even though it's been phrased as a question, you aren't asking permission, you're just being polite and letting Nate know the storage room will house your creepy deer skull antics for today...maybe the week you need to find a taxidermist book to figure out what you need to do.

Nate gives up and leaves with his box of new books to let you have full run of the back to do your weird vulture culture shit. He figures he's just too old to understand the new obsessions with the macabre. He hopes his cousin won't take to shit like this, the kid's weird enough as it is, no need to put another target on her back. Nate sets off to take down the Harry Potter sets in favor of this new comic series little Jo wanted.

Already taking his silence as the go ahead you place your found skull on the table and rush off into the store front to find a book on taxidermy and hopefully more specifically about bones. The set up and organization of the store reminds you a lot of the scene in Brendan Fraser's The Mummy 1997 where Evie is on the ladder and somehow causes all the book shelves to fall like dominoes. So unsafe, yet all book stores and libraries seem to have this set up. With the tall shelves it makes it difficult to accurately get a read on the spines. You don't even know what section taxidermy actually falls under, education maybe?

“Nate, where do you think a book on taxidermy would be?” you called out as you passed by him.

“...hobby?” that didn't sound right but you'd give it a shot anyway.

This should be fun, the hobby section was so disorganized and it took up nearly half the store too, Book & Nook had everything from fishing, to crochet, cooking, the art of film making, hell even had a cryptid hunting book a book that you may have to look into a bit later. You closed your eyes and let your intuition guide you, when you looked up you saw a thin black...vine, no whisp? It undulates in less than rhythmic movements nearly like a snake but it has no head, and not unlike a tentacle but without suckers. It's another hallucination so you were keen to ignore it until it stretched past your head, giving you an added auditory hallucination where you swore you could hear wind rushing past your ears, it swirled around you until it flew to the shelf and tapped on a book. Cautiously you walked over to it, it's never good to play into these delusions. Once you got close enough the black shape was gone but on the shelf was a creme colored paper back titled “Manual of Taxidermy: Complete Guide of Preserving Birds and Mammals.”

Walking to Nate with the book in your hands you asked him to read it and make sure you weren't having an episode and making everything up right now. You'd have to try harder to go to sleep tonight if that were the case.

“Oh you found your book huh?” he said looking down at the title.

Well this is getting weird fast, but you nod nonetheless. Might as well thank the weird hallucination gift right. Leaving him to do whatever it is he plans on doing the rest of the day, you go to the back. And just as the book instructs you set to cleaning the skull by setting it in some water and changing it as many times as the water runs murky. The book is quiet helpful to a beginner like yourself but it does seem a bit outdated from the bits of information you know from taxidermists blogs and vulture culture posts on the internet. Reading it in between water changes is a great way to pass the time though, not like you guys get any real customers anyways.

The bell rings as the front door opens and closes alerting you to someone's arrival on your third water change. Needing a little bit of mental stimulation you walk out into the front where Big Jo and Little Jo are talking to Nate. Little Jo sees you and skitters away from her father to rush you, she stops about a foot away and holds her arms wide open. She's a hugger but upon meeting you had never even thought people could be touch adverse so keeping in mind that you might not want to be touched she's learned to invite you into hugs and it's your choice to allow it or not. Placing a hand on your bicep you give a squeeze, checking your tolerance you find the thought bearable. Placing your arms outstretched at your sides Jo rushes your torso for her hug.

After she nearly body slammed you into the wall, and  let her death grip go she was off on a tangent about so many things. Her excited rapid blinking tic, one she developed after meeting you, triggering your own.

“Ok so you remember how last week I told you that Jessie Kinsleton said that Micheal Saleisa told Gigi B, not Gigi S. that Meghan,” you had no clue the lives of eleven year olds had gotten so complex, from the gossip you heard from Jo it seemed that the school's sixth graders were plotting for a war with an ice cream parlor up the street. No clue why, maybe just to fuck the system, kids are weird, preteens are weirder...and angry.

But you nod to Jo listening to her every word, and trying to calm your eyelids so you could actually open your eyes. After being told the sequence of events that would happen in the Tween Armageddon, something to do with Marco Salvator ordering three dozen donuts and a flock of geese, your eyes finally gained their ability to see back. Black whisps, much like the one from earlier, wandered all around your vision, it looked like a  dark smoke had settled eye level within the shop and was snaking through the isles.

Catching the movement of your eyes Jo looked around the shop too. Seeing nothing she turned back to you concerned, “Hey it's okay, nothin's there.”

Hearing the drop in volume of the normally chatty tween, Big Jo and Nate pause their conversation to turn their attention to you and follow you're gaze.

“Kid, you ain't sleepin' again?” Big Jo can already gauge by the bags under your eyes but he's a polite man so he feels the need to ask rather than state his assumptions.

“Day 6.” You answer simply, ever since you've started at Book & Nook the whole Cowell family became acutely aware of many of your disorders. By their record your longest time spent awake was ten days, you however adamantly say that you were an hour's mark away from ten full days so the longest you've been up is nine days in a row. And those are just the cases they know of since you've moved to Kepler.

Big Jo shook his head as a stern father would, which he is, “I have half the mind to send you home to rest.”

“That won't work.” you really don't mean to sound so coarse but it's so irritating having to go over this at least once a week.

“What about those gummy things Dia got you?”

“Long term that kind of stuff has no effect, sure it'll make me drowsie for an hour or two but even if it made me sleep one night I can't use it all the time. And before you ask the same questions again, caffeine has no real effect on me so limiting my intake will do nothing and weed doesn't do a thing for me either.” you state plainly, monotone as you present facts that everyone in the room already knows.

Looking at the stern face of Big Jo's and the exasperated face of Nate you continue, “I know it must be frustrating for you to not be able to help, but I'm content living like this. I like my late night adventures and when I do sleep it's really pleasant.”you threw in a smile for added comfort.

“Kid tha's not the point, there's somethin' wrong with you, medically I mean.” he's pinching the bridge of his nose, probably counting to ten to calm himself from raising his voice.

“Tons of people suffer from insomnia and there isn't anything a doctor could do for me except look for underlying conditions.” Big Jo's about to retort when you continue with, “Plus my dad and uncle both have insomnia as well so my case is due to the genetic lottery I lost.” You say with a hint of finality of your situation, you had to come to terms with this condition all the way back in high school. Having a decade to get used to your strange condition and the limitations it places on you from time to time. Whereas the Cowell family's only had two months to process this information, and you understand it'll take awhile before they stop being concerned. Same thing happened with you parents and friends back then too.

For now you're only met with more head shakes as if they were saying 'what are we going to do with you'. Leaving your medical issues aside Nate and Big Jo continue to talk shop, when the set up Nate just put on display catches Jo's eye.

Like lightening the tween was away from your side and by the new display shelf it looked like it held graphic novels. That's a first since you've been here, you walk over to join Jo knowing the second you do she'll start on about what's got her so excited. Most people might say you over indulge the child and coddle her but you actually just think it's really important to take interest in what makes kids happy. It helps them find their voices and also shows them that it's normal to get excited and like things.

“We got the TAZ graphic novels in?!” you hate rhetorical questions but smile and nod at her anyway.

“Have you read them? No, well you've listen to the podcast...what omg! Ok so there's these three brothers and their,” Jo begins regaling you with tales from the podcast known as The Adventure Zone and how fun they've made dungeons and dragons seem with their amazing story telling and funny characters.

You aren't sure if a show where the main group of heroes being called Tres Horny Bois is exactly age appropriate but when you look to Big Jo he kind of just shrugs it off. Turning you attention back to Jo who's now monologing about mongooses you just smile at the weird family you've found yourself in.

Let it be said that a tween with a slightly unhealthy fixation on something can find anyway to drag it back to that fixation. The day flew by with Jo explain the inner workings of dungeons and dragons, fifth edition, to you, her father, and her cousin after you mentioned why she didn't play. Apparently she'd love to but wanted a story fitting for her friend's to adventure. So being the good older cousin, father, and weird family friend you all were you came up with a story plot for her to use with her campaign.

The Jos had a lot of fun bonding over this little workshop and you guys even had food delivered so you and Nate could stay later. What was meant to just be a quick workshop turned into a mini family game night after you made several nearly impossible puzzles that wouldn't be used in Jo's campaign due to no one at the current table understanding how to solve it even after you showed them several times.

Overall it was fun and you think you might actually be tired enough to go to sleep tonight. You tried to stay and help clean up but Big Jo put his foot down and told you to go get some rest, he'd seen the way you occasionally look around the room as if something was moving behind them all. You may have started off as a cashier two months ago for him but his daughter has opened up a lot since meeting you and discovering that tics aren't so uncommon and there are people who wouldn't care or make a big deal out of them. Because of that you've earned your keep in his family, he already has you down on the list for Christmas cards.

Knowing you can't fight the six foot four man you roll your eyes and bid everyone good night, little Jo coming in to steal another hug from you and thank you for helping with her game. Checking on your skull you see the water's clear and dump it in the sink of the break room before leaving the skull to dry overnight, it's for sure gonna make Nate scream tomorrow, you can't help but chuckle at that.

Leaving through the back door and into the dusk colored parking lot you notice your trunk is popped open slightly. You definitely heard it shut earlier this morning. You blink before your head jerks to the right, unsettled by possibility of a break in and not risking it you head back inside.

“Hey, I think my car may have been broken into.” you stand awkwardly in the door way unsure of how to proceed.

Big Jo and Nate are out of the door as fast as they can. They find your car unlocked with the trunk popped, you know they weren't trying to brush you off when they asked several times if you did in fact lock your car this morning. After hearing your affirmative response each time, they began to inspect your car checking to make sure all wires are properly secured under the hood, Nate even retrieved the jack out of his own car to take a look under the car, ensuring the brakes hadn't been messed with. They started the car up just fine and it didn't appear tampered with. Even though nothing looked out of place and Nate's car, sitting in the same parking lot, hadn't been touched you appreciated them checking to make sure you were alright.

Knowing you're perceived as a woman by most, even outside of this small town, makes you uneasy when it comes to terms of abductions and violence. You know the chances and hear the stories whether it's from the victim's mouth or a podcaster's telling the story the dead can't. Nate offered to follow you home and make sure you were ok but you declined and said you'd call them both when you got home. Big Jo said to just call his home phone because Nate would be coming over tonight anyway, and if they didn't make it there before you called Dia was already at home and would pass the message along. You'll probably still try and give the shop a call if Dia answers, it wouldn't sit right with you if you wound everyone up just to not and at least try to settle their nerves.

With one final check of you car, the men even going so far as to lift seats up and feel under them, they sent you off. You drove carefully on the road tonight, ready to pull off into the shoulder at the slightest hint that something was wrong. Not even the radio was on something that you really didn't like driving without, but if there was the chance for you to catch a shift in tone of the machine you wanted to. Eventually you did end up making it home in one piece and you had called the Cowell family home, from the safety of your car, and got a spazztic eleven year old asking if you'd made it home alright. It took a little bit of coaxing but Little Jo calmed down and shouted to her parents that you were on the phone and alright.

“Kid,” looks like Big Jo took the phone away from Little Jo, “Everything ok on the drive.” Big Jo could hear the movement and shutting of your car door, he'd have to say he was relieved you waited until you were on the phone before exiting. He knew you lived out past the quiet zone in Old Lydia's house. A fact that did little for the unease he felt when he thought you were being watched.

“Oh, yea drive was fine, too quiet but fine.” you said simply as you began circling the cottage. Nothing seemed out of place on the outside, even looking above eye level where people tended to get sloppy in stalking or home invasion cases, everything seemed fine.

“Hope you don't mind if I keep you for a bit.” You had just unlocked your door and stepped in.

“Nah, kid 's fine.” you give a hum of acknowledgment as you look through the kitchen in cabinets, under cupboards, and even under the table.

“You're a smart kid.” he's taken that fatherly overtone that makes you roll your eyes. You understand the sentiment of parents and parental figures having pride in their child or ward but it's always been so weird to you when they feel the need to bring it up. Especially when they bring it up in situations that are dangerous, like can you not make it sound like someone's about to die.

Finding nothing in the living room, hall closet or bathroom you make sure all the windows are locked and dowels are in place to keep them from opening. And you double check that both the back and front doors are secured. You can hear the hushed whispers on the other end of the line, Dia must have just found out about your car, as you rustle through your kitchen utensil drawers taking out two forks before you make your way to your bedroom.

Once in your room you checked your closet and under your bed. Finding nothing you  went to the window in your room, the one right by your bed, you checked the lock, secured it in place with two dowels, and then covered it throwing a thick blanket over the curtain rod to ensure no one would be viewing you in your sleep or the precautions you were about to do. Turing around and locking your bedroom door you then jam one fork into the closed door crease, right below the locking mechanism, and jammed the other fork perpendicular through the prongs. You attempted to open the door with all your weight but only could get an inch in before the forks would stop more movement.

“Kid you alright over there?” it's rushed, he probably heard the commotion with your make shift lock.

“Yea, just had to add another lock to the door.” you trust the Cowell's but you understand how stupid it'd be to let them know exactly how you were defending yourself. Even if it wasn't them there's no telling if the person who broke into your car was outside and just good at hiding. You could also be too jumpy from your true crime shows but you figure it's better to be safe.

“I think everything's good Big Jo.” taking a final glance around your room eye's landing on the bed, “Think I'm even ready to go to sleep tonight too.” a small half laugh leaves your mouth.

“Alright kid, you call if you need anything got it.” it's an order not a request.

“Got it, good night.” Big Jo might think that'd been rude coming from anyone else but from you he can only roll his eyes at the brevity and the dial tone he's met with. He has his own sweep to do, if they were targeting his employee there was a reason. He hasn't had any problems since coming to Kepler but someone always eventually comes along who can't take a hint.

Even combing through your home with Big Jo on the line you didn't feel safe having your bed by the window anymore and moved it away and in front of the closet door. You'd rearrange your room later but for tonight this would have to do. By some grace of god you were actually able to shut your brain down tonight and rest. Maybe it was the excitement and merriment from hanging out with the Cowells or more likely the situation you find yourself in of perhaps being a target for something insidious.

Whatever the case may be you are off to the land of dreams before you know it. And unbeknownst to you the same eyes from this morning watch your home. They may not have seen what you did in there but they'd be sure to catch you when you come out. They'll wait all night to catch you if they have to.

[soranihimawari]

As You Always Were…

Hurt/comfort comes in the form of drunkenly reconnecting with an old friend. No matter how many times he stands steadfast at your cries for help serving as a reminder that things can improve if you have the time…

Rating: 17+ for language dealing a love lost and found //sakusa reassures you in a way.

Pairing: timeskip!Sakusa x businessinheritor!yn

Word count: tba

It gets better hun

Under the conference tables all covered in vines, Tao children hide. Their parents are discussing adult side of business considering the international markets are going to hit a mini recession; you have no idea what it means, but you in the land of your imagination your new best friend and you are in charge. You pretend a napkin that was used to serve you some apple juice was a calculator. Your friend, raises an eyebrow.

“The price of legos went up?” You have a hardened stare.

Your friend, in his little bow tie and formal clothes nods.

“Sakusa! Sell all our share for twice that!”

He holds another colored napkin in his hand and he pretends to take notes. Detailed ones at that. After all, what are two eight year olds at a formal dinner party to do?

Beep beep beep

The alarm clock in your room goes off; you groan flipping over to one side where the end table was. Clearly today was a day when you needed to be at the family conglomerate meeting. Business was on the up and up again. In the past you were expected to be the well thought, pragmatic head of the group. Young enough to not question authority, quite old enough to still take the moral high road. It was some ideal(s) set ahead of you and you, who did not want to lose favor with the company, chose to give a decisive “fuck you,” the moment your degree in fine arts and science came in the mail.

That was five years ago. Five bloody years of not taking any business corp classes, mathematics for entrepreneurship, business etiquette, and law. Rather than make friends with numbers and trust fund ignoramuses, you opted to get your hands dirty with clay, macro/micro model kits, spray paints, graphic design rulers and the like. Suffice to say your parents, grandparents, etc have had the “we’re not mad, just surprised (read as betrayal/disappointment)” at some point with you, you were stubborn enough to stick with what you know.

And now you’re in an uncomfortable suit, dressed to the nines, in a board of trustees office. Application logistics for cellular device giants such as the one your family helped fund and run, are often sight after. However, now that the ship has sailed, there is another announcement to be made:

“At the end of this fiscal year, I am choosing to retire,” your grandmother states. She has a wary smile as the world around her falls into a brief chaos. When your father and uncles cause a ruckus she holds up her modestly jeweled matriarchal hand.

“I’m sure this may come to a shock to everyone now, since technically I have yet to hand over sole control of the company to my lovely artistically inclined decedent,” she begins. You catch her gaze and freeze, dropping the glass of water in your hand.

“You can’t be serious ma,” your father’s eyes bounce between the woman who birthed him and you.

“Oh, but I am. It’s in the terms right here,” her lawyer pulls out a briefcase and right there, in the royal blue file the contractual papers state the rules and terms when it came time for the C.O.O./CEO steps down. The lawyer reads aloud the terms of the contract and you’re subjectively taking this as a “prove yourself” or “one last dig at the artistic one in the family” type of lifestyle choice: your granny must have been watching too many J-dramas or K-Dramas dealing with this.

“Can I be excused? This is a lot to take in Grams,” you say reading over your copy, which just neatly has the word and definition of “LEAD,” typed in Courier Font. You nearly pass out from the responsibilities thrusted upon your shoulders at the age of twenty-six as you feel the impending doom of a panic attack. Painting never did this to you; sculpting busts hasn’t been this stressful; drawing an almost perfect circle without a compass…the last bit was what it felt like to be in that stuffy office.

You needed a drink. Or seven. Thus your feet later takes you to the dive bar in the restaurant district. By now the news of your grandmother’s early retirement had been included on the five o’clock news as the dim sum you ordered arrived. Over the last couple of years you kept a low profile in the city’s college areas (dining, shops, etc) and lately shopkeepers kept their places open just a little while longer.

A lot of transient students come here to gather to find themselves, others to meet with established friends, you? You make a drunk phone call to a pretty auspicious gentleman. Which, mind you, reminded you of your dear friend from childhood. Auspicious or not, the man has a broody personality paired with concerned pointed eyes—at you. The one person from his childhood he barely remembers; the one who made him their best friend for an entire dinner party… some thing or other pretentiously pretending to be business folk.

“What a delightful sight,” Sakusa mumbles under his breath.

Practice with the MSBY team has wrapped early and as per usual, he declines the offers of his peers to hang out saying he had business to attend to. Business being walking down half a city block trying to locate the details of this restaurant while trying to evade Atsumu’s fans. When he arrived to the bar, it was very clear (with the way you were talking with your hands waving about) you were too many shots in to care about how loud you were being. The bartender breathed a sigh of relief when Sakusa, makes a beeline toward you and your half empty whiskey sour.

“How much?” Sakusa narrows his eyes as the bartender holds up nine fingers before printing out your tab.

Sakusa has never seen you this drink before, yet considering post practice he saw the news, he can understand why. Nine was a hefty number and your liver might be a smidge damaged afterwards, yet you still forming coherent, loud, sentences seemed to bother Sakusa more than he’d like to admit.

“Did you pay the bill babe?”

Sakusa is reading the bill and lo and behold, there are nine items along with maybe a small appetizer. The time stamp as to when your tab opened up had read several hours prior circa 3:39pm. Regardless, when he takes out his card wallet with the intent to pay, you lean against his shoulder. You don’t have the chance to see nor hear how his breathing stutters at this surprised show of affection.

You’re teasing touches do little to fan the dead embers of his subconscious. He figures it’s for balance, that’s what he feels himself grow more annoyed (read as: flustered). You’re trying to force out a word of thanks, but it never comes— ‘babe’ would have to do for now.

“I’m not your babe,” Sakusa says, stiffly, sliding back his card in his wallet.

The bartender thanks you both for your patronage with a wide grin.

An arm of his is wrapped around your clothed waist, the other around your shoulders. Maybe he should get you into a taxi he thinks. Or at least the nearest washroom. Regardless of the time spent with you drunkenly clutching on to his pristinely laundered hoodie, Sakusa sort of relishes in the exclusivity of it. Through the years of various family-formed events, you essentially grow up together; it wasn’t until your teen years the change in personality has happened.

One fight, one measly fight about where you’re headed for high school made his blood boil. Your words too were molten venom and throughout the fight, frustrated magma-hot tears slid down your face. Sakusa didn’t care he hurt you instead of congratulating you for getting accepted into your third safe school in Tokyo: NEKOMA HIGH. He received his letter to ITACHIMIYA the one school you couldn’t get into, hence why your old friend’s insulting words about your intelligence made you almost slap him.

“Don’t,” you inhale with a quivering lip.

Sakusa just stares at you as you use the back of your hands to dry your cheeks. He makes one more dig at how you could have chosen any *private* academy and you’d have more prestige added to your university applications.

You scoff as you demand his phone from him. He wipes it clean with a handkerchief post unlocking it. You’ve since pulled yourself together and with Sakusa’s phone in your hand, you remove yourself from his contacts, then you inhale a deep breath as you delete and block yourself from every social media platform he had (Motoya head convinced his cousin before the start of first year to dive into the world of said social media.) For what it’s worth, Sakusa only followed a handful of people that weren’t volleyball associated celebrities and now, to create distance between yourselves, you hand back his phone.

