#worthless boy. mean and impolite

[n0ahsferatu]

pov you are a locked chest or perhaps someone bleeding to death

[livelaughwhump]

hey sorry i was thinking could you maybe do a post where you tell briefly each characters backstory from worthless. like maybe not in detail but i remember for example you answered an ask about karine's fear of hospitals and her mom (i think) and about landon too so i thought you could gather them all in a post when and if you want and have time

i hope this doesn't sound impolite i really like your story

Of course! It doesn't sound impolite at all! I've actually been meaning to do something like this for a while, so thank you for the suggestion!😊

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Worthless Character Backstories

Elliot Córdova (he/him) - Elliot was abandoned when he was very little because his parents were too young to raise a child and couldn't take care of him. He grew up in the foster system and was bullied relentlessly for his height, his race, his dyslexia, etc. The bullying got so bad that he eventually started skipping meals just to avoid his bullies. This led to him becoming very malnourished, which stunted his growth. He met his best friend and honorary older sister, Lyra, when he was seven and hardly left their side ever since. He was never adopted.

Lyra Beckett (they/she) - Lyra had a very loving family growing up. They were an only child and were incredibly close to their parents. However, when she was eleven, her parents were killed in a car crash on their way to pick her up from a friend's house. She was then put into the foster system and ended up rooming with Elliot, who eventually became her best friend and honorary little brother. Lyra protected Elliot from his bullies and tutored him in most school subjects that he struggled in. They began developing vitiligo at age fifteen and tried to hide it, as they were ashamed of it. Eventually, however, Elliot convinced them to be proud of it and they never hid it again. They were never adopted.

Karine de la Peña (she/her) - Karine was raised by a single mother until she was five, when her mother was killed in a shooting. She was then raised by her grandparents, including her veteran grandmother, who taught her everything she knows about combat. When Karine was eighteen, her grandmother died and she was left with only her grandfather. After that, she developed a serious drug and alcohol problem that landed her in rehab on more than one occasion. When she was twenty-three, her grandfather got very sick, but she couldn't see him due to being in rehab. Her grandfather eventually recovered and Karine swore that she would never find herself giving into her addiction again, and she has stayed true to that ever since. She is still very close with her grandfather.

Yvonne Freed (she/her) - Yvonne is one of six siblings, three girls and three boys. She is the second oldest, after her older sister, whom helped her raise their four youngest siblings. Yvonne's parents worked incredibly hard in order to provide for the family of eight, but were not home very often, which left Yvonne and her older sister to care for the younger four. Yvonne was bullied severely, growing up, both for being autistic and for her albinism. She quit school when she was sixteen in order to care for her siblings, but still had an affinity for learning and would teach herself whatever she could in her free time.

Broderick Abara (he/him) - Broderick is the oldest of three. His younger brothers are twins that were born when Broderick was twelve. Broderick's father was a military veteran that always wanted Broderick to follow in his footsteps, despite Broderick's desire to go to medical school. To compromise, when he came of age, Broderick went to Afghanistan to serve as a military medic, but was gravely injured on duty. Due to his post-traumatic stress injury (PTSI), he was honorably discharged from the military and sent back home. His father was furious about it and insisted that he would've rather that Broderick had died than be sent back before his service was completed. Broderick then moved out of the United States and has not spoken to his father since. (His mother also divorced his father and took custody of the twins)

Landon Copeland (he/him) - Of every "Worthless" character, Landon's life was the easiest and least traumatic, including compared to his sister's. Landon grew up in a loving family in a nice neighborhood. He went to a good school, was never bullied, and has always had a very close relationship with his little sister. He played many different sports all throughout his childhood and got into university on a basketball scholarship. The hardest thing that ever happened to him was when his parents got a divorce when he was fourteen, but he always maintained a fairly good relationship with both of them.