Though Sakusa thanks you, he ignored the pang against his rib cage. Unbeknownst to him, his only other close friend outside of his volleyball team, had ultimately broken up with him over this argument. The image of you, red eyes and sticky tears streaked cheeks, remained in the back of his mind for quite some time.

“Y/N!”

“Kiyoomi!”

A parent attending the dinner function had came out to find you two since the dessert course was almost ready.

“Be right there!” You call out to them.

Turning your attention toward said ex-friend, you instruct him to wait a few minutes before following you back to the table where you were seated side by side.

Currently, the thought of generations being weird when expressing any sort of affection. Perhaps, accommodating to his frog appearance and actions, your body of work usually themes around being lost and then found. You’re about to jump on his back since the athlete came to pick up a very intoxicated you. When you are settled on his back, Sakusa rises off the pavement and the memory of carrying you like this after you skinned your knees when you fell off your bike at seven years old made him shake his head. Your arms loop across his broad shoulders as you try to remain comfortable. You feel his hands and arms hold you up by the back of your knees prior to your resting your forehead on his shoulder blades.

“You didn’t have to show up Omi-kun,” your voice sounded so exhausted. “But I’m glad you did.”

Sakusa hums. He figures scolding you can wait, but hearing how timid you sound meant you might’ve slowly began forgiving him from that infamous fight in your youth. Clearly he was in the wrong at the time and whenever he was playing away games he’d see little objects that reminded him of you. He’d take pictures of historic sites, museum names, drink your (and now by default, his) favorite cocktails, all because he missed you. How could he say those words to you and though watching you mess around with his phone that afternoon after he had made you cry left a void in his stomach for the better half of a decade. You were cruel in shutting him out of your life, hence whenever Motoya visited his cousin there would be a small catch up segment involving you—you revealed a new mixed media art piece in Art Basil in the US; a newer gallery photography collection entitled ‘Ghost’ in Budapest, and finally a sandcastle sculpture for the FIFA World Cup in Vancouver.

“Y/N really is talented,” Motoya boasts. He mentioned he was going to visit you abroad in your Chilean studio (with the intent of visiting your obaa-san in the Caribbean) during the off season. Sakusa couldn’t help but feel envious of your camaraderie with his cousin, then again, Motoya wasn’t the asshole who pushed you away.

Sakusa continues walking silently listening to you ramble about astrology and horoscopes.

“…and I’m planning on doing an installation piece! Did I tell you, hehehe, the title?”

Sakusa shakes his head. You pull yourself up and the fabric of your clothes creates enough friction you nearly shock him as you whisper the title. Sakusa’s face is unnaturally burning up and you bring you, you ask him if he’s feeling alright. He clears his throat and nods as you hug him a bit tighter.

Forgiveness is a powerful motivator. Essentially throughout the years, you choose to distance yourself from the elitist notions and parties you were invited to since, after all, you decided to be ��done with trying to force something out of nothing,’ according to a university friend. Certainly that’s why you didn’t delete an on old grunt’s number. Whatever the case between you and Sakusa may be, perchance that’s why his key ring has an extra spot for yours. As a sign of good faith, since you both were staying in the country after college graduation, you gave each other a key to the residences you abide in—you know, for emergencies—because your relatives don’t see the frayed friendship mending right away.

And when you jolt awake in the middle of the early evening you are slightly hungover about to become sober when you see a casually dressed Sakusa calmly call you over to the kitchen. He was fixing himself something to eat while sorting out his feelings for you. His brain was doing double duty before though he time and again would ‘rescue’ you from a bar, he’d brush it aside typically replying to your texts in a, ‘don’t mention it,’ and though implied, ‘i am just hoping you’d finally forgiven me, so please let’s be friends again,’ attitude.

The last thing you remember was your grandmother announcing her retirement, the chaos of having you as a successor, and the bar where you got wasted. Well, within reason wasted; drunk enough to call Sakusa Kiyoomi to pay your bill and come home with you to babysit you kind of drunk? Yes.

Why did I have to call him of all people? Not my finest moment, but he does look good…your subconscious prattles on as you very much walk like a creation from a sci-fi film. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut into a star thanks to a mold he found in the drawers, greets you. You sit on a bar stool and say your thanks, but several things were bugging you:

“How did you get me in my house? Did you or one of your friends make copy of my keys?”

You have this adorable angry pout and though your hair is uncouth lying about your cranium which Sakusa fell for the first time when you were eight. The bags under your eyes were caused by many late night projects, some were complete sketches found scattered about in neat piles. A few of them were cityscapes which appealed to your taste in city pop bangers.

“Also, this sandwich is really good,” you snort behind a glass of water observing how the compliment makes his whole body betray this sweet look in his eyes. It was either you were finally letting the alcohol dissipate or the handsome stranger was by proxy, there shell of the boy you played make-believe with.

Sakusa wonders if you’re still mad at him for taking a liking to you, saying this friendship was a sham built on snobby kids who tried to take over the building blocks empire. Even if you roared back that it was your idea he should play volleyball with his cousin when it took over his entire life.

“You drunk dialed me… again,” the stranger speaks, amusements tug his lips upward. The mask he normally wears was discarded since arriving here with you; closed spaces with one other person wasn’t so bad he thinks; as long as it’s you, he won’t wear a mask recalling how you liked to see his whole face, not just half.

“I’m sorry,” you shrug. “Couldn’t really call family…”

He nods. An awkward, yet comforting, silence is shared between you both. You glance down at the empty plate and the empty water glass, then back to him. You don’t speak about the family business, although Sakusa here probably already read into it thanks the bar having set one of the flat screen tvs to the news. However, to fill the silence, you tap your fingers against the counter.

“You should take caution when it comes to love,” your voice is quiet. Eerily so. Have you always been this timid? No, but this situation warrants it.

“I did,” Sakusa leans down as if to challenge but there is no hint of malice there.

Sakusa’s a man of many redeeming qualities: tall, rigid, refined, poised to be a perfect shoe in for both the next inheritors for his family business, but damn the double standard—it’s the one that family of yours still uses and it affects where you stand—he seemed amused by this. You sigh, dejected by the reminder of your failings. Even if the friendship you with each other had broke apart ages ago, Sakusa taps the side of the counter.

“I did,” he repeats. A smug expression on his brow has you turn your head curiosity having bested you yet again. It’s not your fault, he wants to say.

“You don’t want me,” he heard you whine.

You echoed the words he said to you out of spite. Empty threats made out the listless anger in your collective youth led to the divergence of your path which lead you here.

Quick reflexes cause your chin to be held roughly in his palm.

“You were so strong,” Sakusa watches your eyes squeak back a well deserved laugh. You bow your head, or at least try to only to be stopped by his other hand.

“I’m not,” he says before he does the one thing that terrifies him. “So I’m going to tell you everyday, starting now.”

You try to search for something that was always there and you, you couldn’t see it—not yet anyways—because perhaps there are other avenues to the heart.

“How? I couldn’t even kee-pft!”

Sakusa silences you immediately with his lips harshly pressed against your own. If there was any time in your conversation you felt uneasy, now was the time he begins his litany of apologies. No words are exchanged, how can they be when you’re just as eager as he is. Your hands shake when you’re suddenly rising in haste to match his tenacity. His feet guide him to where you are half a step away, coming around the counter. When you know he’s close enough, your fingers wrap around his shirt to ground you from floating away.

“Easy,” he whispers hotly against your Cupid’s bow. “You never lost me.”

“Kiyoomi,” your voice acknowledges his request, yet you ignore it mentioning he should have said sorry all those years past. You push him back with your palm when he tries your patience again. “Don’t play with me…”

“I refuse,” he says this as if it’s the easiest way back into your good graces. No, the despondency resonates and when the cat’s cradle of fates become undone, you both fall at the mercy of the other’s hand. For the first time in a while he seems nervous.

Your hands are made strong because of your path, some you blame on the life your family chose the other half is yours to claim. Seizing it, fully aware how foolish this might be, you reach an impasse.

“Are you sure?” your palm taps his sternum.

“As sure as I am Atsumu’s going to raise hell for me not going to the bar again,” Sakusa’s mutters, causing you to glance up at the sincerity in his features.

Three… two… one… your brain catches up to what he had said, spurning your straightened lips into an upturned on as a laugh clear as day breaks through. It’s a sound precious to him, and when you agree on much needed rest, you see a shadow of yourselves from childhood.

And so, with a laughter once lost on your lips, a Sakusa impulsively hushes you; his lips still taste the remnants of the sweet and savory sandwich you had; your eyes close wondering if this reality is the one where you wake happier. His hand moves from your face trailing down the fabric of your shirt, by passing any aforementioned thoughts to pull you closer to him by the waist. How long has he waited for you like this? Your quest on finding a boy who still proves he is fit to love you ends with your arm smoothing over the folds of his hoodie, fingers entangling in his plush ends of his ebony hair; you feel him gently humming as you force your tongue to break pat his teeth to make him remember this. He who made you feel lonely atones for every grievance he has ever had on you the longer you allow your mouths to move seamlessly.

You move him, tilting your head this way and that, nipping at top and bottom lips; the jaws that house a whirlwind of sounds like the ones you let him hear, “like this,” or a low needy growl when you feel his lips traverse the one side of your neck and your hands push to keep him there. You don’t have to ask him to stay, it’s pointless, knowing how far and how hotly he burns for you. You return the favor asking if this is alright: for what it’s worth, you remember he calls you beautiful, obnoxiously his, you reckon. As a result of wearing the moniker, when he’s left breathless with your flushed face still resting against his chest, your hands sneak under the coat he wears, eager to expose a layer. You argue it’s too warm and you hear his laughter rumble in his rib cage. His heart must be rocked senseless thinking he’s in the middle of a game right now, but when he doesn’t fight you as the hoodie is pulled up and over with ease, his face is dyed a light hue. The city lights reflective in the haze of the fog find themselves tenaciously encasing you both.

“It will be alright,” he hears you say the next instant his forehead lowers to meet yours.

“Of course,” you agree, nudging his nose. You turn your head slightly as you attempt to quietly stand on your toes to reach the marks above his brow. Like your neck, Sakusa has a spot where he falls weaker to.

“You’re dangerous,” you say in the height of your sobriety.

“I wonder why,” he bites back, knowing his truth is yours too.

“Will you stay?”

You’re used to walking on this path alone, but that ends today. He pecks your forehead kindly, before taking a nip at your cheek.

“Kiyoomi,” you warn.

“I will stay. On one condition.”

You raise an eye brow. Not another ultimatum, you frown.

“I’m the only one who,” he kisses the crown of your head.

“Can,” another down the side of your eye.

“Love.”

The space between your brows receives his praise.

“You,” his lips are on yours again for a short breadth.

“Y’know, your apology means the most,” you confess, stifling a yawn. “I missed you.”

You sleep side by side on a mat made for children your age; just like now. Though neither you nor your guest make it very far, there is enough space for him to remind you’re never walking alone. With a blanket strewn over your frame, he kneels in front of your make shift bed for the night. He brushes stray hairs that fall back over your face.

“Not yet,” you complain in your sleep.

“Silly brat,” Sakusa’s words have no bite in them, considering how he’s able to reinforce the love that was lost then found with you. You sigh contentedly, turning to face him with eyes closed, light snores hang in the air. You mutter nonsensical words as though you were holding a board meeting, who knows if the trustees will let you keep your appointed position when you come back on Monday with a formal decision.

Your one foot is in the world of the creative refined arts and the other, stiffly pressed business suits; you chose one and destiny gave you the other. Your granny was right, you get to lead. She didn’t exactly give you much else to work on, yet the answer was clearing up: you chose to lead a life filled with the beginnings of selfishly choosing your happiness over theirs every time. Especially if and when it means Sakusa would make you peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to calm you down, or kiss you senseless, leaving you defenseless in the privacy of a home you build. It’s been a while since those emotions properly manifested and now? Now a professional volleyball athlete with all his crowning achievements watches over his proudest victory with the confidence of realizing there was always this hidden agenda in you spending time apart.

Hours later, when your visitor is about to leave, he notices something a bit odd. He stretches his arms above his head as his eyes readjust to where he had fallen asleep. There, in a blue notebook, has a series of alpha-numeric grids. Said numbers were ideally typed in the web browser; the results in the search were the coordinates from every shared memory you had whether it involved him or not.

“You’re a genius as you always were,” Sakusa says glancing over the last one.

It is crude in penmanship, yet as the years on the page aged, the numbers were rewritten accordingly. The cipher is something which often puzzles the man, but when Sakusa figures the next few lines on the page are blank, he turns on his location on the world grid to write down the coordinates of where his heart finally, without question, comes back to you. The kanji underneath it is parentheses says the following: ‘hope restores my love.’

[vake-hunter]

Fingerking and Devil lore post!

Spoilers for the Parabolan War, Heart’s Desire Endings, Nemesis Endings and Sunless Skies

So what are the Fingerkings anyway?

"We live behind the glass, the Fingerkings. Parabola is ours. If you want free passage of this place," it says, "that comes only from us." It flicks your ankle with the tip of a forked tongue. "Trust that I am the least dangerous of my kind."

It speaks other names. Orts. Boil. A Spire. Be cautious of these beings and places. Show respect, and do not make demands unless you are willing to bargain. 

— Dome of Scales, Occupied in Parabola; Fallen London

What about the Devils?

"After the Well of the Wolf," he says, "the Devils could no longer remain in the sight of the Judgements: not if we intended to live. We escaped through Caduceus into Parabola, the place that is not; and from there onward. We were a people in exile. Not strong enough to take a place and hold it for our own. Not weak enough to be welcomed as refugees. It was an intolerable time and I take no pleasure in remembering it." 

— Ask him about his memories of Caduceus via The Repentant Devil; Sunless Skies

Hold on, back up, The Well of the Wolf? What happened?

Revolution.

"It was a waste," the Repentant Devil says. "The protests, the peaceful fights and the violent ones. We were never likely to win by those methods."

You wait.

"Control what something consumes," he says, "and you control what it is. The feeding of stars is a delicate art. I had spent centuries in cultivating them, studying their palates, watching for evidence of their responsive growth. I had influence. Now, how much can any Devil say the same?" 

— Ask more about rebelling against the Judgements via The Repentant Devil; Sunless Skies

So the Devils and the Fingerkings met in Caduceus.

[...] 

The devils swarming into Parabola longed for many things: for souls, for escape, for their own deaths and the things that waited beyond each death. The Fingerkings saw their longing, and welcomed them as food.

The devils were bargainers, contract-writers, enemies of the stars. The Fingerkings saw their nature, and welcomed them as allies.

The devils were hollow, skin-shedders, eternally in chrysalis. The Fingerkings saw their capacity, and welcomed them as salvation.

— Receive the story in the form of cascabel venom via The Dome of Scales, Occupied; Fallen London

The Parlous Knot was the greatest Fingerking-congregation of its time: vast, numerous, indivisibly loyal.

It was the Knot that arranged the treaty. The devils would dwell in Parabola as long as they wished, but one day, they would depart, carrying any Fingerking who wished to possess a devil.

This Fingerking before you is descended from the Parlous Knot; it hatched on the day the bargain was fulfilled.

— Ancestral Stories via The Dome of Scales, Occupied; Fallen London

Aeons passed. The devils were in no haste to go. They built furnaces that scarred the land. They traded with Irem; they changed Irem. They searched the mirrors endlessly for a suitable destination in which to hide themselves, but always that goal remained out of reach – until they found the Neath. Until the first person brought the first looking-glass below.

Then they were ready to leave Parabola. Fulfilling their bargain, they opened their mouths to the Fingerkings, offering them transport into the Neath.

But the inside of a devil is too changeable, too corrosive. A Fingerking cannot survive in such a place. The Parlous Knot was dissolved in the gullet of a Grand Devil.

The devils returned alone to the Is, unpossessed, and the Fingerkings remained, trapped without change.

— Ancestral Stories via The Dome of Scales, Occupied; Fallen London

Slightly different text of the above from having certain qualities

With Vengeance Nemesis Ending:

Aeons passed. The devils freely used the hospitality of Parabola. They defiled the land; they let the Parlous Knot grow old waiting for them.

At last the day came when the devils were prepared to leave, the moment for them to enter their Hell.

All the Fingerkings gathered, the Parlous Knot first of all. The scales of its snake-cohabitants had faded to silver and grey; the eyes of its members were glazed like marbles. But weary and eager for Being, the Parlous Knot climbed into the gullet of a grand devil–

And expired there in agony. The devils cannot be possessed. They cannot house a Fingerking. They must have known this. They must have traded on it. They must never have intended to honour the bargain.

They must be punished.

They must be followed and punished.

In the name of the Parlous Knot. For the sake of every other who ever accepted a contract with a devil.

With Escape Ending of Heart’s Desire: 

Aeons passed. The Fingerkings waited. The devils built furnaces in Parabola, and laid down trade routes. The Fingerkings waited. The devils looked into mirrors, and considered new homes, and did not choose any of them. The Fingerkings waited, though patience is not in their nature.

At last the devils saw the Neath. Their destination was chosen! Their escape was selected!

There were so many devils that every Fingerking alive would have an escape. But as a matter of respect, the first possession was offered to the Parlous Knot, for it had formed the treaty, and it had lived into a great old age in the hope of seeing it fulfilled.

But a grand devil swallowed the Parlous Knot into a pit of corrosion and absence: for there is nothing in a devil that can sustain a Fingerking. The Parlous Knot perished, in the sight of all its descendants, down to the smallest egg. And the devils went laughing into the Neath, and not one Fingerking escaped with them.

With Time Ending of Heart’s Desire:

Aeons passed. The Fingerkings waited. The devils built furnaces in Parabola, and laid down trade routes; looked out of mirrors, and considered new homes; and for generations searched for their new Hell.

When they discovered the Neath at last, the Fingerkings proved unable to possess them. To be swallowed by a devil was death and dissolution. A Fingerking lives on desire, and a devil cannot sustain it. It was the death of the Parlous Knot.

This story is told in venom and fury, but you are able to know the tale without being drawn in. You too have bargained everything for time. You have known the devils' side.

With the Impenitent Devil:

"Make no bargains that you cannot enforce," says the Impenitent Devil, when you have framed your question. "We did not betray the Fingerkings. We upheld our side of the bargain. When we left Parabola, we offered every one the chance to dwell inside a devil. Sadly, they did not find their new homes hospitable. We are not easy to possess. Not, at least, for such insubstantial creatures."

The Fingerking lifts its head to hiss at him. He pays it no mind. "How is it our fault if they did not understand what they asked for?"

He does not say the devils were ignorant. He does not say they made the treaty in good faith. He does not say they believed they could rescue the Fingerkings.

So bargains? 

"We always keep our bargains," says the Serpent of the Dome: almost affronted, perhaps, by any suggestion they might not keep a bargain with you.

— Purchase a greater freedom of the place via Dome of Scales, Occupied; Fallen London

[...] But this Fingerking is young, small, greedy. It has made its bargain without being ready for the dangers. [...] 

— An Illusion, Viewed from the Audience via The Dome of Scales, Occupied; Fallen London

The Fingerking is waiting, wide-jawed, for precisely the correct moment to open Parabola to the audience volunteer. Only the right victim, in the right state of mind, will bargain with a Fingerking, and allow himself to be possessed.

The victim must be at once anxious and bored, eager to be on-stage and sure nothing will happen, jaded with London and wishing against hope for some glimmer of cosmogone.

It is like waiting for the guards to leave their posts; it is like waiting for fruit to ripen on the vine.

But here, the moment's come. The victim's longing is intense, their doubt overpowering. Now, now, precisely now, the Fingerking lets them through the mirror, to the place where all dreams are true…

— An Illusion, Viewed from Behind via The Dome of Scales, Occupied; Fallen London

Devils are known for making contracts and being experts of loopholes and law. They are often lawyers and tricksters. They are known to be selfish and dangerous. 

Fingerkings do trick people in order to try to possess them, but it is just as dangerous for them as those they are possessing. They have to be strong enough, through feeding off emotions, in order to do this. It also seems the person needs to be willing, even if they are misled. They must agree to the bargain. 

Okay but what about roses and honey? 

We know Devils tend to roses, they do so all over. The walls of Hell are the only place Exile’s Roses can grow. Prisoner’s Honey is made by Lamplighter Bees who have pollinated these specific roses. The honey takes people to Parabola, where like dreams and glass, they can be led astray by Fingerkings. 

Order Serpentine from Knife-and-Candle says that the Devils did this on behalf of the Fingerkings, as a deal where the Fingerkings will give the Devil’s part of what they gain. 

…THE LITTLE SNAKE asked the grumpiest bee in both worlds for help. And the bee said, why should I help? And the snake said, I will give you one-fifth of all I gain thereby. So the bee thought, and he said, in a far place there grows a rose. And that rose…

— Order Serpentine, Sorrowful

...THE ROSE, WHICH IS CALLED EXILE'S ROSE, has a property of passage. So shall I brew a honey from its dusts and pollens, and the honey shall be sweet, and it shall bring those who taste it, here to your dwelling. And sometimes they shall stay forever. And the little snake was very pleased with all the new friends the honey brought, but... 

— Order Serpentine, Lachrymose

[liliesoftherain]

Alstroemeria

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader; Midiroiya Izuku x Reader -- one sided bakugou x reader(or is it???????)

Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst? Mentions of unrequited love so 

Summary: Alstroemeria: This flower has an array of meanings...but the beautiful blooms always connect to a similar meaning of friendship, love, strength, and devotion. Someone should have mentioned that it doesn’t have to mean all of the above.

A/N: Hi y’all, enjoy this quick one-shot as I finish my next chapter. This is loosely based on the Bridgerton series? Mainly just a Victorian ball au? I just want to imagine Bakugou in a cute waistcoat I’m sorry. Izuku i an Earl and holds title cause his dad is gone. Katsuki is a Marquess cause he’s the son of a duke, as he should.

Part 2--Bakugou’s POV

----------

You’ve had time to get used to the ache of heartbreak.

Skillfully hiding the pain you feel behind a taut smile, you turn away from where he was dancing and sweep your eyes along the extravagant ballroom before you. It really is a wonderous sight; the crystal chandeliers are polished and sparkling, the lavish satin drapes are pulled back by golden ropes and allow the guests to watch the dancefloor without interference, and the professional musicians upon the raised lift play beautifully to set a magical mood. 

You’re no stranger to these elaborate formalities, yet this is the first season you were truly allowed to partake in the events. The fourth ball of the season is just as important as the first, allowing the suitors to try and claim the affections of their wanted--more like, just claim stake in any favorable lady they could. 

However, you have been groomed your entire life for an event such as this, and you were hardly in any position to complain. Yet, that doesn’t mean you were completely uncaring to the idea of being arranged into a loveless marriage. You so painfully wanted your husband to be someone you felt something for--you wanted your love-match. Alas, you weren’t in the position to gain anything of the sort, were you? Not while his attention was on her. 

“These are such a bore, are they not?”

You are shaken from your thoughts, locking on emerald eyes that brimmed with amusement, and you can’t help but grin at the sight. 

“Why, My Lord, dare say are you not entertained by all the ribbons and ascots?”

“I would say not--I prefer a plethora of feathers and exuberant ruffled fronts. Much more fashionable items.”

You share a laugh, the tension melting away the longer you were in the presence of your childhood friend: Izuku Midoriya. The Earl is and has always been a very kind soul, one who you would once spend countless hours with playing in the gardens, and even more so hosting tea and forcing him to attend. As a child, he was always rather timid and shy, easy to persuade into just about anything. Perhaps that is why you and Katsuki always got away with your harmless teasing--well, some teasing more harmless than not. 

He was always nearby, conceding you to put him through the girliest of activities, and yet he never complained. He often returned the favor by forcing you to study, presenting you with books on subjects you couldn’t even begin to understand, and allowed him to rant on about every and anything he found of interest. He was often your escort to most events--with the proper chaperone, of course--and force you to listen off as he rattled endlessly over different theories he came up with from his travels abroad. 

Katsuki wasn’t as fond of listening to his rambles as you were, and often would shut him up with a fencing match or something similar--anything that could have Katsuki physically overpower him to get him to, ‘stop talking for more than two bloody minutes.’ 

Yes, you three were once as thick as thieves--however now...

Your attention flickered back over to the Marquess; his blond locks wild and untamed, even though he was at such a prestigious event, and the endearing sight squeezed your heart as it was so him. He now stood off to the side, chatting away with the miss that has held his attention all night. She was rather beautiful, with long juniper locks and stunning sage eyes; it is no wonder Katsuki would be so bewitched. 

“May I?”

You glance down, seeing Izuku’s expectant hand, and grant him the remainder of your dances on your card. You try to smile, but it falters at his knowing look as his attention goes between you and his other friend. 

He leads you to the dancefloor, holding you tight as you both being to waltz a varsouvienne. You allow the music and his soft gaze to consume you, laughing and jesting as the night went on. Katsuki ends up in the furthest parts of your mind, almost forgotten.

“Pardon--”

Almost.

“Miss (l/n), a dance?” Katsuki stands before you, a friendly sneer on his face as he stares at your dance partner. “A real dance, anyways. Seeing as the ever graceful Izuku may as well have two left feet.”

“Oh, most amusing, Katsuki.” Izuku rolls his eyes, yet stays holding onto you.

You miss the quick glance of Katsuki’s eyes as they sweep over Izuku’s grip on your waist--instead, you offer a silent thanks for his comfort before giving a polite bow of your head. 

“Of course, Lord Bakugou.”

You take his outstretched hand and allow him to guide you away; he spins you once, then brings you back into his embrace. 

“How are you this evening, (y/n)?”

“Very well, My Lord.”

“Now why are you acting with such formalities? Have I not won over your friendship after all these years?” His brow furrows as you turn your head downward. “Tell me, what is it that troubles you?”

“It is nothing, Katsuki.” the upturn of your lips does little to put him at ease, “I am merely feeling the effects of dancing--that is all.”

“Why? Izuku and you had only danced a measly three times--and you know you have to dance with me.”

You let out a snort of amusement, remembering the promise you made to both men before the season first started of saving them at least one dance.

“Yes, of course, I always make sure to save one for you, do I not?” 

“You do.” He chuckles, before smiling at your head. “May I say, your hair looks lovely tonight--alstroemerias again? It suits you.”

He spins you around once more, slower than the first, and you spot Miss Setsuna from across the way. Her frown is prominent as she watches the waltz continue, and in some twisted way, you feel triumphant; you know she’s after his status, and his good looks didn’t hurt either. That’s what every woman was chasing, after all. That’s what you were supposed to be chasing--but that’s not what you want. 

You’ve been in love with Katsuki since you were both children. You loved the little boy who would take you on adventures throughout the grounds behind your estates. You loved the kid who used to pick you alstroemerias for your tea-parties--it is now why they adorn your gardens and your wardrobe. You loved the young man who would--begrudgingly--let you practice various dances on him until you got it just right. You loved the teen who would bring you various trinkets from his studies and travels, just because. You loved the man who never failed to make you feel worthy and respected in the highest regard of the meaning. 

You loved all of him. 

“Yes--they are my favorite flower, after all.”

The dance ends, and you both dip low in respect, and for a fleeting moment, you expect him to stay.

But that hope shatters the second he loses focus on you and gives it to her. You muster the strength to look away. 

“Thank you for the dance, My Lord. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.” 

Without waiting on a response, you turn and swiftly make your leave. All you want to do is find your mother and go home, your heart unable to deal with any more pain. On your hasty exit, you end up crashing into someone.

“I, I am sorry,” you gasp, hoping that they said nothing in return so you could continue and get some fresh air.

Why was it so suffocating in here?

“(y/n)? Are you alright?”

Izuku places a firm grip upon your arms, holding you steady as your chest begins to rise and fall in quick breathes. He takes your form in worriedly and quickly moves to escort you to the balcony, where there is no crowd and fresh air. 

Leaning against the railing, you focus on the lush gardens below--on anything to get your mind of Katsuki. Yet it all is in vain, as the pin in your hair comes loose, and an alstroemeria falls right onto the back of your hand. 

Your bottom lip grows unsteady the longer you watch the flower, and you have to blink back the moisture that has begun to collect on your bottom lashes. You don’t understand why it all hurt so much--you’ve known from the start that receiving his affections was slim to none, yet you still held onto the dim idea that he could also return affections. 

You had been watering this seed--this notion--every day, and it only grew stronger and stronger; its stem growing as if it were a vine, seizing every part of your being until you were helpless to the damage it had caused. You are tired--your body, your heart, it all hurts and you want to give up, but you keep pushing for this flower to bloom because something good has to come of all of this hurt, right?

And something does, but what you thought was a beautiful flower of love, strength, and devotion, he only saw one of strength in friendship. 

He may not realize, but it’s killing you that you two are seeing two different sides of the same coin; the opposite sides of the looking glass, unable to get to the other, only able to present a false front instead of the entire truth of feelings as a whole. 

You don’t even realize the tears have started to fall from your face until you notice you were no longer staring down to the darkness below, and had begun to soak the coat of your companion. You pull away, just enough to look into his eyes, and you see the concern and care he holds for you. Leaning back into his embrace, you don’t give yourself another moment to think how scandalous it must look to be held so fondly by a man you weren’t wed to--you need this hug more than anything right now, and that’s enough reason for the both of you. 

Izuku mumbles soothing words of endearment, stroking your clothed back softly--and while you can’t feel his bare skin against yours, you still shiver at the touch. He’s warm, comforting, and you find yourself calming down in his hold. You pull back, creating enough distance to be acceptable, and grant him a watery smile. 

He stares back kindly, a gaze of adoration, as he pulls another of your beloved alstroemeria from the clip behind your ear. 

“What are you--”

Izuku sets it on the balcony ledge, then unclips the flower from his breast pocket, delicately placing it in the same spot.

“A primrose--I think it suits you quite well.” 

You bring a hand up, briefly brushing over the soft petals before searching his expression for an answer. His smile only grows fonder, and he takes your hand away from the primrose and raises it to his mouth for a tender kiss on your hand. 

“Izuku…”

“If the Lady is willing to accept, may I be so bold as to call upon her tomorrow?”

One hand starts to fiddle with the fabric against your waist, suddenly feeling rather nervous as he continues to hold you other as he awaits your response. Your tongue darts out to lick your suddenly dry lips, a bashful smile forming right after.

“Of course, My Lord.”

“Fantastic,” he whispers, letting your hand fall back to your side as he stares with disbelief at your agreeance--you laugh at his wide-eyed look, “Then let me escort you inside, I do not wish to keep you any longer than you would like.”

You consent, taking his arm as he walks you back into the ballroom. For the first time that night--for the first time ever in fact--your mind is far from the Marquess, and you’re not concerned about it. 

So much so, you don’t notice the distraught-looking man leaving the balcony right before you both, nor the falling alstroemeria right after.

-----

Primrose: These flowers are seen as representations of young love and of feeling as though you can’t live without your lover. 

“...is the most overlooked flower when it comes to romantic flowers...”

[saphirered]

Hi! I really love the stuff you've been writing for Molly!! It's so engaging and really sweet and makes me smile really wide, so thank you for that! If you're still taking requests, could I request a romantic Molly x Reader who's a druid/bard multiclass? Who has the same vibes as a Disney princess? I hope you have a great day and I can't wait to see what you write next!!

Aw shucks thank you so much ☺️. I hope this is to your liking. Enjoy 😘

The parade to draw people into the carnival was coming to an end. You were almost back at the tent and had gathered a proper crowd to watch the night’s show. Along the way you did your acrobatics and used some druidcraft to create little flowers in the palm of your hand or letting colourful floral vines bloom throughout your hair and attire. The whole look made you appear like an ethereal creature from the Feywild, perhaps even at the Seelie Court itself. 

Children giggle as you wave at them, snowflakes fall only to melt before they reach the ground. Dancing around you had fun and eventually found your ‘Fire Faerie’ friend. Together you twist and turn in a carefully practiced routine. A cloud of petals floats around you until Orna sets them ablaze, the embers blowing up in the breeze with a soft casting of Gust from you. People laugh and cheer as you both curtsied and move on your way through the crowd. 

You find Molly juggling his iridescent shimmering scimitars. Announcing your presence you dance around him just barely out of reach from the sharp blades. He nearly drops one in surprise, not expecting you to step so close but recovers quickly and it seems either no one noticed or they expected it to be part of the act. He sends you a half smile and a wink as you twist and turn around him avoiding the blades by a hair’s width humming a sweet melody. Gasps came from the people around as you narrowly avoid the scimitar from cutting through you like butter. 

You stop and take a slower pace to fall back a little bit, run and with the momentum, leap onto Molly’s shoulders in a handstand as he continued to walk. You let a couple of the flowery vines weave into his horns as he laughs and you flip over landing ahead of him. Looking over your shoulder you blow him a kiss with a wink as he continues juggling. You continue your routine with the song, the melody turning into a beautiful song people follow behind you as if you were the piped piper. Each time you take your next step you leave behind a path of colourful wildflowers. 

Toya had been feeling a bit under the weather so, you were to take over her act for the night. All dressed in flowy chiffons of greens, blues, purple and golds held together by felted vines and silk flowers, glittery exaggerated makeup, hair braided and teased you’re ready to take on your role. Your devil at your side usual clothes exchanged for dark ashen robes and features contoured in such a way to give him an even more devilishly handsome look. 

“And our next story, comes from far away. The fires of hell know one loyal to Zariel herself! A trickster, traitor and danger to all. One should know better than make a deal with this devil…” You hear from behind the curtain Gustav begins your introduction.

“That’s my cue. Let’s give them a show worth remembering.” Molly kisses your knuckles before his lips meet yours and he’s off by the time you open your eyes. Taking a few deep breaths you wait for the ‘story’ to continue.

“They say a devil’s heart cannot be tamed. They must never have met the Summer Princess! Blessed from the Feywild, what is beautiful is most dangerous and they are no exception. The Summer Princess walks among the Seelie Courts but those who pay careful attention may just hear their song. Be warned, they are much more treacherous than the devil…” Peaking through the curtain just so no one can see you focus on the support beams of the tent and begin casting your spell. Blooming vines creep up the beams wrapping around, flowers drape down. Petals begin to fall down from the ceiling provided by the Knot Sisters from the shadows. You hear gasps as people look around. 

You see Molly walk around, sword dragging in the dirt as you hear him growl at the plants. Time to sing and sing you do. 

The people look around as you tend to the flowers near one post ‘oblivious’ of the presence ‘in your garden’. You interact with some of the people in the front row offering them smiles and making flowers sprout around where they sit, offer an airy touch of the cheek of the poor individuals entranced by your song, unable to keep their eyes off you as they cling onto every word. 

Your song speaks of the beauties of the Feywild. Making use of your training you belt. Birds fly into the tent, swirling around you, the devil watching, his face turning from anger to bewilderment as he sticks to the shadows. You reach your hand to the sky mimicking the melody of the songbirds. Stretching your arms to the side one by one they land. You let them sing replying in a song of your own as if you’re having a conversation with them. 

Molly steps out from the shadows and into the light around you. You hear whispers from the audience ‘watch out’, ‘he’s behind you’ and ‘the devil is coming for the princess’. You continue your song walking along the audience, birds still resting on your arms as you sing with them. Next you turn the edge of the blade of ‘the devil’ is pointed at you and you act surprised, your song stopping for just a moment. 

“What are you?” Molly growls showing his fangs as he does fully committing to his role. You can’t help but hide a smile. Such a lover of theatrics. 

“I’m the Summer Princess and you, handsome devil are in my garden.” You sing, the blade drops a little before it raises closer to you. 

“Do not think you can charm me, wild enchantress.” You hum to the birds and they give a reply. 

“I charm only those willing to listen to my song. Are you willing, handsome devil of mine, walking in my garden.” You harmonise with the birds. They leap into flight circling around you and Molly closer and closer until you’re standing toe to toe. 

“Your song is sweeter than temptation, more treacherous than this devil’s words.” You move your hand to stroke his cheek as you do flowers and vines similar to the ones in your hair begin growing in his much like a crown. You may have overdone it a bit but Molly would see later what piece of art you left for him to remind him of your act. 

“Then join me handsome devil, and let the wildflowers keep our secret.” You tilt your head as if you were going to kiss him speaking the last words. You step back, hand outstretched looking at him with bright eyes. Molly’s hand stretches out towards you as you set pack. 

“Come with me, my handsome devil.” You sing as he begins following you with slow paces. Gustav comes around once more. 

“And so the Summer Princess tames the heart of their handsome devil. Their charm never fails and they are as treacherous as they are beautiful still. Take care to stay out of their garden or you might just end up like their handsome devil…”

————————————————————————

After a successful evening show you sit at the camp attempting to remove the vines and flowers from your hair and clothes. They look beautiful but are an absolute hell to get rid of and leaving them in isn’t really an option. As far as you could tell you successfully got rid of all the vines and flowers without harming the delicate silk greens, purples blues and yellow golds of your show costume which left you with your hair. 

Not even half way through with the moon high in the sky you give up with an exasperated sigh and let yourself fall backwards onto the soft grass. Most of the others had gone to bed already or found the bottom of a bottle so you’d find no help there. The calmness and quiet of starry night brings comfort to your mind and you start to drift off a bit. Your ears still manage to catch the familiar footfalls approaching you and your pile of discarded flowers. What you didn’t expect was about a hand or two full of flowers hitting you in the face. 

Opening your eyes you saw Mollymauk standing above you with half grin. By the looks of him he had attempted to get the flowers from earlier out of his hair but struggled just as much as you had and given up halfway through. He hadn’t gone about it as carefully as you though so the purple knotted mess sticking out at odd angles made him look rather funny and you stifle a giggle as you get to your feet. He puts his hands on his hips.

“You think this is funny? I swear, if I didn’t know any better I’d really believe Gustav’s story, you little Archfey!” He speaks exasperated as you pulled away some ivy circled around one of his horns with a laugh dropping it with the pile you had created. 

“Of course I think it’s funny, my handsome devil.” You patted his cheek and took one of his hands with your free one pulling him with you to sit down on the grass. Kneeling in front of him you begin untangling the vines and removing the flowers using your fingers to brush through, carefully pick apart and untangle the mess he had created. Once you are done and just brushing through his hair making sure you didn’t miss anything and to get it back to its usual state he takes your hands and presses a delicate kiss to your palms. 

“Turn around?” The words come out more as a question but you do and sit between his legs as he starts carefully detangling the vines from your own hair muttering a sorry and kissing your shoulder every time he either has to or accidentally pulls on your hair to take them out. It took him a while but eventually all the vines and flowers are gone and you’re just sat, leaning back against him, listening to sounds of the early early morning and the faint light barely visible from the town you’re set up outside off in the fields. 

Molly’s arms wrap around your waist and his head leaning on your shoulder as he hums a tune all too familiar to you. You elbow his stomach looking at him with a fake scowl. He kisses your scowl away and begin humming along with him, a flock of birds dancing overhead as you do. Surrounded by warmth and comfort you both slowly let the exhaustion consume you as the first lights of dawn draw upon the horizon. 

[detective-grey]

pumpkin patches and broken things

part 3 of "Wayhaven Frights - Connections" prompt "Harvest"

pairing: detective alexis "lex" crawford and adam du mortain

rating: t

summary: Lex has a thing for pumpkin patches and Adam has a thing for broken things.

read on ao3

The cool autumn wind brushed against her cheeks, lifting a few strands of mousy brown hair away from her face and dancing them through the breeze. The air smelled faintly of burnt wood and decay, that cold familiar scent that usually reminded one of late night bonfires, jewel colored leaves falling to the ground, hot ciders and mulled wines. A reminder of the end of a cycle, the buds of spring and the blooms of summer giving way to the harvests of fall and eventually the barren fields of winter.

The sky was that particular shade of icy blue that somehow only made an appearance in October and suddenly vanished once the grey tones of December spread through the atmosphere. Every now and then thin white clouds stretched their boney fingers across the sky, blocking out the false Sun that shone but offered no heat, and the shadows of late birds migrating south for the year dotted the ground.

Detective Alexis Crawford shoved her hands further into the pockets of her dark leather jacket and took a deep breath, enjoying the sting of the cool air in her throat. She closed her eyes and allowed herself this moment, this one singular moment of peace and quiet and-

“There you are!”

She flinched at the sudden noise, then kicked herself for her weakness.

She turned to find Unit Bravo walking towards her at varying strides. Farah led the pack in excitement, her golden eyes so at home in the late afternoon sun. She waved at Lex who made no effort to move in their direction but nodded at the motion. Nate trailed after Farah, his easy smile in place and his dark green jacket zipped up for the first time since Lex had known him. Morgan meandered behind everyone, somehow finding shadows to hide in even on the mostly vacant path, smoke from her lit cigarette twisting around her face.

Lex’s attention of course went straight to the actual leader of the group walking in the middle with an expression reminiscent of a frozen lake, calm ice on the surface with something deeper and more intense beneath. Adam had donned a black peacoat that accentuated his broad frame and squared shoulders, the dark fabric in stark contrast to his pale green eyes and blond hair. She told herself she noticed these things because it was her job to pay attention to details.

That she noticed the way his muscles rippled under the sleeves of his coat, however…

“See something ya like?”

Lex shifted her gaze to where Farah now stood next to her, watching with that annoyingly knowing smile. She rolled her eyes, causing Farah to burst into laughter as the others caught up.

“You guys are late,” she said, only somewhat trying to keep the annoyance she felt from lacing itself through her words. “How that’s possible given the fact that you literally have super speed, I’ll never know.”

“Blame that one,” Morgan accused, nodding her head in Farah’s direction.

“What? I just wanted to make sure I put on the proper clothes! I’ve never been to a pumpkin patch before, there were literally hundreds of options for me to sort through,” Farah explained, twirling around to show off her plaid skirt she had paired with wool leggings, boots, and a cardigan. She had a scarf wrapped around her neck as usual, though this one was a deep crimson red that matched the pattern of her skirt.

“It’s not really that big a deal, they’re just pumpkins,” Lex mumbled, turning to walk towards the entrance to the field where a few other Wayhaven residents stood waiting to gain access.

She hadn’t meant to mention her plan for the weekend to them, and she certainly hadn’t been prepared for everyone to come along. She didn’t consider herself to exactly be a “traditions” type of person, but for some damn reason she found herself back at this pumpkin patch at the beginning of October every year to find a stupidly large pumpkin to take home and carve. She made a whole day of it, usually spending an hour or two scouring the field for the perfect specimen before taking it home, cracking open a few beers (or whiskey, depending on the week), and taking a knife to the thing. She never claimed the title of “Artist” or “Supreme Pumpkin Carver”, indeed her designs and faces would never win any contests, but she found catharsis in the way she cleaned out the seeds, traced her patterns, cut into them with repetitive motions.