Colleen Copeland (she/her) - (MASSIVE TW - attempted suicide) Colleen is three years younger than her brother, Landon. Just like Landon, Colleen had a relatively normal childhood until she was fifteen. She had a loving family, a very close relationship with her brother, and a close-knit group of friends. Her parents got divorced when she was eleven, which didn't bother her much, as she had never had a great relationship with her mother. When Colleen was fifteen, she began to develop serious anxiety and depression. Her brother and father did everything they could to support her, but her mother brushed it off as attention-seeking behavior. Once Landon had gone off to university, Colleen's depression continued to worsen until it got to the point where she tried to take her own life at the age of sixteen. After hearing the news, Landon quit university in order to help Colleen through the rest of her high school years. Once she turned eighteen, Landon went back to university with her, where Colleen eventually met her future (ex) husband, Andrey, whom she'd end up having two kids with; Kiernan (age 7) and Jamari (age 5)

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So yeah! Those are every character's backstories! Except for Christian, of course, because I just don't feel like he needs a backstory. Nothing happened to him that turned him into a whumper, he just is that way. The only reason I might create a backstory for him is to flesh out his character a little bit more, but he hasn't been in the story nearly enough for that to be necessary, so he's just gonna stay without for now.🤷

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed getting to know my characters a little better! I'm very proud of them, and I promise, their backstories will all come into play at some point in the main story! Thanks so much for the ask!🥰

[angelliev]

Lover Boy - JJ Maybank x OC - Part Two - Cherry Popping

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: Aria learns a little more about the differences between the social classes of the Outer Banks and is exhilarated to see JJ once again. The chemistry between the two teenagers increases and so does their burning passion for each other.

Warnings: Smut, some cursing, unprotected sex. (Don’t be a fool, cover your tool) ;)

A/N: GIF is not mine. Belongs to the rightful owner. I don’t own the show or any of the characters. Hope you enjoy and thank you so much for your time. :)

Lover Boy Series Masterlist

The universe is definitely a mystery to me. I tend not to believe in fate, but that seemed to change when today took a surprising turn. It started out with having brunch with my family at the country club with the Camerons. Normally I wouldn’t mind going, but I my skin is still decorated with hickeys. For the past few days I had to cover ALL of them with makeup. Damn you JJ. He’s all I’ve been thinking about ever since the sleepover. I want to see him again. Just thinking about him makes my heart skip a beat and my cheeks turn red. Part of me wonders what he would do to me if we were to see each other again. God the things I’d let him do to me are absolutely sinful.

A snap of someone’s fingers displayed in front of my statue face pulls me back into reality and away from my forbidden fantasy. I turn to the young woman sitting next to me with a confused look. She nods towards the waiter who is waiting for my order. “Forgive me. May I please have your pesto mushroom crepe? Thank you.” I can practically feel the burning gaze from the young woman sitting beside me. My dear older sister.

Jennifer Prescott. My father’s picture-perfect daughter. Intelligent, graceful, pretty and popular. That’s how my parents see her, me on the other hand, I know her true nature. She can be mean, materialistic and manipulative. We’re always getting on each other’s nerves. She’s quite the party animal too, but my parents trust her too much to think that she would go out and do stuff like that. Even if they did now, they probably wouldn’t mind. After all, they seem to adore her matching picture-perfect asshole of a boyfriend, Rafe Cameron. When he’s not hanging out with his friends or doing business, he’s cheating on my sister and doing cocaine. Sitting on the other side of me is Sarah who whispers discreetly into my ear, “I still can’t believe they’re back together. They fight more than the kooks and pogues combined.” I nod in agreement. Sarah excuses herself to go to the bathroom and I sit while listening to the agonizing grown up talk that bores me to death. That was until a rather impolite conversation was brought to the table.

“Would it kill for these people to hurry up with our order? I swear all they do all day is sit around like sloths.” I felt ashamed to hear those words come out of my father’s mouth. I felt even angrier to hear what Rafe said next. “I understand sir. Those pogues are an absolute nuisance, they cause nothing but trouble.” I glare at Rafe. “They’ve worked more than you ever have.” I squeezed my way into the conversation, everyone turns their attention to me. “Excuse me?” Rafe asked astonished. “You heard me. They’ve worked harder than you ever have. They have grit. They’re determined. They accomplish things. What have you done besides waste your money and,”

“Aria!” My dad interrupt. “That was uncalled for.” “So are you and Rafe talking down to people like they’re worthless.” I can practically see the steam erupting from both my dad and sister. “You guys don’t know shit about them. What gives you the right to say such things?” I continue.

“Stop it Aria! This is embarrassing.” Jennifer says in a hushed tone, not wanting to attract more curious stares. “So is being related to you Jennifer.” Her jaw drops. With my anger over flowing within in me, I stand up and gather my belongings. “And where the hell do you think you’re going?” My dad questions me. “Anywhere but here.” I march away despite my father’s protest. I let out a frustrated sigh as I enter my home.