There was something to be said about the comfort she found in repeatedly stabbing something over and over, but she never lingered too longly on the thought.

Farah babbled excitedly as they walked towards the vendor. Lex fell into step beside Adam without even realizing it until his voice broke her concentration.

“Detective.”

She looked over at him, having to tilt her chin slightly up to meet his eyes.

“Agent,” she replied, matching his neutral tone.

After giving her a once over and seeming to be satisfied, Adam turned to face forward again and didn’t say another word. Lex knew better than to hold her breath expecting more from him, but for some reason the lack of so much as a “how are you?” stung. Annoyingly so.

She never quite knew where she stood with Adam. Most of the time she couldn’t stand the man, they fought each other tooth and nail on almost every single mission they went on, neither wanting to relinquish control over any situation. She loathed his arrogance, hated the way others automatically deferred to him for command like it was owed to him, meanwhile she’d had to fight her whole life for the scrap of command she held. Once, on a night that they’d spared one another more wounds to their respective prides, he had told her of his station in his previous life as the son of a noble. He had been born into power and he carried it well.

She envied and admired him for it. Both things she hated but couldn’t bury deep enough to forget.

There were other things, though. Things she genuinely appreciated about him. She understood his innate need to protect those he cared about, but the intensity with which he upheld that responsibility continued to surprise her. Never had she known someone with such ferocious loyalty paired with a cynical realism that rivaled her own. She even respected his physical prowess and intimidating presence, things that didn’t particularly phase her but that she could appreciate. Especially as she watched him move, a soldier groomed and transformed into the perfect predator. She should be afraid of him, terrified. And she was.

The feelings that had been stirring and building like kindling that would set fire and consume her terrified her more than anything she’d ever known.

“Detective Crawford! Always a pleasure to see you,” Terry, the owner of the pumpkin patch, called out as they made their way to the front of the line. He had to have been in his late sixties, and he’d been running this business every year for as long as Lex could remember. He’d always been kind to her, as a kid he’d let her get her pick of the field and never charged her anything.

“Hey,” Lex responded, nodding in his direction. She pulled her wallet out of her jacket pocket to pay the entrance fees for everyone as the owner continued.

“I see you brought them fancy agents with you this year, so glad to have you,” he continued, smiling genuinely at Unit Bravo, his eyes twinkling behind his large rimmed glasses. He caught sight of Lex pulling money out of her wallet and shook his head. “Absolutely not, Detective, I won’t see you pay another cent. Not after you’ve solved all those big cases recently.”

Had she more grace she might have blushed. Instead, she straightened her back and jutted her chin forward in what she could only hope would be seen as respectful defiance. “I can’t accept that, Terry. I will pay like everyone else, I’m no different nor more special than anyone.”

Morgan’s eye roll and Nate’s appreciative smile both irritated her, but she tried her best to ignore them. She laid a couple of bills on the table in front of Terry and thanked him before he could say anything else. He shook his head with an exasperated smile but waved them on through the entrance to the field.

Farah immediately began asking a million questions. “Which ones are the best ones?” “Do you think I should get a big one or a small one?” “What kind do you usually get?” “I didn’t know there were different colors, which ones carve better?”

Lex never counted patience as one of her greatest virtues and as much as she genuinely liked Farah and found at least some small appreciation for her...perkiness, she found herself just barely clinging on to whatever patience she actually did have.

Nate must have been a saint in another life because as if he could sense the calmness withering away in Lex, he pulled Farah down a far off lane in search of her very own pumpkin.

“Did you have any questions,” Lex asked Morgan probably more roughly than she should have, but Morgan could take it. She simply blew a puff of smoke towards Lex then turned and followed the other two.

Without bothering to look and see if he’d follow, Lex walked off in the opposite direction of the others and away from Adam.

“Are you angry at us for coming?”

He kept pace beside her as she carefully stepped over vines and divots in the hard dirt beneath their feet. There were a few other families out and about in the field, children running and laughing, parents bent over to pull pumpkins up, couples holding hands. She subconsciously looked over to watch Adam’s hands, casually swaying by his sides, before looking up to meet his eyes.

“Why do you ask?”

A somewhat bemused smile played at his lips. “Not that you ever give the warmest of greetings, but you haven’t exactly expressed much joy in seeing us today.”

“Oh.”

She tried to focus her attention on finding a goddamn pumpkin but how could she be expected to think about anything other than the fact that they were walking through a field on a nice day? Together? Or at least next to each other in a not-completely-hostile way?

“Detective, I-”

She rounded on him. “Look, far be it from me to prevent you all from picking a stupid pumpkin to take back to the warehouse and decorate or cook or what the fuck ever. I’m not mad that you guys came, in fact I think it’s smart for the people of Wayhaven to see you all out doing normal people things but please, just don’t bother me while I’m doing this.”

His eyes hardened. “If you didn’t want us here, you could have simply told us.”

She huffed and wanted to stomp her feet in frustration. Another thing she hated about him: he constantly made her feel everything so much more intensely.

“It’s not,” she took a breath and clenched her fingers into fists for a moment before breathing out and releasing some tension. “It’s not that I don’t want you here, I do. Want all of you, I mean. I mean I want you guys all here, with me.” Another breath. “Can we just find a pumpkin please?”

Lex turned away before he could reply and kept her eyes downcast. She could feel the moment he had caught up with her, matching her strides yet keeping enough distance to allow her the illusion of her own space. They continued on like that for several minutes, every now and then stopping to inspect one pumpkin or another.

“Rebecca and I used to come here every year.”

If she’d startled him with the willingness to give information, he hid it well. She for sure startled herself, even more so as she kept going.

“It’s no surprise she wasn’t exactly Mother of the Year, but one thing I could always rely on her for was taking me to pick a fucking pumpkin and then taking it home to carve. She stopped when I was about fourteen, too old for pumpkin picking I guess, but...I don’t know, I’d gotten so used to doing it every year that I just kept coming.”

Whether he felt her admission didn’t dignify a response or he just didn’t know what to say, Lex couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that he stayed silent for a while, maybe processing the information, maybe figuring out how best to respond. Maybe even just giving her the space to talk and say more if she so chose. She definitely wouldn’t, that she had already told him as much as she had mortified her. No, instead she again attempted to turn her attention to the field hoping to find anything at this point.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to keep traditions to yourself, especially ones as,” he paused, “intimate as this one.”

She scoffed. “Digging in the dirt is your idea of intimacy, Agent?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Hardly.”

They watched each other for a moment and then his eyes flicked up to the sky. “We might want to hurry this along.”

“Why,” she asked before following his gaze and finding massive dark grey clouds rolling in. They began swallowing the blue sky and in the distance she could hear the faint low rumble of thunder. “I don’t remember hearing anything about rain.”

“I doubt the weather would discuss its plans with you before changing, Detective.”

She rolled her eyes but followed him with renewed energy knowing that their time ran short now with the threat of a storm looming overhead. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Farah hoisting what must have been the largest pumpkin in the field into her arms and running back to the entrance with glee. Nate had found himself a medium-sized, perfectly round and spotless one that he kept in the crook of his elbow as he followed behind her. As far as Lex could tell, Morgan seemed content to simply smoke and make a snide remark here and there.

“What about this one?”

She swiveled back to him and when she saw his chosen specimen, she crossed her arms and looked at him incredulously.

"Seriously? There are literally hundreds of others in this field, why the fuck is that the one you pick," she asked dryly.

He shrugged. "I like this one."

Adam had pointed to a small, unassuming pumpkin that had almost been completely camouflaged by the leaves and vines of its neighbors. There wasn’t anything particularly special about it, in fact as far as Lex could tell it was one of the ugliest ones in the whole patch, discolored with spots of damage dotting its surface and roughing its edges.

But Adam had seen some sort of value in it, he had chosen it, so maybe it was worth something…

“Fine, sure, grab it so we can get out of here.”

She turned on her heels to leave, but felt a hand on her shoulder. She fought her initial instinct to break the hand and instead looked back at him. The look he gave her threatened to pull her in as the Moon pulled the tides.

“Alexis, I-”

He shook his head as if waking from a dream then removed his hand.

“I wanted to thank you for sharing this with us. I know the others have enjoyed the day so far and are looking forward to the other activities we have planned.”

She stared at him, taking in every detail, every line of his face and every stitch of his coat. For some reason she wanted to remember this moment, the moment where she realized that Adam had a thing for choosing broken things. After saving the mental picture and framing it in the back of her mind, she simply said, “just harvest the pumpkin, Adam.”

[pl-panda]

The vines that bind us - Chapter 3

Chapter 1 || Previous || Next

“But…! But…!?” Mari shouted after the closing doors. She could hear a cheerful shout as the elevator left the level. 

 The girl placed the box on the desk and collapsed on her knees. She just numbly stared at the gray wall in front of her. She noticed that that the floor was actually a fluffy, dark blue rug. At least she could have her meltdown in a comfortable environment. 

“Sarah?” A voice called from the desk. For a moment, Mari thought someone was in the room the whole time, but she noticed a small device which was probably an intercom. “Sarah, are you there?”

She quickly got up and walked over to the device. There was a blinking red lamp over one of the buttons. She hesitantly pressed it. “Um… Excuse Moi?” 

“Who’s that?! What have you done with Sarah?”

“I… I… I was supposed to be the new intern, but she just… She… I… I think she just hired me and quit…”

“Ah. Okay.” She could almost hear the shrug in the voice. “I need you to bring me the LexCorp deal we are finalizing tomorrow.”

“But… But I have no idea about being a Personal Assitant! How can I be hired?” She shouted at the device.

“Probably something in your contract? I dunno. About that deal?” The boy asked. 

Mari wanted to argue, but a big folder with the LexCorp logo got her attention. She grabbed it and walked to the doors. After knocking twice she pushed it slightly. The girl expected to see some clean and ordered office of the CEO of a big company. Instead, to say it simply, the room was a mess!

The documents laid scattered everywhere. There was a strong smell of coffee permeating the air and she noted a smashed cup. In the corner, there was a table with what could only be called an altar on which a coffee machine with a golden frame stood proud surrounded by candles. The desk was ginormous, easily twice the size of her kitchen table. It was also full of papers tossed around and several boxes stacked on one another to the point where the whole structure risked falling apart. By the doors, there were two pots with some plants that were long dead. She wondered why the janitor didn’t water them, but then she took another look and wondered when any Janitor last saw this room.

Mari tried to walk without stepping on the papers, but it would require to either learn how to fly or walk on the ceiling. 

“Um… Sir? I think I got the folder you said you needed?” She more asked than stated. 

“Put them with the others!” A voice came from under the desk. Mari did as she was asked. She was about to leave when her tablet beeped. She looked at the notification and her eyes went wide.

“Sir?! You said the meeting was tomorrow?” The girl asked. 

“Yes, why?”

“What day is it?”

“Um… Sunday?” He deadpanned

“It’s Monday!” She shouted at him. 

“I would know if it was Monday… I think.” The faceless voice answered, but his voice wavered. 

“I just got the message that Lex Luthor is here to see you!” She panicked.

“Oh bat! Bat bat bat!” Was the response. 

“What am I supposed to do?” Mari kept on sinking. “The security is asking me?! I’m not qualified to make such decisions! That guy’s suit is probably worth more than both my houses!”

The CEO finally got his head out from under the table. Now the girl could see that he was around her age. What was with this company hiring teenagers!? Besides his age, he was dressed in a dark gray suit and white shirt that spotted several brown stains, probably coffee. He was rather handsome, with black hair and steely-blue eyes. “Stall him!” He shouted and started frantically gathering the papers. He then tripped over a toppled mug and fell face-first into the tower of boxes. Just like she predicted, it collapsed, spilling even more papers around. 

“Ugh! You stall him! I will sort this out!” She shouted, switching from ‘panic mode’ to ‘Ladybug mode’.

“What?” He looked at her confused. Instead of answering she looked around. A plan quickly formed in her head. She grabbed the folder that he previously asked for and pushed it into his hands. Then, she grabbed him by the back of his collar and dragged the boy out of the room and into the elevator. Mari practically tossed him inside. Before the doors closed, she grinned at him and slid her hand over the control panel. Now the elevator would stop at every level. 

“Ups! Silly me! It’s my first day at this job…” She faked remorse with the same effectiveness Lila faked dating Damian Wayne. “Remember to read the folder one more time!” She shouted after the closing doors. When he was gone, she sighed. Now the hard part. 

Mari rushed into the room and let Tikki out from the inner pocket of her coat. “Tikki! How am I supposed to clean this all up?! It would take hours to even see the floor! I’m supposed to be an intern, learning things!”

“Calm down Marigold!” The Kwami tried to calm her chosen. “You just need to believe in yourself some more. And maybe get some help?” Tikki smiled suggestively and nodded toward the two near-dead plants. 

“I love you Tikki!” Mari exclaimed before turning toward the sad pots. She touched each of them gently so they would not be hurt and allowed her powers to flare. For a few seconds, her eyes turned vibrant green and her hair became dark-blue while her skin got a green tint. The brown receded as plants soaked the new energy in. It didn’t take long before both were back to their prime and then grew some more, forming vines that would let them walk and more, which would let them grab things. Mari directed them to gather the papers and stuff them into the closet while she got to cleaning more obvious things. 

Firstly, she got the boxes and used them to build around the coffee altar, hiding it from the view. She feared touching it in any way but also didn’t think monsieur Luthor would look favorably at it. Eight boxes were just enough to hide it. There were still several coffee stains on the rug that she had no idea how to clean. She tried to use a watered napkin, but it did little good. Finally, she pulled decided to move the desk slightly forward to cover them. 

Mari looked at the desk. She estimated it was at least ten to twenty times heavier than she was. The girl walked around and started pushing. Slowly, it moved forward. She could hear the elevator ping outside. Damn! She was too slow. Suddenly, the desk became much lighter and she quickly moved it. The plants helped her. She could hear them sing praise to her for reviving them. She promised to water them as often as they needed before ushering them to stand by the doors just as two people entered the room.

-----------

Tim grumbled under his breath as he was tossed into the elevator. The girl then pressed every button and sent him on his way. He had to admit, the plan was brilliant. She said she was an intern? Wasn’t Sarah supposed to be the one helping him? Nah. It was probably nothing.

He opted to skim through the folder. The deal itself was rather straightforward, but he didn’t trust Luthor as far as he could throw him. His documents were already looked through by the Legal Department. It was now only the matter of familiarizing himself with them so he wouldn’t sprout some nonsense at Luthor. 

Once the elevator finally arrived at the ground level, he was met by a very irritated Lex and his personal assistant/bodyguard Mercy. The woman had her usual expressionless face on. 

“Exactly how much longer did you expect me to wait?” The businessman asked with a sneer.

“Yeah. Sorry. My new assistant accidentally pressed all the buttons. She didn’t yet get the hang of all the cybernetics.” Tim lied swiftly before welcoming them into the elevator. He did his best to hide the fact he was sweating heavily. He had no idea what state his office would be in, but he doubted that the girl could possibly make it presentable in such a short time. Even just the boxes he accidentally knocked over must have been heavier than her, so there was absolutely no way she would move them.

“You’re ‘sorry’?” Luthor asked with a raised eyebrow. The sneer never left his face. "So, I assume this new assistant of yours will have the time she has wasted removed from her paycheck, yes?" 

“What? No! Dude! It’s her first day.” Tim protested. “She needs time to get a grip on things. Cool a bit, would you?”

The elevator ride was in simple words awkward. Tim was looking over the deal in silence while Luthor was clearly pissed. Neither spoke to each other and if one looked at the other, it was with some degree of disgust. Suddenly, the younger man remembered why he disliked meeting with Lex so much. He felt dirty and had the urge to get a bath. If it was up to him, Wayne Enterprises would cease all cooperation with Lexcorp, but sadly that’s not how the market worked. Sometimes, you needed to work with a slimeball or people would lose their jobs.

When they finally arrived at the top floor and the doors opened, Tim saw that the desk where the assistant should be was empty beyond the box with her things.

“Maybe you should warn her not to unpack if she keeps the unprofessional behavior,” Luthor commented. 

“I’m sure…” Tim started when they were entering the office, but words died in his throat. All the papers were gone and she moved the boxes around his Holy Coffee Machine! He was sure there would at least be the coffee stains, but they seemed to have disappeared. Wait, wasn’t his desk a bit closer to the window? Nah. There was no way she moved it. How did she make the plants look so green? They were dead when he left. Did she switch them with Bruce’s office? Who cares! There was a steaming cup of coffee on his desk. It was red in black polka dots. Tim had trouble focusing on anything but the nectar on his table. The smell that reached him almost made him float toward it, but he stopped himself.

“Oh! Sorry. I was just leaving the coffee and the documents you asked me.” She said with a smile and handed him a folder with large ‘confidential’ on the front.

“Um… Thanks?” He looked at her flabbergasted. How did she do all that? And how can one make coffee so strong?! She needed to teach him!

“I will leave you to the meeting then.” She said quickly and left the office. 

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

Once outside, Mari collapsed into a chair by the desk. Her desk now…

“Tikki! What am I supposed to do?!” She moaned

“Don’t worry Marigold!” The small goddess comforted the girl. “I’m sure you will do great. You just need some help from time to time.”

“I can’t believe you summoned the coffee cup for him!”

“I felt bad I couldn’t contribute more.” Kwami giggled. “But seeing his expression I did well.”

Resigned, Mari started to browse through the box. The number of folders almost gave her a panic attack, but Tikki nuzzled into her neck, giving her some more confidence. Instead, the girl reached for her tablet and quickly called Chloe. She half-expected the girl not to answer, but to her relief, the Blonde’s face appeared. 

“What’s the problem?”

“Problem? No! No problem at all! Why would there be any problem?” Mari reacted on instinct, trying to hide behind a cheery mask. Seeing Chloe’s unamused expression, she relented. “I somehow got hired as the personal assistant and the previous one quit.” 

“What!?” The blonde shouted. “They can just do that?”

Chloe scrambled to look for her mentor. Interning in the Law Department had its merits. After a moment a woman in her early thirties appeared.

“Mari-bear, Meet Ethel. She is my caretaker. Like I needed one.” the girl complained.

“You accidentally made a hundred copies instead of ten,” Ethel said with some amusement

“So? Anyone can make a mistake.”

“You tried to pick them all up.”

Chloe wanted to argue some more, but Mari’s giggle on the other side reminded her why they were all there.

“We’ve got some problem. Apparently, my friend’s here mentor decided to hire her on the spot and then quit.” 

“Oh! Congratulation. You must have quite the CV then.” The woman clearly couldn’t see the problem.

“Expect I have no idea how to be a personal assistant.”

“Wait! You’re Sarah’s girl?” Ethel asked hesitantly. “Oh, you poor baby!” She cooed. “Honestly that woman! I know she was overworked but that was low even for her.”

“I… assume Sarah wasn’t liked too much?” Mari asked.

“It’s not that… She was quite well-liked actually. The problem is that she was too ambitious and went about it the wrong way. The rumors about her trying to seduce both Bruce and Tim circulated the company for some time now. She wanted to get to the top, by all means necessary, and it blew in her face. Sarah was trying to run away for quite some time, but the stipulation was she found someone for her place.” 

“Oh…” Mari honestly didn’t know what to think about it all. 

“Yeah yeah. As much as all the drama might seem interesting, I’m more curious about how did Mari-bear get hired?”

“In your internship deal, there is a clause that allows your supervisor or mentor to hire you if they consider you fit for the job.”

“But… What about the guardian’s permission? Or my permission!?” Mari screamed. 

“You gave it by signing an internship deal,” Ethel commented. “Tell you what. I will look into it and meet you in the cafeteria at lunch.”

“Um… Okay? What am I supposed to be doing until then?”

“Try learning the basics of working at WE. You were supposed to get a guidebook. Lawyers advice: read it as soon as possible.” Ethel joked before handing the video to Chloe. 

“Look at the bright sides Mari-bear. You are at least getting paid.” The blonde joked before sending her best friend a virtual hug and ending the chat. Mari collapsed into the chair. It was a disaster. She did pull the aforementioned book and started reading the basic procedures. She was so focused she didn’t even notice when the doors behind her banged loudly and a very irate Lex Luthor walked over to her desk until he slammed his fist down the desk.

“I don’t have time for incompetent idiots.” He sneered.

“Oh! Please forgive me, sir. I’m still learning the ins and outs. It’s my first real job.” Mari answered honestly, but for some reason, it only served to increase Luthor’s frustration

“I wonder how would someone so inexperienced end up in such an important position, but I can see you are still more competent than Drake.”

“I will take that as a compliment.” The girl smiled, but there was a mocking note in her voice. She showed him that his opinion mattered little, which was the best way to piss the self-important CEO off.

“Whatever. I want a meeting set for next week at the same time as today.”

Now, Mari had little experience with being a personal assistant, but it didn’t mean she didn’t know how to deal with clients. And say what you want, Lex here was just a client. Incredibly wealthy and influential, but a client. He definitely wanted the deal more than Mr. Drake. 

“I’m not sure if there is an opening at that time. Could you please leave a contact number so we can set something up? You can also email me. I think I will get access to company mail tomorrow though, so that might not be very reliable.”

“Contact number? Email?” Lex looked like he was having a stroke. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Um… should I? I mean I was born in Gotham, but I spent the last decade in Paris, so I’m not exactly up to date. I can tell you are not Gabriel Agreste or Jagged Stone.” She bit her tongue. They have hair. 

“You stupid little…” He scolded her, but Mercy put a hand on his shoulder. Luthor straightened his back and fixed his tie. “Fine. Tell Drake I will be contacting him personally.”

“That is sweet of you to try and lower my workload, but he will probably have to run it by me anyway. Let’s cut the middle man, kay?” Marisass strikes again. 

“What?!” Lex screamed. “You… You…” 

The girl did not say anything to the stuttering businessman, but slowly pushed a sticky note and a pen toward him. Resigned, Lex muttered several curses under his breath and scribbled Mercy’s number. When she reached to collect it, he grabbed her wrist.

“In the future, I would be careful who do you antagonize, child.” He sneered. When he tried to tighten his grip she suddenly broke free and pulled his arm closer.

“Just because I spent some time in Paris doesn’t mean I don’t remember how to be a Gotham girl. Have a nice day Mr... Mercer?” She said after stealing a gaze at the piece of paper. Letting go of his arm, she gave him the disarming smile number four. 

Tess Mercer had to practically wrestle her boss to drag him away from the alteration. 

Mari relaxed in her chair and twirled the phone in her hand. This recording was priceless. Even if she couldn’t officially share it (according to the manual), it would definitely lift her spirit some. She was now back in Gotham and it was time to start acting like it. 

NEXT

[heyheydidjaknow]

I finished it, finally! Yee fucking haw! It’s not perfect, but I’m not feeling terrible about it, and the next one is going to be fun. Unless something happens, the next chapter should come up on Sunday as planned. Knowing me, it won’t, but I wanna hope. As always, the table of contents and the previous chapter is at the bottom, and a full list of the shit I’ve published is at the bottom of the table of contents. I’ll do a proper proofread tomorrow. Right now, Grammarly and Kami are carrying the team, so if there’s a mistake, take it up with them.

Chapter 14

“I trust you won’t be creepy.”

“I’m thankful.” Yoshi runs his thumb along the rim of his cup slowly. “You have little faith in me, as I understand it.”

You try not to be disrespectful. “Well, things in your life could’ve gone better, right?”

He seems to consider this for a moment. “I suppose so.” He takes a slow drink. “Mistakes from my youth have led to many hardships. Still, though the road has been a long and strenuous one, I would not want to change my past.”

Your untouched drink is cradled in your hands. “You don’t regret anything?”

“It is a foolish and maddening thing, longing for a life unobtainable to you.” He closes his eyes, your own scanning the walls for the photograph you know is in some nook or cranny. “Besides, if things hadn’t happened the way they did, I wouldn’t have my sons.”

You can understand, intellectually, he does not mean to be—and likely is not— as arrogant as you perceive him. Still, something about the way he sits, the way he speaks, even how he looks at you now makes you feel painfully inferior, as if you reacting the way you are makes you somehow beneath him in more than a literal sense.

You decide against arguing the point, eyes flickering from the shrine back to the man in front of you. “I guess that’s true.” You know you are not going to drink any of what he has offered until you have to. “And you’ve always thought like that?”

He nods. “It was what I was taught.”

Nodding, you look back down at your cup, a deafening stillness settling between you two. ‘He convinces me to come here,’ you grumble silently, ‘and all I get for it is a lecture and an awkward silence.’ You look back up at him, setting the clay vessel on the ground and pulling your knees to your chest. ‘I could be doing something else, like fixing my shirt or something.’

“Speaking of them,” he continues, “Donatello tells me you have been experiencing night terrors.”

‘Snitch. Did he tell me he told him?’ “You don’t?”

His eyebrows rise. “Sorry?”

“We have the same trauma,” you explain simply. “Both our families died in fires we caused. Think that counts.”

He does not even flinch. “I’ve never thought of it that way.” He smiles softly. You want to punch him in the face. “I suppose so, yes.”

“You seem pretty calm about it.”

He chuckles at your expression. “I’ve had fifteen years to come to terms with my loss,” he takes another drink. “And,” he jokes, “I was often simply too exhausted to have nightmares back when the wound was fresh; caring for four young boys is tiring, you understand.”

“Right.” You crisscross your legs in front of you. “Yeah, the makes sense.”

“Having said that,” he continues, voice lowering, “I can’t imagine going through what I did at your age.” He sighs. “If something like that happened to one of my boys at this age, I can’t honestly say how they would cope.”

‘Poorly. I’d guess they’d cope poorly.’

“I understand that you and I have differences in ideals and morals.”

“You could say that.” Your mouth stretches into a wry smile. “I honestly only started hangin’ with and helpin’ y’all as a way to make up for my manslaughter. With this exception, I live by the adage, ‘Not my circus, not my monkeys.’”

“As I said,” he covers his mouth to hide his amusement, “we differ in that respect. I take it that’s why, when Donatello explained the situation—” you break eye contact—“he was unable to explain in any sort of detail what they were about.”

“Not his circus not his monkeys. ‘Sides,” you shrug, “he was already being really caring and understanding, and I was already sobbing my eyes out, which I’m sure he already told you, so.”

You stare down at your tea. “Are you going to elaborate?”

“Not if I don’t have to, no.” Your face heats up.

“Do you want my help?”

‘I hate this,’ you squirm. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be here if Donnie hadn’t asked me to.”

“For someone who believes in leaving people to their own devices,” he notes, “you seem to value the requests of my son a great deal.”

Your knees are back up to your chest. “He’s important to me. He’s been there for me. It’s the least I can do.”

He takes a beat to gather his thoughts. You brace yourself for a lecture.

“You care for him, then.”

You nod once, treading carefully.

“Romantically?”

You still do not look at him directly, staring instead at the gorgeous screen door. “I dunno.” Your fingernails scratch at the surface. “I’m not exactly in my right mind, you understand.”

“I can’t say I do.” A pause as he takes another drink. “Then again, I’ve only felt for one woman all my life.”

“Look at that,” you try to joke. “Another difference between us.”

“Do you mind letting me in, then?”

“A little,” you admit, “but I will since there isn’t really a point to being here if I don’t.”

“That’s the spirit.” You can hear his smile.

You set the cup down again, glancing up at him before fiddling with the laces on your shoe. “People under stress and without anywhere else to turn tend to latch onto the first people they relate to,” you explain, practicing your knot tying with fumbling fingers; there is no harm in practicing your dexterity. “He was the first guy I met after I died, got kidnapped, and almost got killed by a giant vine creature. I like him,” you clarify quickly, “I really do, but it’s hardly fair to pursue that sort of relationship, especially considering everything going on with the Kraang and Shredder.” Your eyes go out of focus. “We get along great,” you mumble. “He’s sweet, kind, generous, and empathetic. He deserves to make sense of his feeling properly without me muddying things up with my possibly trauma-induced attachment.”

“So,” he clarifies, “it is not that you aren’t in love with him, but, instead, you’re worried for his sake?”

Your face goes scarlet as you choke on your saliva. “T-that’s a bit—uh—extreme, isn’t it?” You rub the back of your burning neck. “I’m not even sixteen, Yoshi. You don’t understand love properly at sixteen!”

“I fell for my wife at thirteen,” he smiles. “It’s certainly not impossible.”

“That’s—look,” you protest, “that is entirely besides the point. The point,” you state, “is that is completely irresponsible for me to pursue a relationship with your son. Frankly, I’m surprised you don’t agree.”

“He cares for you. You know that. Who am I to decide who he does and does not pursue, especially when that person makes him happy?” He reaches for a worn kettle sitting between you two on a table, pouring its contents back into his teacup—you remember Leo telling you that it is technically called a yunomi. “I find love typically does no harm so long as it does not consume you. Moderation is key.”

You look up at him. “So, you don’t have any reservations about it?”

He takes another drink. “I wouldn’t say that. He is my son, after all. In truth,” he admits, “I was more concerned that my sons would never experience what I did than anything. Given the circumstances of our existence, I’m sure you can understand my wish to give them a relatively normal, happy life.”

You sigh. “I guess, yeah.” You adjust your blanket again. ‘Seems counterintuitive, teaching them the art of murder, but I guess that’s his normal.’ “That’s just a generally good parenting thing though, right? I’d hope you’d want that even if you weren’t a giant rat and they weren’t anthropomorphic turtles.”  

A parent. He is talking to you like one might speak to their kid.

“I suppose so,” he nods. “It’s been difficult, but we’ve certainly come a long way over the years.”

The screeching of tires pierces the still air, the chattering of his four sons bouncing off the concrete walls.

You strain to hear what they are saying. “I never noticed that there was an echo in here. It’s less noticeable than in the tunnel.”

“That’s by design,” he explains. “I’ve made something of an effort to dampen it.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” You set the yunomi on the table. You sigh, holding your breath and downing your now gross, cool tea in three quick gulps. “I hate to cut this short,” you lie, wiping your mouth with your sleeve and tottering to your feet, “but I’ve gotta check to make sure everything went smoothly on their mission and adjust my timetable accordingly.”

He nods, deciding not to point your tell out. “I won’t keep you, then. Would you like to borrow my cane?”

This is not the first time he has offered. You, of course, refuse.

“Oh well. I thought I’d offer.” He sets his cup down, staying seated. “It has been pleasant talking with you, Y/N.”

“Likewise, Mr. Hamato.” You nod once in acknowledgment, hopping over to the door and slipping out into the hallway.

Your stomach churns at the stench coming from the lab—you can smell the gasoline. You lean against the wall, making a pointed effort not to eavesdrop and rapping your knuckles against the door. Their voices immediately lower to hisses and someone drags the door open.

“Hey,” Mikey beams. “We were just talking about you. Need somethin’?”

“Just is an over-exaggeration.” There is a considerable amount of protest as Donnie pulls him away from the door with an uncomfortable edge to his voice. “P-please, come in.”

A beaten DIY van sits pathetically on the subway track, looking not dissimilar to a burnt, crushed soda can from where you stand. The once hot pink graffiti has most certainly seen better days, and you squirm at the thought of the sound it must have made if you understand the situation properly. Raphael, who you glance at out of the corner of your eye, looks similarly beat up. Of course, you are not going to say anything because you value your life.

You whistle, smiling incredulously. “So,” you try not to laugh, “I take it you took on the cucaracha.”

“Made it my bitch is what I did,” boasts Raphael. “Shot it with a laser.”

“Cool, cool.” You chuckle at his excitement. “You take care of the egg?”

Is there a better sight than watching the light in someone’s soul die? You would hesitantly say no. “The what?”

“Right outside the building,” you elaborate. “On the side of the road. Looks like a horrifying imitation of an orbee?’

He takes a slow, deep breath, holds it, exhales. “I’ll be right back,” he says calmly, and sprints out of the lair.

Michelangelo laughs. “Were you being serious or are you messing with him?”

“Serious.” You readjust the blanket, trying to subtly figure out how to breathe without being assaulted by the mechanical smell. “I won’t joke about that sort of thing. It’s cruel.”

He hesitates. “… speaking of, are you alright? I didn’t get to ask before.”

The other two are quietly watching the interaction with an odd amount of intensity.

You shrug. “I guess. Probably.”

“Alright,” he nods. “Just lemme know if you need to talk, alright? Donnie’s no—ow!”

“Don’t talk bad about people in front of them,” Leonardo criticizes. “It’s rude.”

“You called him special, like, four hours ago!”

“The word of the day is hypocrisy.” Donatello puts his hand down.

“Hypocrisy’s right” You rub Mikey’s shell reassuringly. “To be fair, though, Leo could honestly probably just dodge it anyway.”

He leans into it. “I guess,” he grumbles, shooting a look at Donatello. “Favoritism.”

“It’s strategic favoritism,” the tallest brother corrects. “It’s to encourage parti pris.”

“Cronyism,” you tease, grinning. “You mean cronyism.”

“Hey, I’m plenty qualified!”.  

You stifle a giggle as his face reddens, looking back over at the battered vehicle, raising an eyebrow.

“That was a team effort.”

“Yeah, okay, Hamato.” You blow a strand out of your face. “How long do you think it’ll take to fix?”

“Half a week? Maybe a bit less.” He looks back at it ruefully. “The spy roach completely jacked it.”

“Clearly.” You remove your hand, Mikey seemingly thoroughly comforted. “Then mind if I borrow a needle and thread so I can fix my jacket? I have school tomorrow.”

“Do you have the dexterity for that?” Leo crosses his arms across his chest absentmindedly.

“If I can hold a pencil,” you reason, “I can do basic stitching. ‘Sides, it’s only gotta hold until I get home.”

“I didn’t know you sewed.”

“I don’t. That’s why I’m asking now.”

Donatello pipes up again. “I really don’t mind—”

“Dude,” you reason, “you have to fix a whole ass van. I’ll manage.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket. “It’s a quarter to twelve. You won’t finish before midnight.”

“Then sucks to be me.” You shrug. “I’ll fix it here and walk home.”

He looks at you with a surprising amount of incredulousness. “It’s New York City.”

“You go out at night all the time,” you protest.

“I can carry you—”

Immediate panic. “Nah, I’m good!” You try to sound confident. “I walk home all the time, remember?”

“Not at midnight.”

“What’s a couple hours difference?” You would rather get attacked or kidnapped than fly over buildings again.

“A hundred-twenty minutes,” he states. “You know that crime is statistically more likely to happen at night, right?”

“That tracks. What’s different?”

“Violent crime peaks at midnight.”

Mikey butts in. “Why can’t she just go in the blanket? It covers enough.”

Donatello rolls his eyes. “Mikey,” he sighs, “she’s a teenage girl walking around with her torso covered by a single conspicuous quilt. Let’s use our heads here.”

It takes him a minute. “So you’re worried about her getting, like, attacked?”

“… were you paying attention to any of the conversation? Or the lesson we just learned?”

“Dude,” he protests, “when do I ever?”

“What, you mean the one where y’all learned to face your fears or the one where talking about people in front of them is rude?”

The bitter edge to your words is not lost on him. “Look,” he reasons with you, “I-I’m not saying you’re incapable of taking care of yourself—”

“You are, but that’s not the point.”

“Shut up, Mikey.” You are surprised he did not punch him, though, admittedly, you can hardly argue the point. “What I mean is that if you put yourself in harm’s way, you’re going to get hurt.” He nods at Leo. “He’s a really experienced fighter and even he gets overwhelmed if he goes out of his way to do something reckless and dangerous like Karai.” He spits out her name like it is poisonous.

“Since when have you had a thing against Karai?”

The eldest brother sighs. “I’m never living that down, am I?”

“Unimportant, and nope. Point is,” he continues, fingers twitching at his sides, “it doesn’t make sense to tempt fate.”

You open your mouth to argue. You close it again. He has an extremely valid point all things considered, especially considering everything that has been happening, and although you are completely certain about your stance on him carrying you home, you would be lying if you said the idea of stumbling home without your walker or shirt sounds very appealing.

“Then what exactly are you suggesting?”

He looks off. “I’m suggesting she stays the night, Leo.”

Mikey blinks. “What, in your room or on the couch?”

“It would be up to her.”

That works for you. “Your home. You pick. Where do you keep your sewing supplies?” You slip out of the circle the four of you have formed.

“On top of the bookshelf,” he points. “Behind the cardboard box.”

You nod, hopping over.

Mikey offers his two cents. “It makes more sense for you two to share a room. It’s kinda cold in the front room, and you guys’ll probably end up going to bed at around the same time anyways. She also has your blanket.”

You stand on your toes, fingertips brushing against a plastic container.

“That’s a fair point.” You catch it before it cracks open on the ground. “Training starts pretty early, so she should have time to grab her things before school.”

“See? Foolproof plan.”

“Would Master Splinter approve?”

“Leo,” you call over your shoulder, “he’s slept over at my house twice already. I really doubt he cares.”

“But we don’t know.”

“Then you can go ask him.” You turn around. “Where’s the jacket?”

“In the cardboard box.” Donnie starts towards the train wreck on the tracks.

You pull it down, taking your shirt and jacket and sitting down, crossing your bad leg under the one you can use, despite the nausea. ‘Exposure therapy.’ “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You feel a tap on your shoulder. You glance up at Mikey, who crouches down next to you as Leo waves to his brothers and leaves. “You need anything?”

He shakes his head. “Just wanted to hang out with you is all,” he shrugs. “You didn’t go after Donnie.”

“I didn’t,” you nod in agreement.

“Why?”

“Because car.” You unlatch the box, carefully digging around inside for some pins. “That, and the smell is bad enough from over here.”

He crosses his legs in front of him. “That’s fair.” He taps his foot absentmindedly. “You think he knows?”

“I thought I made it pretty damn clear,” you shrug, “but it’s Donnie, so I wouldn’t bet on it.”

He grins at that. “Then do you wanna hang out while you work on that out front? He isn’t exactly talkative when he gets in the zone.”

You shake your head. “If I do, I won’t get much done,” you admit. You unwind a long portion of the thread, snapping it apart. “Besides, the only way to get over a fear is to face it head-on.”

“Alright.” He hops to his feet. “Thought I’d ask. Have fun.”

”Bet,” you mumble through a bit tongue, shaky fingers making threading the needle almost impossible. “You too.”

“See ya.” He waves, running out of the lab.

You let out a breath, picking a piece of loose wire off of a table and creating a poor imitation of a threader. While you genuinely enjoy talking with Michelangelo, you have some things to think over.

Clumsy fingers start on a running stitch. If your timetable still holds true—which, surprisingly enough, it has thus far—the episode after next’s plot will take place in about three weeks. Your cast is coming off in two. You do not know where and when The Kraang are coming through their portal, or if there is any way for you guys to know, but seeing as you are skipping the episode where the turtles get stuck in a labyrinth under the assumption that, without Baxter being bullied by the Shredder and his goons, he has no reason to construct it, you would tentatively estimate the next episode will happen in about a week. You are still fairly sure that Stockman will not get involved with the Shredder without his input until Oroku finally opens his eyes to the dangers and powers of the Kraang, which should happen around the same time as the next episode.

Your eyes glaze over as you get into the groove of it. ‘The next episode is also when the guys get on Karai’s shit list because they betray her, and, if that happens, the episode where the Shredder starts getting involved with the Kraang and comes to appreciate their resources." You prick your finger. ‘It wouldn’t be long after that before Saki gets the idea to create a mutant army, and with Baxter already somewhat on the villainous map, our best chance to make sure he doesn’t end up under his employment is to…’

You wipe the sticky liquid on your jeans, careful of the bandages on your back. ‘It’s not a guarantee that he even knows Baxter exists.’ Your eyebrows furrow in concentration as you try to keep the stitches separated at equal distances. ‘Hell, it’s not a guarantee he’s even alive. Still, it’s better to air on the side of caution and not think about how you’ll have to do it until the time comes.’

You let out a soft sigh. “I’ll buy a gun, when that happens,” you murmur to yourself. “Just want more time where bodily harm is all I have to deal with is all.”

 --

 You slide your poorly stitched jacket over your shoulders under the blanket, pulling your sleeves into place and zipping it up. After folding the blanket up and draping it over your arm, you pull yourself to your feet, hopping over to Donatello and his death trap as he sat down, looking over his work. “How’re the repairs comin’?”

The two of you have not spoken for the three hours it took you to repair the jacket, and significantly more progress has been made on his end than yours. At the very least, the generally rectangular frame was pounded back into submission.

He looks over at you, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and stifling a yawn. “Fine,” he sighs, looking back at the hulking mass of metal as you lower yourself down next to him. “It won’t blow up or anything if it’s driven, but it still needs another day’s worth of work to get it back to where it was before.” You nod along as he goes into more intimate detail, not understanding half of it, but happy to just listen to him talk resentfully about the whole process that you can tell he genuinely does not mind.

“Sounds like a time.” You rest your head on your good knee. “And you’re not gonna fix the graffiti?”

“It rubs off,” he shrugs. “Besides, it’s not exactly important to the design.”

Your head bends in a subtle nod, cheek numb from the pressure of your knee. “Are you going to sleep today?”

He shrugs. “Maybe? It wouldn’t be a bad idea.” His legs are almost crisscrossed in front of him, and he leans his weight back on his skinny, muscular arms. “I honestly don’t want to leave it alone, though. It would be weird to just leave it unfinished.

“Hardly, but alright.” You sit up for a moment, handing him back his quilt. “Thanks for giving me something to cover myself up with, and for not ditching me on a roof, and patching me up, and—I owe you, is what I’m getting at.”

He smiles tiredly. “Don’t worry about it, really,” he reassures you, his face flushing and muscles relaxing slightly. “You’ve made it up plenty.”

“I disagree. I’ve never saved your life.” You trace the fading lines on your cast his brother had left.

“I don’t think a ton of people would literally kill someone for me and my family,” he argues. “That’s pretty awesome, right?”

‘Not sure how I feel about framing murder as a positive thing.’ You do not say anything, looking back at his work.

He sighs. “You should go to bed,” he advises practically. “It’s getting late.”

“Never stopped you.” You straighten your legs. “I’ll go if you come with.”

“Tempting,” he teases with a sudden burst of confidence, hoping to his feet and outstretching his arm to help you up, “but what’s in it for me?”

Your face lights up as your face goes red at his borderline roguishness, taking his arm pulling yourself up. “For as much shit as you’re going to get for it,” you promise, pecking where his nose would be with an almost kittenish smile, “I’ll get up extra early, make everyone breakfast, and go topside for coffee.”