Maybe I should’ve waited for the food to arrive before stomping out. Now I’m hungry. I scan the fridge only to see that we barely have anything. I suppose now would be a good time to order some groceries. Thank god for Heyward, the lord and keeper of all the holy groceries. (Lmao sorry I love him) While I wait, I decide to scroll through the channels on the tv, finally coming to a decision.

I practically sprint to the door when I hear the bell ring, stomach growling. What I definitely wasn’t expecting was a particular handsome blonde hair blue eyed guy to be standing in front of me. “JJ?” I pause for a moment. I couldn’t believe I was gazing upon him again. “Nice to see you beautiful.” He smirks as he can see he still has an effect on me.

“Likewise, please come in.” I take a few bags from him. My hand brushed against his. “Nice place you got. What do your parents do again?” He asked looking around the luxurious home. It’s too much in my opinion. “My dad is a CEO of this pharmaceutical company and my mom is a physician.” “And what do you want to do?” “I don’t know yet. What about you?” He just huffs. “Don’t know. Something that doesn’t require college. Military probably.” I watch him help put groceries away, I can’t help but gaze at his beautiful body, with the way you can see the veins in his arms or his toned abdomen under his shirt. His fit to join the military.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you again.” I say. “Awe, did I leave insatiable?” His eyes burn into mine. I’d be the biggest liar if I said no. “Perhaps. Couldn’t get enough of you I guess.” I decide to play along with his game of flirtation. “Oh? Is that so? And just what would your parents think if they knew their daughter was getting hot and heavy with some pogue?” He says backing me up towards the counter. “Don’t know. Wasn’t planning on telling them. I figured this,” I close the distance between us and gently bite down on his earlobe. “Could be our dirty little secret.” This seems to rile him up a little. He looks me up and down. “I like the sound of that.”

He finally closes the distance between us, lips crashing together. Hands exploring every curve and muscle of each other’s body. God, I missed this. His hands on my waist. Tongue caressing mine. Being so close and intimate. This whole thing felt scandalous. Me sitting on the kitchen counter making out with the hot delivery boy. I can’t even imagine what would happen if my parents found out. Who knew fate would bring us together again?

I want it to last forever, but the sound of the front door opening makes us both jump back. “Aria?” My mother calls for me until she finds me in the kitchen. She was taken by surprise to see JJ.

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting any guests.” “Sorry, I ordered some groceries. This is JJ.” I apologize. She just smiles. “No need to apologize. And it’s a pleasure to meet you JJ. I’m Elaine, Aria’s mother.” She offers a hand shake which he takes. “Nice to meet you too ma’am.” He flashes her a smile. She pays him and tips him nicely before handing him a cold-water bottle.

“Take some water with you love. It’s hot out there. You need to stay hydrated, especially if you’re being active.” This took JJ by surprise. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.” “My pleasure love, and take this with you. You must be burning so many calories after working all day.” She hands him a zip lock bag of some of the leftover sandwiches we made last night. “Oh, that’s fine Mrs. Prescott. You really don’t have to do that.” JJ attempts to decline. “Nope I insist.” She ignores his protests. He finally gives in. “Thank you again. That’s very kind of you.” “I’ll walk you out.” I say. When we’re out of her hearing distance he says, “Your mom seems really nice. Looks I’ll have to deliver here more often.” “Speaking of that when can I see you again?” “There’s this kegger party tonight. What do you think?” “Sure. I’ll see you tonight lover boy. “Better.” He winks before strutting off.

I enter the kitchen to see my mom preparing to make dinner. “He’s a sweet kid.” She compliments. “Yeah, he is.” I was a confused to say the least. I thought that she would bring up the incident at the club. “You’re not mad at me?” She simply looks up with confused eyes. “If you’re referring to what happened at brunch, no I’m not mad. You did nothing wrong.” Well that’s not what I was expecting. “I doubt that dad feels the same way.” She just chuckles.

“You’re right about that, but he had absolutely no right to be so disrespectful and neither did Rafe. If anything, it surprised me that your father and Rafe would say such thing in front of Mr. and Mrs. Cameron.” “Why’s that?” My curiosity gets the best of me. “Because they’re actually from the cut.” That came as a shock. “I’m sorry if I overreacted, but I just didn’t think that was fair of them.” She looks at me with nothing but care in her motherly eyes. “Don’t every apologize for speaking up against something that’s wrong. I gave your father a piece of my mind before he went golfing with Mr. Cameron.” “Thanks mom, for understanding.” She simply smiles. “Of course. Now enough with that. You go enjoy the rest of your day.”