His face almost turns the shade of a human blush, forwardness gone in an instant. “C-can’t,” he stutters, clearly flustered. “When I was eleven, I got addicted to it and I’m not allowed to have any anymore.”

“Relatable,” you giggle. You blow the hair out of your face, comfortable as he helps you walk towards the door, the air between you two charged with electricity. “Is that for all caffeine or just coffee?”

He opens it for the two of you, ever the gentleman with the quilt over his shoulder. “Tea’s fine. Don’t bring tea down, though,” he quickly clarifies. “Leo’ll have a very inconspicuous fit.”

You blink curiously, looking up at him as he pulls you along. “Why?”

“It’s the one food thing he’s particular about,” he shrugs, not bothering to hide his gooey smile as you use his upper arm for support. “Couldn’t tell you why.”

“Are you particular about any foodstuff?”

“Not really?” He helps you up a few steps. “I’m not Mikey, but I don’t think I’m that picky about that sort of thing.”

“That’s fair.”

You do not let go of his arm to use the wall. You do not even think to if Donnie is reading your body language correctly. His smile widens as he opens the door for you.

You give a nod as thanks, lowering down onto the foot of his relatively narrow bed. “Alright,” you clap your hands together quietly as he sits next to you. “How do you wanna do this?”

You are sitting on his bed, willing, with no pretense other than sleeping getter. He is currently on cloud nine.

You look back at the frame. ”Too narrow for us to lay side by side,” you note. “You sleep on your front, meaning you will likely take up most of the room." You look between him and the bed, trying to imagine a position that would work. “You could lay on top of me, I guess, but then your legs would hang off the end.”

“I can sleep on my side,” he offers hurriedly. “If that makes things easier, I mean.”

“You sure?” Your fingers fumble with your shoelaces.

He nods eagerly. “S-so long as you still don’t mind being close to me, I mean. The bed’s still kinda narrow.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “We’ve slept together before,” you reason. “If you wanted to pull anything, you would’ve the other two times.”

He glances off, face still red. “Y-yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck bashfully. “That makes sense.”

You gesture to the bed. “Then,” you nod once, “so long as you’re comfortable, you lay down. I’ll work from there.”

He tentatively lays himself down, facing the wall, tensing ever so slightly as you lay behind him, legs curling up under his thighs.

You lay your arm under your head as a pillow, the other pulling the blanket over the two of you. “This work,” you whisper, closing your eyes.

“Mhm,” he hums, covering his face with his hands. “We closed the door, right?”

You look back over. “Yup.”

“Locked it?”

“Seems so.”

He relaxes a bit. “Alright,” he nods, quietly reveling in the way your fingers, again, traced the indentations in his shell like the first night.

‘When I wake up tomorrow,’ he realizes, ‘she’ll be right there. Right behind me, in my bed. By choice.’ He smiles behind his fingers. ‘When we get older, maybe we could have our own place. Or our own room, more accurately, where she just lives with us. Imagine her moving in. If—no, when,’ he corrects himself, ‘we defeat The Shredder, if I ever get the nerve, I’ll ask her.’ He reaches his leg back, entangling it with yours carefully. ‘Would we have to get married first? No, you move in before you get married, right? I should’ve paid more attention during those movie marathons.’ He closes his eyes as you drift off, focusing on this train of thought. ‘How long do you need to be in a relationship before you get married? How would we get married, even? Legally, that would be impossible, right? I can’t go to a courthouse. And if we had a child—practically speaking, of course—would they live with us or go to a public school? We could give them a good education, I’m sure, but—’

You shift in your sleep, absently laying your arm over his side and pulling him closer.

He exhales, allowing himself to relax back into you. ‘Not tonight.’ He rests his hand on top of yours. ‘It’s too late, too soon.’ His thumb runs along the back of your hand, letting himself drift off in your arms.

‘It’ll be okay. We’ll last long enough to take it slow.’

Table of Contents

Chapter 13

Chapter 15

[mintsuke]

For Rent || 4.5 - Touché

Kita Shinsuke x f!Reader SMAU

Warning: Mention of implied sex

Note: The cafe is inspired by the Gäbi Coffee and Bakery in Las Vegas. (look up pictures, it’s a really cute place, the bathrooms are just as pretty too I wanted to cry)

Masterlist | Previous | Next

You’re not really sure what you’re expecting on this date. You told Atsumu to just have his friend meet you at one of your favorite cafes in town. Surely a cliche first date location, but you wanted a feel for the boy if you were going to help him out and whatnot. 

Arriving at the place, you really hadn’t expected for your date to be there before you. An admirable trait, really. You only heard snippets of Atsumu and Osamu’s high school days, and if you remember well, their robotic captain was always the first in the clubroom without fail. 

Digital pictures really never did people justice. That much stayed true when you caught a glimpse of the former volleyball captain. He stood out with his short silver hair, the tips singed with black. From where you stood, he was of average height, his clothes hiding what you imagined was a lean body from years of volleyball and manual work in the rice fields. He was dressed nicely in a beige sweater with a white collared shirt underneath and khakis. 

Pretty from afar sometimes meant pretty up close, and boy were you two seconds away from sobbing into your phone. 

“Excuse me, are you Miya Atsumu’s friend?” You ask, leaning into his field of vision. A pair of almond eyes focus on your form. The man seems almost stunned by the sight of you, blinking once before his composure quickly returns.

“Yes, are you (L/n) (F/n)-san?” 

Oh. Wow his voice. 

“That would be me, Atsu didn’t mention any name, so I apologise,” You smile softly as he bows slightly and you mirror his movements in return.

“No worries, Kita Shinsuke, it’s a pleasure to meet you (L/n)-san.”

“Just (F/n) is fine, after all, we are supposed to be ‘dating’ right?” 

He doesn’t show any reaction or distaste and simply nods in understanding and suggests you call him Shinsuke. Although, he silently notes the way you refer to his former junior by a nickname. 

“Did he mention to you that I’m a... a ‘girlfriend-for-rent’?” You decide to ask, given how absolutely dumb your close friend can be. 

The surprise that passes through his expression like a car speeding past is adorable to say the least. His body noticeably stiffens and he shakes his head. 

“He only mentioned you helping me out with gaining experience, a ‘fake’ date, but don’t worry about me feeling uncomfortable. I guess I have been stressing a little too much lately, the twins were able to tell.”

“Really? Want to talk about it inside?” You gesture towards the cafe, and he nods. Kita moves to take a step forward when you stop him. The confusion in his eyes and the slight way his brows furrow is cute. 

“Is something wrong?”

“We’re on a date, so why don’t we hold hands?”

The idea clicks in his head and he offers a good-natured upturn of his lips, presenting an outstretched hand. Taking it, you make a mental note of the size in comparison to yours, his skin warm to the touch as your fingers lace and he leads you towards the entrance. He only lets go when he has to open the door and beckons you inside. A gesture that makes you a little giddy, given that most dates don’t do so. 

A little chivalry never hurt, and Kita was already charming you.

The inside was one of your favorite parts, at least besides the delicious desserts and refreshing drinks. Vintage-esque paintings, planters hanging from the ceiling with trailing vines, tall bookcases lining the walls, and an assortment of mismatched chair and tables that all added to the aesthetic of the place.

He nearly tripped over his own feet when you tugged him excitedly towards the display of desserts. He watched as your eyes glowed with near adoration of the assortment for that day. 

“Pick anything you want, I’m paying,” He said as you eyed the earl grey cheesecake. The statement made you stand up straight.

“Wh-what, no that’s okay, I can pay for myself.”

“This is a date right? I’m paying,” He smiles slyly as it soon becomes your turn in line to the register.

Touché, you think inwardly with a pout. 

“So let’s hear about it,” You smile as you both find a seat at a velvet love seat with a wooden coffee table settled in front. “If it’s alright with you at least.”

“Of course,” He chuckles lightly, “My grandmother has been constantly bringing up marriage and children whenever she can. I want to make her happy of course, my grandmother is my world. I guess it’s just been weighing down on my mind... and I’m not particularly looking or anything, I guess maybe I don’t where to start... I’m sure Atsumu probably mentioned that I never had a girlfriend...”

“Mm... I see, that’s sweet that you want to make her happy, but you have to worry about your own happiness too Shinsuke,” You say thoughtfully, “I’m sure she means no harm, but there’s no rush in trying to be tied down.”

A smile. 

“Thank you, I appreciate your words. I suppose I can still try this ‘trial’ out, if you’re up for it. Practice makes perfect after all.”

“Of course!”

After small talk, a little getting to know the other, all the while enjoying your drinks and desserts, you lead him on a walk. To say the least, you immensely adored the way his facade would crack ever so slightly at the smallest things. The way his eyes widened a fraction and ears reddened as you prodded the seam of lips with your spoon full of cheesecake. To which he accepted and followed with a spoon of his own dessert.

Hands laced together and sides pressed close. You had gone over a few policies, or at least rules to put it a little more informally, since you were going on multiple dates. It was all basic necessities like no feelings and the importance of consent. The last was a given, but you always made it your mission to bring it up as an importance for any and everyone who rented your services.

“You... You don’t do sexual services do you?” 

You forget that Atsumu mentioned how straightforward Kita can be. Hearing it coming from him is like a punch to the gut and you cough when you choke on your spit. 

“S-sorry, that caught me off guard,” You laugh weakly as you both sit on the swings at a park that had been nearby. He sits idly as your feet push you back and forth in small gentle swings, not enough to catch air or lift your feet off the ground. 

“I apologize if it was too forward of me.”

“No, well, no one has really asked me that question...” You reply meekly, “It’s not necessarily part of the job description but some customers ask for it I suppose... but I never really go that far... only twice... I guess... if I were to be real honest with you. Most times I decline because I feel uncomfortable and the guys are really good about respecting me.”

“It’s a little odd since I’m supposed to be catering to my date’s wishes, but I can’t really do anything about it...”

He makes a noise of appraisal. He’s not quite sure why he thinks the way he does. Imagining the other guys you must have gone on similar dates with. Did you take them to that particular cafe as well? Hold their hand and smile that same smile. 

“So how do you know Atsumu? I don’t think you attended Inarizaki...”

“I didn’t,” You smile, “He actually rented me a long while ago. A loss game and constant dating rumors were stressing him out, to say the least, he needed a stress reliever and a break from being asked if it’s true he’s dating so-and-so.” You pause in case he wants to interject,  but he keeps silent. You opt to changing activity, climbing the playground set despite the obvious sign that reads children only. 

“We stayed close friends afterwards, he helps me out a lot, and even Osamu had gotten me a side job at Onigiri Miya.”

Even worse, he sighs inwardly. Another poke to the roaring thoughts inside his head. You had done the same with his junior, if not further? 

There’s a shift in the atmosphere, and you both feel a little odd. He wonders if it was a mistake asking about Atsumu. You wonder, on the other hand, if you’ve said too much. But he’s a friend of your close friends, it wouldn’t hurt right? 

He seems to notice the awkward air that’s settled around you both and scratches the back of his head timidly.

 “That was a little invasive of me wasn’t it? I apologize.”

“N-no it’s alright, you are a friend of Atsu, so I don’t mind,” You laugh slightly.

“Well, if you do feel uncomfortable, or I cross a line, please let me know and I’ll respect you.”

The way your chest flutters at the statement is dangerous. You ignore the feeling as you smile thankfully. He was kind nonetheless and you liked that.

Kita tells stories of his time as a volleyball player, dealing with the antics and constant bickering between the two twins, managing a team of exceptional players. His eyes light up tremendously, almost sparkling as he talks about different moments, both good and sad. 

You don’t even realize how you’ve been completely sucked into his world, listening to every word. Watching the way his face turns with nostalgia. He pauses every now and then to gauge your reaction, smiling momentarily to see you so invested in his tales. 

“What about you? Why did you decide on working as a ‘girlfriend-for-rent’?”

Oh. 

Emotion spills onto your face, more than you mean to, and Kita is quick to notice the shift in your expression.

“That...”

He shakes his head and puts his hand up to stop you, “It was a touchy question wasn’t it? Don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you...” You offer softly, almost reluctant to speak in case your emotions start going haywire. Your mood immediately drops and he’s aware of this. 

When Atsumu pulls up to pick you up, you stop in your tracks and turn to your date. He watches curiously as you move closer, until the distance gradually lessens and your body presses to his. Arms wrap around his middle and he’s speechless for a second.

“It’s a hug Shinsuke, we’re dating still, right?” 

Ah. Yeah. He chuckles, a little relieved that despite his mess ups, you still continued to act accordingly. This was business as usual after all.

+Taglist | Closed!

@differentballooncollection​​ @sugawsites​​ @oikawalmart-hq​​ @tremendousglitterthing @90s-belladonna​​ @kiyoojima​​ @unqstuffles​​ @chaelysian​​ @arisu003​​

(comments replies will be from my main blog @minnochu​ | couldn’t tag in bold)

[marshmallow-phd]

Heart of Thorns

Genre: Beauty and the Beast!AU, Romace, Angst

Paring: Tao x Reader

Inspired by: These moodboards created by @xui-n-soowillbethedeathofme (x) (x) and my absolute obsession with Beauty and the Beast

Summary: Lost in a forest during a storm, you find shelter in a crumbling castle that had been hidden away for years. The master of the house shut himself away, refusing to engage with the world. Too intrigued and running away from your own fears, you refuse to leave no matter how much he tells you to, wanting to try and find the heart within the beast.

Part One I Part Two I Part Three

**

Everyone knew the story of the man in the forest mansion. He’d once been the son of a prominent and just lord. The people of the land praised the lord’s name as he was always fair and practiced justice amongst all his subjects. It was a month of mourning when he passed away from sickness, but there were high hopes for his son to carry on his legacy. And at first, all was well.

But something happened that changed his heart.

A woman appeared; beautiful, alluring, and sweet. She captured his heart and they say he adored her, showering her in gifts of gold, jewels, and fine cloth. No one knows what happened for sure, only that the lord’s son went mad. There was a fire and the woman died. Most say that he started it with the intent of killing her.  

Soon after, the son turned out all the servants and secluded himself from the rest of the world. Whispers popped up that the woman he killed was a fairy or a nymph and for killing her he was cursed. Some say that he was now a beast, sporting fangs and claws where his human teeth and fingers once were. Others say he was now a creature of the night and stalked the forest when the moon is high for wandering prey.

No had seen the son or the castle where he supposedly lived in years. The excuse that the grandmothers gave was that the forest had grown too thick from the trees and vines for the castle to be found. Since the son had turned out all the servants and land workers after the fire and there was no one to keep the paths clear.

You didn’t believe a word of it. A man with fangs and claws hiding up in a castle to terrorize anyone who came too close was utter nonsense; a fairytale to scare the children and keep them within the town walls. Even if there were such a man, you hardly considered the possibility that he was cursed.

“It's only because you moved here a few months ago,” Mrs. Mooney crooned. As the wife of the town butcher, she was privy to all the gossip that passed by the family shop. She often stood outside, keeping the stall for the smaller scraps or animals they hadn’t managed to sell to the more prestigious customers. “But we older folk remember the little boy who used to run around here while his father conducted business. Spoiled little thing. Always had a pretty pony and the finest clothes. Stuck his nose up at playing with the other children just because they had dirt on their sleeves. Serves him right, what he got.”

“You don’t know what he deserved and what he didn’t,” another graying woman chimed in haughtily. Her dress, though still rough like a peasant’s, was much nicer than the other villagers. Silver curls spilled out from under a white bonnet. Her hands looked coarse from hard labor and her skin kissed for years under the sun. Crinkles stayed permanently in the corners of her eyes, letting you know that she did smile on occasion. You’d never seen her before when you came to the market, but Mrs. Mooney seemed to know her well.

“You would know better than anyone, Feifei,” Mrs. Mooney sneered.

Though now you were intrigued, Mrs. Mooney did not elaborate how the other woman would know anything about this make-believe man.

“That tongue will get you into trouble someday, Johanna.” Adjusting the basket hanging from the crook of her arm, the old woman spared no glance at the meat as she walked away.

Mrs. Mooney clicked her tongue. With a shake of her head, she turned back to you. “So, milady, do plan on any wares today?”

“No, my father already sent Claudette earlier this week,” you said. The smell of the meat was starting to get to you, but you tried your best to keep it off your face. “I simply came down to escape the confinements of home.”

A huff pushed past her lips. “Oh, yes. I’m sure that large stone house must be suffocating.”

Though lashing out would have been easy, you bit your tongue. This butcher’s wife didn’t know your history. She didn’t know that compared to your previous home in the city, this new place was a shack.

It was your mother’s inheritance that kept you, your siblings, and your father afloat. The home, bought long ago by your grandfather who was now passed, was a honeymoon paradise for your parents. After your mother died giving birth to you, the house was locked up to be a refuge only to spiders and rodents since your father couldn’t bear visiting the place alone. He’d poured himself into his work, curating business as he brought investors and merchants together. When a major client lost his ships at sea, one of his managers took off with most of the assets and funds, leaving debts and loans in their place. To pay off the leeches, most of your possessions had to be auctioned off and the home that had sheltered you since childhood was sold to a new family.

Life away from the bustling city wasn’t too awful. You didn’t have to worry about being run over by a carriage since most of the residents here couldn’t afford one. Everyone seemed to know everyone, which was both intriguing to you while also a little bothersome. At first your family, being new, was the center of all the gossip. Rumors of your father or brother gambling the fortune away or you and your sister having scandalized the family and caused you all to hide away ran rampant. Eventually, the mill settled down and you were left in peace. Some of the villagers still gave side eyed glances, but you’d learned to brush them off.

Thinking it was time to head back home, you said goodbye to the butcher’s wife and followed the brown dirt street beyond the wall that surrounded the town until the scenery turned to fields of wildflowers and small farms. You took a right at the fork, already seeing the two-story country home come into view. The tan brick was a bit faded from the sun and thick vines grew up the sides and around the windows. A small garden grew out in front. There was a fairytale essence to the home that made you love it more. In the back, Claudette would be hanging the laundry to dry in the subtle breeze. Father was most likely in his study, shuffling through papers and letters to find a way out of this place. Cosette was probably lying on the old couch in the front parlor, constantly fanning herself as she whined of the woes she was forced to live through. Your brother, Lu, would be sitting on a log, writing in his journal when he was supposed to be chopping wood.

Cosette was right where you had guessed she was. As soon as you walked through the door, she jumped up and hurried to you with her skirt crumbled in her hand.

“Where have you been?” she screeched, her dark hair pulled back into an intricately braided bun. You tried not to be annoyed. She must have had Claudette do her hair when both of them were supposed to be helping with the washing. “Father has news that he’s been dying to share with us, but he refused to divulge what it is until you were here.”

You rolled your eyes at your sister’s impatience. “Surely, you must have known I would have been home eventually.”

She “hmphed” at you before whirling dramatically and stomping off towards your father’s study. You followed her slowly, your stomach swishing with nerves.

Truth be told, you didn’t mind it out here. The country was a great deal quieter than the city, the air cleaner too. The greatest unexpected gift, however, was how often you saw your dear father. As a child, you had to savor every dinner, every private concert in your living room, and the short moments you were able to spend with him in between his travels or meetings. Claudette never carried as she was more invested in the connections she was making with the other well-to-do families and Lu was often tagging along with your father as the eldest and heir apparent. Now the four of you felt more like a family. If you were, by some miracle or fashion, to go back to the city, routine would fall back into its previous structure and you would be alone again.

Lu surprised you by already being in the room when you entered, seated in a corner with a hardened look on his face. It was strangely out of place given his boyish looks often kept his expression soft. Your father looked up from the papers that were neatly piled up on the desk. “Aw, (y/n)! You’re back from town. Did you have a nice walk?”

“Yes, I did,” you aswered cautiously. “The market was full today.” Your eyes flicked towards Cosette, who had taken the only other chair, continuing to fan herself even though the temperature wasn’t anywhere near that drastic. “I heard you wanted to see us all together?”

“Yes! Yes! Um.” Your father looked around, perhaps to see if there was another place for you to sit. As there was none, he went on. “I received a letter from Lu’s old friend, Lin Gao.” Lu perked up at the mention of Gao. None of you had seen him since you came here, thinking that he, like the others, had abandoned you all when the money was lost. Now, that didn’t seem to be the case. “He has worked with several connections and can bring us back into good standing with society. He’s even convinced a few merchants and investors to allow me to broker deals again.” Your father cleared his throat. “There is, however, one condition.”

“What is that, Father?” Lu asked.

“He asked for (y/n)’s hand in marriage.”

The quietest gasp escaped your lips. Gao wanted… to marry you?

As the baby sister, you tended to follow your brother and his friends around, begging for attention and often they obliged you, as long as the setting was appropriate for a child. All of his friends had treated you as their own sister, equally protecting and caring. You’d never suspected them to have thoughts that led into the contrary as you’d grown up.

Lu’s eyes landed on you for a split second, studying your face enough. “Did he say (y/n) specifically?”

“Yes, why (y/n)?” Cosette scoffed. “I would be more than willing.”

“He specifically asked for (y/n)’s hand.”

Cosette closed her fan with a snap. “Well, then. Arrange the wedding so we can get out of this dumpy town.”

But wait. Did you not get a say in this?

Your father leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “The help from Gao would be tremendous. But I will not force anything on to any of you. (Y/n),” he looked at you with conflict in his eyes, “if you do not wish to marry Gao, I will send him a letter politely declining the offer. I can find other means on my own.”

He was giving you a way out, if you so wished. But you couldn’t deny the help this would bring for all of you.

“Can I think about it?” you asked in a quiet voice.

“Yes, of course.”

“What do you mean, think about it?” Cosette nearly flew out of her seat. “What is there to think about? If we are to get our fortune back, then (y/n) must marry him. I would in a heartbeat if he had asked for me.”

“But he didn’t ask for you,” Lu said.

Your father insisted. “Let your sister think about it. To force this upon her would break my heart. I will not have her live unhappily.”

“And what about me! Why should I live unhappily?”

“Enough!” Your father stood to his feet and he slammed his fist down on the desk. You flinched at the noise the collision created. Rare was it for your father to get upset like this. He was usually very levelheaded. “I am still head of this household and you will accept my decision. Now, go!”

With a stomp of her foot, Cosette stormed out of the room like a spoiled child told that she couldn't have a piece of candy. Eyes trained down on the floor, you quietly excused yourself and went upstairs to your room.

Your favorite place in the house was your room, the smallest besides Claudine’s on the first floor. But the trade for it was the reading crook by the window, overlooking the garden. You liked the isolation you could feel when you sat on the bench, knees pulled up close to your chest as your skirts fell over the side. The window was cold as you laid your forehead against the glass. A breeze was moving through, swaying the leaves in the trees and rattling the vines against the stone walls of the house.

What would living with Gao be like? You had never thought of your brother’s friend in a romantic light. Would there be any romance between the two of you? Or would you be condemned to a loveless marriage like so many other girls? Could you live like that?

You had no answers at the moment. You weren’t sure if you would ever have an answer. But a compromise was coming to the forefront of your mind. You didn’t have to say yes right away. Maybe you could meet with Gao, get to know him more, in a different way that how you knew him before. And, if you decided that he was not the kind of man you wanted to spend your life with, if there was no possibility of love between the two of you, perhaps you could convince him to help your father anyway, for sake of his friendship with Lu.

You pictured Gao’s face in your mind, willing yourself to love it. But all that did was churn your stomach.

**

Your father had sent the letter asking if a visit to the city would be possible for you. Gao’s reply came back quicker than expected: yes. He made all the arrangements; he hired the carriage, sent money so you could rest in an inn for a night before arriving in town the next day. Barely a week had gone by since you were first told of this offer and now you were traveling by yourself for the first time in your life.

Cloak wrapped tightly over your shoulders, you kissed your father goodbye on the cheek. Tears were swelling behind your eyes, but you refused to let him see them.

“Be on your best behavior,” he teased. You were the last out of the three to get into trouble. “Write to me as soon as you arrive. Alright?”

“Of course,” you smiled.

Lu patted your shoulder. When you were a child, he showed you affection freely, but now that you were grown, he’d become a bit awkward when other people were watching. Cosette didn’t say a word. She simply fanned herself at a quick rate as smirk rested on her lips. All she carried about was getting back to high society, to the parties and the searching for a husband who possessed a fortune large enough to keep her satisfied.

Your father glanced up at the sky. “Better go now, my dear. The clouds are growing darker. I want you at that inn before the storm comes through.”

“The only way to do that is to go through the forest,” the driver commented from atop the carriage.

Your father seemed unnerved by that observation but gave no protest. “I will wait to hear from you.”

You gave one last kiss to his stubbled cheek. “Goodbye, father. Take care of him, Lu. Will you?”

“Naturally,” Lu said with a chuckle.

You merely nodded to Cosette before stepping into the carriage. The cabby lurched forward and you allowed the small smile that had been straining on your lips to fall away. Anxiety settled in your stomach. You wanted to have a positive outlook on this whole thing. It was better to possibly marry a friend of the family rather than a complete stranger twenty years your senior.

Unclasping the hook that held your cloak together, you let the soft fabric fall behind you on the seat. The literal weight off your shoulders helped you to breathe easier. You closed your eyes and leaned back. There was still a long journey until you would arrive back in a city that you hadn’t seen in months, although it felt more like years. That was another life to you, a past self. One you had been okay with letting go. And now you were uneasily walking back into its arms.

The ground shook, rattling the walls of the carriage. You pushed the curtain out of the way and peaked out the window. Flashes of lightning so bright that not even the thick trees of the forest could keep them back splintered across the sky. The storm had come quicker than anticipated. Raindrops splattered against the dirt floor, starting out slow then growing in pace. Soon it was impossible to see more than five steps in front of you.

The wind grew untamable. The carriage rocked from side to side, the thin wheels ricketing against the strain. A bolt of lightning screamed too close for comfort. The horse reared back in fright as the carriage passed by a ravine. It was all too much. The carriage toppled over, falling down the side of the ravine. You were tossed around the cabby like a rock between a group of children. When the falling finally stopped, you let out a cry of relief. A second cry left your lips, this time for the driver. But no reply came.

The carriage had landed on its side, but thankfully, it had another door to escape through. You clasped the cloak around your shoulders once more and pulled up the hood before pushing the door open and climbing out.

You were soaked as soon as you stepped out of the carriage. The driver was gone. You didn’t know if he was dead or if he had ran away. The horse, the poor thing, didn’t move or whine. Water was slowly rising in the creek from the rushing rain. You had to get out of here. With what little strength you had, you managed to climb back up the side of the hill. A chill froze your fingers and chattered your teeth. You walked in the opposite way that you thought the carriage was heading. Getting back to your home was your only hope. You had never been in these woods and the sky was too dark to tell directions from the sun. The rain was pouring down harder. Each step you took grew weaker. An unseen tree root stuck out of the ground, catching your foot. Shock ran up your arms as you tried to catch yourself when you fell. You couldn’t go anymore. You were too cold, too tired. So you lied there in the mud, wishing for a miracle. The rain soon came to a stop, but you were still too exhausted to push yourself up. Your eyes grew tired. Finally, the lids closed. The sound of horse hooves against the mud grew near, but you couldn't be sure if it was real or simply your imagination clinging to hope.

“We can’t just leave her here, Xao.”

“But what would the master think if we showed up with her?”

“So, you would leave her to die?”

“No, of course not!”

“Then we take her with us! The castle is big enough that he would never even have to know.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Someone lifted you up from the ground, but before you could discover who it was, you lost consciousness completely.

**

You weren’t sure what woke you up. It could have been the splitting headache that pounded at your skull. Or it could have been the shouting coming from the other side of the door.

“Get her OUT of here!”

“My lord, please, see reason. The poor child was dying in that storm.”

“I don’t care. She’s alive now, so get her out!”

“But she’s still sick. The poor thing has a fever. She’s been sweating all night.”

“I do not want her here. No one is to come here, you know that!”

“Let me take care of her. Once she’s on her feet again, I’ll take her back into town.”

“Fine!”

Heavy foot stomps echoed off the floor. One side of the double doors opened and inside stepped the old woman from the market.

You?

“You’re awake,” she sighed. “I can only imagine what had woken you up.” In her hands was a silver tray of different morsels and a tea kettle slowly letting out a flow of steam. Seeing you struggle to sit up, she hurried to set the tray down on the nightstand and help you. “Don’t overexert yourself, miss. You’re not fully recovered from that awful storm yet. You’ve been asleep for two days now.”

Two days! Your father must have been losing his mind when he never received word that you had arrived in town. A coughing fit of your own started up. The old woman gave you a glass of water to calm your throat before adjusting the pillows behind your head. You took in the bedroom that you were housed in. The light gray drapes that hung from the bedposts were old and a little faded but still made from an expensive velvet fabric. The blanket that covered you was soft and warm and smelled of lavender. Cosette would squeal at the size of this place. It was even bigger than her room at the old house in the city.

“Where am I?”

The old woman’s hands stopped before she could pull out the warming pan from the foot of the bed. “You're at the lord’s estate.”

You frowned. “What lord?” As far as you were aware, the closet lord was at least several days ride from town. And you doubted he would have allowed a room to go untouched like this one obviously was.

Sadness fell upon the old woman’s face. “He’s a good man. A good man with a tragic past.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, the old woman folded her hands and laid them in her lap. “Do you remember the story Mrs. Mooney was telling you at the market?” You nodded. “This is his home.”

“He… exists?”

“Yes. Though the awful rumors….” She shook her head. “Anyway, yes. But his lordship isn’t accustomed to visitors. I apologize for what you might have heard.”

Perhaps it was the fever, but your curiosity was now out of your control. “Why doesn’t he want anyone here?”

The old woman stood up. “Never you mind. We’ll get you back on your feet and then Mr. Chan will take you back into town.” She poured a fresh cup of tea, handing it to you carefully.

“Do I have to go back to town?”

“We don’t really have a choice, dear. You heard the master.” She eyed you as you sipped on the warm, caramel colored tea. “What is it? Why don’t you want to go back to town?”

You finished off the tea before explaining. “My family wants me to get married, to help the financial situation. At first, I thought I was willing to at least try, to see that man again and find out if I could love him. But… now I’m grateful for the storm.”

“If you don’t wish to marry him, why not say so?”

“Because if my father never restores his reputation and our family falls further into ruin, it will be all my fault.”

The old woman shook her head. “You poor thing. That’s too much weight to bear.” She let out a long sigh. “Try to eat and then get more rest. Your eyes look heavy. We’ll see if we can’t delay your being cured by a few more days.” She headed for the door. After opening on side, she halfway turned back around. “I’m Mrs. Chan, by the way. If you need anything, pull on the cord by the bed. I’ll hear the bell and come to you. Now, rest.”

As soon as the door closed and you were alone again, you felt the weight of your lids growing. Reaching over to the tray, you tore off a piece of the bun and chewed on it slowly. Eventually, you nodded off into a dreamless sleep.

**

Over the next several days, you passed between peaceful sleeps and uncomfortable awareness. Your fever broke on day two, but you still felt weak. Mrs. Chan checked up on you often, keeping you well fed and making sure there was a fresh pitcher of water or tea for you to drink. When you stopped sleeping as much, she brought you a book to occupy your time. But you read through the comedic romance quickly. A tingling was coursing up and down your legs. They needed to move, to be used. You’d been lying in bed for so long you weren’t sure if they even worked properly anymore.

Earlier, Mrs. Chan had stopped by to say she was going into town to pick a few things up at the market. Mr. Chan was to be out on the grounds so if you needed anything it would have to wait for her return.

Curiosity was a dangerous thing. On one hand, you could find nothing of interest in this ancient castle. On the other hand, you could find yourself in the absolute wrong place and have yourself thrown out into the cold before Mrs. Chan could come back and rescue you.

Silly. All of it was. A little walk wouldn’t do any harm. You would make sure to stay near your room and if you heard footsteps, you would run back here in an instant.

With your feet bare and the nightgown Mrs. Chan had given you made of a thinner material, you were a bit cold as you left the comfort of the blankets. But you pushed forth with your curiosity. This grand room was all you had seen of your haven. You wanted to know more about the home of the lord whose memory haunted the village. You stuck your head out first, looking down the hall from either side. It was empty save for the polished suits of armor that lined the sides, sitting between old portraits previous tenants. As quietly as you could, you closed the bedroom door behind you and softly stepped further into the hall. Through the long space you made your way, glancing at every painting as you passed. Some had chipped paint while others’ frames had dulled over the years, but each one was still magnificent, the subject stunningly beautiful in their own unique ways. You weren’t sure if it was the magic of the artist or if the family was truly blessed in that manner.

Every so often you would peer into a room when the door was unlocked. Most of them were bedrooms or small studies. By the collection of dust gathered on most of the furniture, they hadn’t been used in quiet a while. Soon, the hall took a turn, spilling out into the Grand Hall where the other hallways met. You started to go right when a set of double doors down a shorter hallway in the other direction caught your eye. They were bigger than any of the other doors you had seen so far. You hurried to that one instead, intrigued by what might be behind it. Barely able to get it open with your weak arms, you squeezed through the space and stumbled inside. Then you gasped.

When Mrs. Chan had described the library to you, she had said that the family had a fair collection of books. You might have to clarify with her what a “fair amount” really meant.

The library was housed in the back most tower, the shelves built into the walls and going higher than your eyes could see. Ladders made of wood and metal were attached to the spaces between the shelves. They moved freely from side to side to put any book within reach. As a child, you thought your father had the biggest collection of books by any one person in the world. How silly you were. This place could hold twenty of your father’s old library. You whirled around and around, taking in every detail. It was like a fairy tale.

You stepped closer to the wall and ran your hand over the leather bindings. It had been so long since you’d been able to take in the smell of old books. You had only been able to save two of your favorite novels from the auction. They were currently hidden under your bed. If Cosette ever got a whiff of them, she’d sell them to pay for a new dress. As you made your way around the library, you spotted another door, one that nearly blended in with the shelves. Feeling brave from your latest discovery, you tried the handle. It turned with ease. You pulled the door towards you. Sunlight spilled into the library. The secondary room was mostly empty – save for one object. A piano.

Bang!

The door shut in your face, startling you backwards. You stumbled into something hard. Turning to see what it was, you gasped in fright

A tall, dark hair man with the left half of his face covered in a white mask glared at you.

“What are you doing in here!” he shouted, face glowing red with fury.

“I-I-I’m sor-sorry,” you stutter as you scurried back. The door to the room stopped you from going any further. You were trapped with no way to escape. “I didn’t mean to-”

“You were supposed to say in your room,” he continued to bellow, not concerned at all with your fear. “Stay away from this room! Go!”

That last command was enough to send you running, passing the man and leaving the library. You hurried to the Great Hall, to get back to your room as quickly as possible. Looking back over your shoulder, you checked to see if he was coming after you. The hallway was empty behind you. Once safely back in your room, you scurried under your covers as if they would protect you from the masked man.

**

Mrs. Chan gave no indication that she was aware of your little adventure. If the masked man – the lord of this castle, you presumed – had told her, surely you would have been thrown out by now. She did, however, seem upset about something.

“Is everything alright?” you asked before she could leave the room with your empty food tray.

“Oh, it’s nothing I want to trouble you with, dear,” Mrs. Chan said.

You smiled at her. “I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.”

A second went by and then Mrs. Chan sighed. “It’s just the master. He wasn’t been sleeping well. He’s been wondering through the west wing lately and I’m worried about him.”

The west wing? That was where you were headed before the library stole your attention. “What’s in the west wing?”

“Nothing of importance,” Mrs. Chan snapped. It was a harsher tone that you were used to. You lowered your gaze remorsefully. “Oh, dear. I’ve upset you. Don’t worry about and try to get more rest. You need color back in your cheeks.” She left the room, blowing out the lamp before shutting the door and leaving you in darkness.

You woke a few hours later to a loud bang. At first you thought of ignoring it. Then the thought of something happening to Mrs. Chan came into your mind.

Throwing a blanket around your shoulders, you carefully relit the lamp and stepped out into the hallway.

“Hello?” you called out softly. Another bang answered you. It was faint, not coming from this hallway. You followed it, occasionally calling out again. No human ever replied.

You passed through the Great Hall and into the west wing. You should learned, really, from your earlier excursion. But the thought of someone being trouble refused to let you turn back. Now that you were closer to the source, a soft moaning could be heard among the silence. You pressed your ear from door to door, trying to see if it was coming from behind one of them. It was the door on the very end that held back the sound. With enough moonlight coming from the wide window at the end of the hall to see by, you put the oil lamp down on the floor out of the way and went inside.

Even in the darkness, you could see the smoke and soot stained walls. The remnants of a bed stood in the middle of the wood. Hanging behind it was a portrait of a beautiful woman with golden hair and rich brown eyes that stuck out even with half of the painting burned and curled.  

“What are you doing in here!”

You gasped as the lord of the castle stepped out of the shadows. His mask was gone, but he kept the left side of his face covered with his hand. In his other hand was a small torch. With its light you could see the scars on the back of his hand, the tight and lifted skin usually caused by fire. You said nothing, too stunned to find words.

Dropping his left hand, he reached out and grabbed you by the wrist. The scars on his face were now partially visible, but still mostly hidden in shadow and by the locks of hair that had fallen. From what you could see, they matched the scars visible on his hand. “I asked you why you are here!”

“I’m sorry!” Your voice came out in squeaks, fear running you cold despite the proximity of the flame. “I heard noises. I thought someone might be in trouble.”

He sneered at your answer. “If you’re well enough to walk around then GET. OUT!” He practically threw you out of the room.

You landed on your knees but didn’t stay there for long. You scrambled up to your feet and took off down the hall, leaving the oil lamp behind. The nightgown caught on your foot in your haste as you passed the staircase. You went tumbling down the marble stairs, a scream piercing your throat. You couldn’t stop no matter how you tried. When the bottom of the staircase finally came, you were out cold.

[bakubaewritings]

God of War

Bakugo x reader

Your up-brining was much unlike others born into nobility, you were taught to read and write along with various battle strategies. Being born into one of the country's most powerful kingdoms, what had begun as a small group of nomadic warriors, became the build of one of the most powerful nations in the country.

Your father had seen many wars in his day, conquer all, defend everything.

Every village, every kingdom worshipped the gods, but every village had its own select God. Ares, the God of war, or as your village knew him, Bakugo. He was a violent and destructive god with an explosive temper.

He was the God of your people, he gave them the strength to defeat any battle. Ares' presence was felt in all the temples made in dedication, his face plastered on murals and statues.

You never understand why such the appeal, the forced ideals of superior of man, and the bloodshed of war never seemed right in your mind. If the choice was, you'd chose to lay your hands into Artemis or Athena.

However, after so many possible suitors came from all over in an attempt to win your heart, all failed. Your father became worried. It seemed after so many failures, no man wanted to wed you.

You had no problem with that, for you couldn't be satisfied with these pigs.

The men looked at you as a prize to be won, not a person to be loved and cherished. They were all power-hungry, bloodthirsty pigs with no respect for women of any, you wanted no part what so ever.

Little did you know someone was watching you. Lusting over you. A being of immense power who became intoxicated by you. But this was no mere mortal, this was the God himself.

After months and months, your father found himself in your village's biggest temple for the hotheaded God himself. It was a gorgeous temple by the base of the river. Massive stone columns framed the circular temple, vines of black flowers grew up from the banks of the river and up the sides of the coulombs.

Every night on his knees, praying that the God of war would finally let you meet a man that could have your hand in marriage. He pleaded that the gods smiled down upon and grant you a husband.

"Please, my God, bless my daughter with the greatest man. I beg you, one that can tame her wild spirit, a strong warrior, someone worthy of her." He pleaded

He prayed the fates would hear his plea.

However, the fates seemed to be against your entire city as a call for help filled the air that night. Your village was being attacked by barbarians from the south. Their numbers in the thousands.

"We are under attack!" The screams filled the air, the sound of men woman and children crying and screaming.

It awoke you form your slumber with a startle, screaming and crying, you were pulled out of bed. Thrown over a firm and robust shoulder, you cried out in confusion.

"My princess, we have to get out. We are under attack."

Your father's face contoured in terror as he witnessed a fire grow, he shouted in anger. Calling for men to prepare for battle against the army of trespassers. That was when ha heavy black smoke pooled around his feet, covering the floor of the temple. A deep chuckle shook the walls.

Turning around slowly, wide fear-filled eyes, he watched the statue of the war god, once cold stone filled with the warmth of life. The gray color became one of a creamy porcelain tone.

"You," his voice was rough and loud, it echoed through the temple.

"My god." Came a shriek of fear. He couldn't bring himself to look upon God's ruby red eyes. His stare was cold.

"Well, are you going to look at me, mortal."

Reluctantly your father lifted his head to look upon God.

"My god, to what I owe the honor." His words were shakey.

"listen to you puny mortal, I will defeat the invaders for you."

"Oh, thank you, my god-" Your father began bowing up and down sprawled upon the marble floors, his eyes clouded with tears of thankfulness.

"For a price." Interrupted the porcelain-skinned God.

"My God, what can I offer you? Anything you wish in my power, I will give you to save the lives of my people."

The gods' lips curled into a devouring smirk, "your daughter."

"Hurry, we must exit the city," the guard carried you in his arm tightly, your arms gripped to his cloak. Following behind, many were of the servants and others that lived in the castle.

"Wait please, where is my father?" You cried, pounding on the back of the guard.

"By the riverbank, my princess, we must evacuate the civilians and escape on the ships while the warriors go to fight back the intruders.."

"My, my daughter?"

"Did I stutter? Look around you mortal, your people are dropping like flies." The God's voice boomed inside the temple, the roar of his voice, causing the ground to shake. "Your daughter hand for your people, one life, for the lives of your whole village."

Your father gulped, he had already lost your mother he was not ready to lose his daughter, "Will no harm come to her?" He asked

With a wide smirk, the God's vermillion eyes shined a magnificent ruby color illuminating the dark temple. "You're in such a position to make demands to a god. But yes. Now, do we have a deal?"

With a heavy heart, your father nodded. If it hadn't been Ares' own temple, anyone would have believed they were speaking to hades. The way Ares carried himself, a bloodthirsty barbarian eager to bring down his enemies.

The God rose from the stone throne, his skin began to glow a dark armor covered by his skin, as black as the night sky. With a heavy swing of his brilliant silver word, he flew into battle. Slaying all the barbarians in his way. They fell to his feet as their blood stained the grounds of the village. One by one, they fell, and their numbers dwindled, no army was a match for the God of war.

"Father!" You ran into the arms of the man who had raised you for your whole life. He kneeled in the broken temple; the ground was cracked and uneven. His skin white as a ghost, "You're alright." The moment you were in his arms, he wrapped around your shoulders tightly, pulling you closer to him. Tears began to fall upon you as your silk gown.

"Father? What's the matter?" You cupped his head gently

"Your majesty, we must evacuate, the ships are filled with civilians." The guard informed your father.

"That won't be needed. We are going to be safe." His voice came out shaky, a painful crooked smile painted his face as his eyes continued to spill tears.

"Father, what is happening?" You questioned, fear beginning to take over.

"I am so sorry, my child." You ripped away from his hold

"Father, what did you do?"

Your head turned slowly to face the unfolding scene. Your eyes widened in complete fear. Behind you, the city was in disarray; civilians poured out from the gates as they ran away from the massacre behind them.

Lighting and thunder pounded into the ground from the heavens as they surrounded him, the armor covered God. His silver sword stained with blood, and the grin on his face. It sent a shivering fear down to your core. Every kill was another climax of pleasure; in battle, he was in his element.

With one last strike, the last few fell to the ground. Finally, the invaders were dead.

Ares' head fell back with a victorious smile covering his face as he completed his mission. But now he'd only claim his promised prize.

His sharp eyes fell upon you. It took in every inch of your figure. Surely, you were no mere mortal, you couldn't be. Aphrodite herself couldn't complete with your beauty. You were perfect, and now you were his. His to claim. He sauntered towards you, his eyes never once left your body. Licking his lips as hi eyes traveled to your frame.

Lewd thoughts filled his head every second. How could a mortal be so extremely arousing?

He stood in front of you, towering over your frame, yes he was a god, and they were much taller than mortals, but he was like a giant, at almost twice your height.

"You'll be coming with me, princess." The terror that took hold of you as those words fell from his lips. His large arm wrapped around your waist tightly, pulling you towards him. You squirmed in his grasp, clawing in an attempt to release from his grip. His blood stains armor painted your colorless gown.

"let me go, let me go." You demanded, your eyes darted to meet your fathers pleading him to please help you.

But he did nothing, instead just watched as a rough, calloused hand cupped your chin.

You came face to face with him, face to face with the God of war himself. Blood-splattered his all over his face, did not hide his rugged good looks. He was an incredibly handsome man, his spiky ash-blonde locks that hung over his eyebrows. His skin was pale, although the moonlight seemed to emulate a glow.

"Let go of me this instant!" You screamed pushing away from, you didn't care one bit that he was a god. He had slaughtered thousands and just expected you to fall into his arms.

"I will do what I wish you are mine." You felt the rumble in his chest as he spoke, "you're father agreed to it himself." The gods' lips curled up into a wide villainous smirk.

"my, my father?" Your stuttered words made him let out a low chuckle. From so long he had watched you from afar, he quite expected some defiance from you. Unlike another woman that would throw themselves at a chance to be claimed by a god, you held your own. Yes, you were afraid, but you still were strong enough to defy him.

Apologies rained from your father's lips, as he attempted to explain. But even in his head, he couldn't figure out how to make sense of what he had done. Given his daughter's life away. However, you understood. Your father had done what any king would have, he sacrificed all he had for the good of his people. You could never be angry at him for that. With a sorrow-filled goodbye, you hugged your father unknowingly when you would see him again.

"You're new home awaits my princess." The God growled in your ear lowly as he ripped you from your father's grasp. "No, please, I want to stay with my father with my people." You cried in his tight grip, clawing in an attempt to get away, but it was no use, and within seconds your father and your people faded from your sights.

Ares knew you couldn't be taken you Olympus. You were mortal after all, so the next best thing was a temple in the mountains near the eastern sea. It had been abandoned for ages, the villagers that had once lived there long passed. However, it was still beautifully maintained. Many nymphs made their homes by the temple.

It was like a dream, flowers of every color decorated the temple, and the sun shined bright over the land. The ocean from below crashed onto the hot sand with a melodic chant. It was beautiful and serene.

The atmosphere much different than how you grew up. You wished you could have shown your father how beautiful it all was. Your chest was still tight at the fact you'd most likely never see him again. However, if it was your father's will that you went with the Gods' to ensure the safety of your people, you wouldn't disobey.

But in brute honesty, the God of war was the last person you'd ever want to share your life with. Everything he stood for, bloodshed and war, you disagreed with. Not to mentions the stories of the gods' affairs with the goddess Aphrodite and many others. Surely you weren't the first mortal he had taken.

Your guard was kept up; if anything, you would die fighting.

"Y/n." Your name sounded so foreign as it left his tongue, it caused a shiver to slithered down your spine. His smell was intoxicating as you felt his sharp jaw come to rest on your shoulder. With a sharp inhale, you tensed up.

The young God kissed his teeth, "I won't hurt you. I wasn't planning on it in the first place, but If it makes you feel better, I promised your father no harm would come to you, and I never break a promise. You don't have to be afraid."

You let out a scoff, "well, I'm sorry I am not like other women who would throw themselves at the chance to fuck Ares. I will not be treated as property or just some a piece of meat." He laughed, "I've watched you for much time, you're not like any other mortal. Nor are you like any other goddess. You are special. You, Y/n, are the only one worthy of being my wife." He nipped playfully at your ear

"Ares.." You whimpered softly.

"Katsuki Bakugo will do just fine."

"Bakugo, Katsuki." The way his name fell from your lips drew the young God into madness. Infatuation filled him, curiosity to get to know you, closer to you. For so long, he had watched you pined for you.

You, a mortal, had made a god fall in love with you. Not just any God.

The God Of War.

[real-jaune-isms]

RWBY Volume 8 Chapter 13 Review/Remix

We should have guessed something would go wrong. Things were going way too right at the end of the last chapter. But shit didn’t just hit the fan, it hit the ground and then bounced over the edge into an abyss. And with only the finale chapter left in this Volume, I can’t imagine how they’re going to fix all of this before we have to wait another year for more good news.

Since we can’t have bad without first knowing good, the writers are kind enough to open this episode with some hope. Jaune’s half of the group, that is to say JNR plus Oscar and Emerald, see one of the portals open for them in the communications room. They don’t know if people will actually know to use these things to evacuate without the message Jaune was trying to send, so they decide to do some portal hopping and spread the word on foot. But first they have to make sure these things actually work, so they need to send a giunea pig through. Just his luck, they send Jaune and it does not pair well with his history of motion sickness. He doesn’t hurl, but he does land on his face and rise to his hands and knees when he safely comes out the other side of what looked like the trippy space rift from 2001 a Space Odyssey. The others follow close behind and take a moment to be in awe of this pocket dimension they find themselves in. Jaune recovers quickly and takes command. He and Nora will be going from portal to portal spreading the word about evacuation to Vacuo, while Ren Oscar and Emerald will be leading the pack and calling Shade Academy once they’re in Vacuo that they need to prep for hundreds of refugees. They part ways and Oscar gives a playful little salute, then Jaune leaps over the edge of the platform they were on. Someone should have told him about Ambrosius’ dire warning last week... Okay fine, we see a frame or two of him opening his shield so clearly he’s gliding down to the nearest other portal not falling into the void. Meanwhile Nora is once again riding Magnhild like a rocket powered broomstick to fly away into a portal of her own. We abruptly cut to a subway station where everyone is comedically hiding behind the stairway and peek out to look at the portal before them. One civilian is coaxed into stepping forward and checking it out, so he throws a rock at it. Because his luck continues to screw him over, Jaune comes through at that exact moment and gets hit on the head with the rock. His sudden appearance scares everyone into diving behind the stairs again, but they do peek out once more after taking a second to realize they just saw a person come through to talk to them. Jaune pulls out his Scroll to show them his Huntsman license so they’ll take him seriously, and presumably it works out great. We see Penny and RWBY coming in through their own portal and likewise being amazed by Ambrosius’ handiwork before seeing other people starting to pour in while Nora and Jaune are calling out directions and reassurances, such as the Happy Huntresses and the refugees under their protection. They wonder aloud about how few people have come through yet, but the priority is getting Penny and the Staff into Vacuo safely so they’ve got to trust Jaune’s team with this. Speaking of Vacuo and Jaune’s team, we see what happens when the green team gets into the desert outside the city. There’s an intense sandstorm raging around the area where the portal lets them out, and they can’t see which way to go to reach Shade. Worse still, cell service is down so they can’t call anyone. And civilians are starting to come through into this chaos so it’s just getting worse and worse. Ren can mask them from any Grimm that might catch a whiff of all that negativity, but only for so long.

As Nora is leaving one crowd of incoming civies to go help bring in another, Cinder arrives hiding beneath a cloak and we see her give a little smirk. Next thing we know, and explosion goes off and at least a dozen innocent people are launched into the void below. Irreversible consequences there, as far as we know, and it causes a real panic. Team RWBY tell Penny to just keep going into Vacuo while they deal with this, and we see Cinder gleefully flying around looking for the object of her hatred. She spots which way the team is heading and blasts some fire in the path to cut Ruby off. Cinder makes a clear reference to something Oscar said in an earlier conversation the heroes shared, and this throws the girls for a bit of a loop but they’re still ready to throw down. 

With a swing of Crescent Rose, we cut back to Cinder and Watts meeting with Neo in the alleyway. She’s learned you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, so she apologizes for how she’s treated Neo and promises she will get the revenge she wants so badly this time, but in order to do that Cinder will need to use the Lamp. Neo reluctantly does some magic of her own and pulls the Lamp out of her hat. The two glare at each other for a moment as Neo refuses to let it go, but she conceded and through unknown means tells Cinder the password. Maybe she wrote it on her Scroll and showed her? Either way, Cinder uses the final question to ask to be shown what Team RWBY’s plan is for the handoff with Ironwood. Jinn seems upset to hear she has to go against those nice kids, but the rules of her existence must be obeyed so she grants it anyway. I got some real “Jafar steals the lamp from Aladdin” vibes, and I can’t say I minded being reminded of that great Disney film. Cinder’s trio get to see every conversation the heroes have planning out all the successes we just saw last episode, and now we know they’re totally prepared to make it go wrong at every turn. Seeing Cinder so in control and prepared brought me back to Volume 3 where she was at her most dangerous as a villain, and that’s not a bad thing. It’s been a long time coming and justifies her continuation as a threat. What quelled the pit in my stomach a bit was the look of betrayal when Cinder realized Emerald switched sides on her. She recovers quickly and suggests they help Watts finish what he started and tear the Kingdom down with his intellect. To that end they break into Atlas central command and slaughter just about everybody inside. This would seem to include that devil of the workplace Bill who spilled coffee and microwaved salmon at work. And if that was Velvet’s dad as we liked to theorize, then that’s a real shame. The ladies leave Watts to his work, but on her way out Cinder tells Watts this is everything he deserves, possibly as a way to mend bridges between them. I prefer to hope she sealed that door shut behind her and she’s leaving him to die with the plummeting city because she’s still mad he roasted her. We see that Jaune’s warning broadcast getting cut short was indeed Watt’s doing, and just to be more of an asshole he wipes a bloodstain off an apple and eats it while he does so. With that sabotage taken care of he shifts focus to the airship hangar where the birds are cuffing the Ace Ops. But they only manage to restrain Elm before Watts sends an AK (Atlesian Knight) into the area and has it charge right at them primed to self destruct. It almost gets Robyn but Marrow jumps in the way and is knocked out. That means his Semblance wears off and Harriet is free to sprint into the airship the bomb is still loaded on to. She’s intent on finishing this last mission even if it means killing herself. Vine runs after her and manages to grab the closing cargo door with his stretchy arms before it’s too late. Robyn and Qrow are left quite worried.

Speaking of desperately destructive military personnel, Ironwood regains consciousness in his cell to the sound of crumbling debris and the realization of his failure at the hands of these teens. Jacques is in the next cell and wastes no time criticizing him for failing to keep Atlas afloat. He’s happy to gloat that his fellow man has lost, though he does wistfully admit he’s lost too. Ironwood looks like he might have a breakdown as he processes the fact that all his efforts have been foiled and he can’t be the hero of this situation, that those he thinks are the dangerous insurrection who will ruin everything are going to win... when he hears a buzzing sound. The door to his cell seems to be glitching before shutting down entirely. He’s hesitant to walk out but it stays deactivated and he finds his weapons just casually lying on the ground a few yards away from his cell. Jacques seems to not understand there are consequences to insulting a person every chance you can get and pleads for James to let him out of his cell too. Ironwood just silently loads up his big laser gun and turns it on the door of Jacques’ cell. Sure, he’ll open the door, he says emotionlessly. And the man opens fire. Jacques has a moment to realize what’s happening and seems fearful, but he lost the pity of the FNDM 4 Volumes ago. Whatever Ironwood calls this cannon of his, it leaves behind green fire and annihilates Jacques’ cell... and him along with it. Weiss’ father in name alone is dead and the Schnee family will never get a chance to settle things properly with him for how he treated them. Weiss arresting him, Winter promising him Weiss wants him to be rescued from the falling city, gods only know what Willow had said to him last, and whatever obedience Whitley showed him before he was dragged off to jail. There are the last things they said to him and they have to live with that forever. Question is, who’s going to tell them Jimmy did the deed? He’s got no time to do so, he’s a man with a mission. 

We go from one fiery dilemma to another as Team RWBY are still struggling to deal with Cinder even 4 on 1. She flies upward and creates a cyclone of fire beneath her to make it that much harder to reach her, before complimenting the team on the depth of their plan. She acknowledges she wouldn’t have been able to deal with it by herself, so in a way she’s grateful these girls taught her to ask for help. That help indeed comes from Neo, who’s approaching in disguise from behind Ruby. Yang notices Neo approaching, and charges in to push Ruby out of the way. But that means Yang takes the hit instead, and it takes out the last of her Aura. She hits the ground hard, and tumbles over the edge of the platform. In a threefold shot we see Neo mad that someone got in the way of her surprise attack, while Ruby and Weiss are freaking out and Blake immediately sprints past the latter to try and make a save. She throws Gambol Shroud as far as the ribbon will let it go, but it’s not far enough. Yang falls into the void below, dissolving into gold sparkles once she reaches a certain depth. This has all seemingly happened in a matter of seconds, which would explain why Ruby didn’t have enough time to get back on her feet from being shoved to the ground and use her Semblance to try and save her sister, and why Weiss didn’t have a chance to try and catch her on any glyphs or summon a Lancer to ride down and catch her. She’s not the fastest with making those summons anyway, she’s still got some room for improvement before she can make instant saves in that way. Long story short, 

Don’t give the writers shit for having Blake be the only one able to try and help.

The fact that she fails to save her partner is of course very upsetting for Blake and she screams Yang’s name with all the appropriate despair and sorrow. Ruby doesn’t have a lot of time to process the fact that her sister may have just died since Neo wastes no time attacking her and all her focus has to go into self defense and trying to win that fight. We can see in the background Weiss holding Blake back, because this poor woman seems to want nothing more than to dive in after Yang either out of suicidal despair or a last feverish hope that she survived and can be rescued. The denial and depression soon turns to anger though, and she grabs her weapon with a look of murderous rage before charging in to attack Neo for what she did. She grabs Neo with her ribbon and tries to slice her in two, but it’s just an illusion and the real one is fighting with Ruby heading up a pathway towards one of the portals. Weiss turns her attention back to Cinder, and is doing an okay job of holding her own but not getting any hits in of her own. The tables seem like they could turn for our protagonists when Penny flies in to join the fight and punches Cinder in the face. But Weiss didn’t want Penny getting involved, and Cinder seems pretty glad to get another rematch with her. And she certainly is more prepared this time, compared to Penny who tries to summon her swords and forgot she doesn’t have them anymore. She takes a hit and lands in a crowd of civilians, though she does land on her feet and quickly improvise by making some new swords with her magic and then flying back into the fray. Weiss skates on her glyphs up a path to get a better vantage point, and pulls Cinder out of attack mode with a black holding glyph that seems to yank on her like gravity. Turns out the glyphs are vulnerable to fire though, so Cinder burns through it and quickly finds where Weiss is so she can send a flurry of fiery glass blades her way. Weiss happened to choose a spot right by 3 portals so there’s about a dozen innocent bystanders around her that are in danger. She thinks fast and summons her Knight’s sword to shield them, but some of the blades do go through a portal and send some other people diving for cover in the train station. Jaune is there to defend some of them with his shield, and immediately realizes the evacuation job just got a lot harder. Unfortunately for Weiss, these glass shards superheat and explode at her feet, sending her flying off the platform. She still has Aura though, and catches herself on a glyph to catch her breath. In the meantime, Cinder goes back on the defensive against Penny and Ladybug continue to tag team against Neo. Blake hears screaming and realizes she could also try and help Weiss and Penny deal with Cinder, but feels really conflicted about it. Who needs her more, can she just give up on getting vengeance for Yang? What can she even do against a Maiden? She just doesn’t know.

Back in the skies, Harriet is getting close to Mantle when she gets an alert of a disturbance in the airship’s cargo hold. Putting the controls on autopilot, she goes down to check on it and sees Vine made it aboard. She’s about to arm the bomb, but he stops her and voices his thoughts that this may not be the best plan for them anymore, much to her annoyance. She asks him if this is really the side he wants to take here and now, and he doesn’t want to call it a divide like that. But he lays out the facts: Their commanding officer has been deposed so his authority is moot, the city is going down and there’s likely going to be no stopping that, and the people are going to be brought to safety regardless. So why bother bombing a city full of innocents whose other options are run away to the barren desert or be crushed under a giant hunk of rock? But Harriet isn’t having that shit. It’s the principle of the matter, it’s about following through and standing with her decisions. If she’s not obeying what Ironwood ordered... then what is she anymore? To disobey him or let the teens continue their rescue efforts means acknowledging they’re in the right and she’s wrong. And after the last few days of seeing them as her enemy and losing a fight to them... her pride just won’t allow it. She has to see this through, because it’s what Clover would have done. He was a good soldier, he died doing what the general told him he had to. Vine admits that doesn’t mean he was right to die on that hill. He wasn’t an infallible paragon of good judgment. Harriet doesn’t like hearing that either, but she can’t seem to find the right words to defend her stance on Clover. Probably because those words are something to the tune of “Clover was my friend, and I want to do right by him because I miss him dearly”. But to say that would mean the Ace Ops were also wrong after the mission in the mines, when they were so condescending in telling Team RWBY that you have to just be coworkers with your team and you can’t be friends. And she seems to prefer suicide bombing death over admitting some teenagers knew more about friendship and teamwork than her and her squad. That ego and temper really need some working on, and one starts to worry she’s too far gone to ever get a chance at working on them. Before Vine can give some heartfelt reassurances about being allowed to feel their feelings for each other the airship gets bumped hard and Harriet goes back into angry work first mode. She arms the bomb and tries to dump Vine out the cargo doors before rushing back up to the cockpit and regaining control of the ship. The bumping was caused by Robyn flying another airship into them to try and keep the bomb from being delivered, because how was she to know Vine was about to defuse the whole situation? She does have the good sense to let up on her efforts and come around behind the other airship to rescue Vine when she sees he’s hanging on for dear life. In the meantime, Harriet has to deal with another angry bird as Qrow uses his bird form to fly right up to her windshield and turns back at the last second to crash through the glass and tackle her to the floor. The two fall down the ladder back into the cargo hold, where Qrow seems ready and willing to give Harriet the rematch she’s been wanting so badly. But since nobody’s at the controls and Harriet didn’t turn autopilot back on, the ship’s going to crash... except it’s not because Watts overwrites that too and makes sure the bomb is gonna get where he wants it to.

Down in the Vault, Winter is trying to call any of the teens she can reach to get an update on the plan’s progress. No signal, we know now to thank Watts for that, but what she does find is a red dot appearing on the ground and quickly moving to the center of her chest. She promptly realizes its a laser sight and puts up a glyph to shield herself, but it’s a real strong green blast. Ironwood is coming down the elevator with his greek fire cannon, and he fully intents to put his former lieutenant down for betraying him. For all his paranoia he never thought she would stab him in the back, but that’s just what happens when you have good people at your side while you go mad with power. James tries one last time to insist he knows the right course of action for Atlas. Winter should just step aside and let him kill Team RWBY to reclaim the Staff and Make Atlas Floating Again. But she won’t back down, it is her job and her passion to protect Atlas and its people, and she’s not quitting in the face of this new enemy of the peace. Because Ironwood is the villain here, as much as he thinks he’s right. The extremes he considers necessary are too far. Ironwood actually sheds a tear when faced with this declaration, but I think it’s the last of his heart and humanity leaving as he shuts himself off from all but his machine like devotion to the cause.

Back in the Vacuan desert, Ren’s Aura runs out after spending a few minutes masking thousands of refugees, and the three green teens wonder where the heck Penny is, since she should have been among the first through the portal and her Maiden powers would be able to make quick work of the sandstorm. Oscar grows especially concerned and tries to run back into the pocket dimension to go check on her, but he hits the portal hard and gets bounced back. Oz realizes this new issue is Ambrosius’ doing, and we flashback to when Weiss was telling the big blue builder how to make the central location and all its portals. She happened to use the phrase “a one-way ticket to Vacuo”, since they had no intention of going back to the crashing Atlas. But Ambros took that too literally in the wrong way, and made the Vacuo portal the only one to be one way. They can hop around between Atlas portals all they want, but once you’re in Vacuo there’s no going back to help with the fight they don’t even know is happening yet. But these three have problems of their own, because bat-like Grimm are swarming in and attacking the unguarded civilians. We end the episode there, and boy am I not ready for the finale to only make things worse before 8 months of no resolutions. Are you?