And that I did. My leg was bouncing the whole way there. It didn’t take much to convince Charis and Sarah to come. “Trying to impress someone?” Asked Charis referring to my rather revealing short sundress and hair down. “Can’t a girl feel pretty once in a while?” I hope JJ likes what he sees, and boy did he. I was satisfied to see that he was impressed. His predator like eyes roamed every inch of my body. He licks his bottom lip, making me weak in the knees. The night went on with JJ staring me down. Watching my every move. Most likely fantasizing about what he’d do to me if he had me alone.

I take a seat next to him by the fire. My naked leg brushed against his. Sending a shiver up our spines. “Wanna get out of here?” His hot breath, that smells like weed, mint and booze, whispers into my ear. I didn’t hesitate to say yes. That’s all he needed before taking my hand and leading me towards this cute fish shack by the marsh. I didn’t have time to say anything when he slammed the door shut and pushed me against the wall.

His lips attack mine like he’s been holding back all day. My hands go straight for his hair, pulling at the ends. “You have no idea what that dress does to me babygirl.” “I thought you’d like it.” My eyes flicker into his lustful ones that seemed to grow a shade darker. This time he kisses me a lot slower than the last one. It was gentler, like he wanted to take his sweet time with me. His hands clutch onto my ass. Making me gasp and giving him the opportunity to slip his tongue past my now swollen red lips. When we pull away to breathe, something in me finally awakened. Like a hidden voice that I’ve been holding back for so long. Something only he was able to awaken. “I want you JJ. I want all of you.”

He waste no time to scoop me up in his arms and begin to walk towards what I assume is his bedroom. He throws me on the bed before crawling on top of me, our lips connect again in a passionate kiss. I tug at his shirt, which he gladly takes off, along with my dress that he throws across the room. He takes his time to soak in the girl in front of him. I didn’t bother to wear a bra, which seemed to take him by surprise.

He begins to play with the harden buds, the feeling of his rings making my breath hitch. “So fucking beautiful.” His words make me blush, all the insecurities that seemed to cloud my mind vanish. Even when he pulled down my panties. My hesitation disappears when I unbuckle his belt, pulling down his pants and boxers, his erection no longer hiding. I silently gulp as I look upon the member.

“Jay?” His eyes flicker to mine. “I’ve never um,” I can’t seem to find the right words, but judging from the look on his face, he already knew. “We can stop if you want.” “No. I want this. I want it to be with you.” This makes him smile, I can practically see a spark in his baby blue ocean eyes. “I’ll be gentle. I promise. We’ll go at your pace.” His hands hold my legs open as he aligns himself at my entrance. I watch as he begins to disappear inch by inch until bottoming out. I focus on my breathing, hoping that it would distract me from the discomfort.

When I look up at him, his jaw is clenched, resisting the urge to plunge deep into my smooth folds. He leans down to litter kisses on my face as an attempt to distract me from the pain. “Just relax. It’ll start to feel better soon.” Who knew he had such a sweet side? My walls finally begin to adjust to him. The discomfort begins to fade. I move my hips and am introduced to a pleasurable sensation resulting in me letting out a surprised moan. It increases as he pulls out only to plunge back in, almost knocking the wind out of me.

He finds a rhythm that I was comfortable with. The speed of his thrusts increase as the volume of my moans grow louder. The sound of skin slapping, raspy breaths and pornographic moans fill the room. Our bodies fit perfectly together, like puzzle pieces, as if we were made for each other. He smiles at how well I’m taking him.

The sight above me was breath taking. His biceps flexing every so often along with his abdomen tightening. His skin practically glowing. Hair messy and falling in front of face. Head thrown back, mouth agape and a vein on the verge of popping. The heavenly sound of his occasional moans and grunts, a pleasing melody.

Wanting more, I pull him down so our chests meet and wrap my legs around his waist, creating a new angle that reaches the sweet spot that lurks deep inside me making me moan louder. He once again bites down on that particular spot located on my neck. This action causes a tight feeling to form in my stomach. “Mmm JJ. I’m so close.” “Cum for me babygirl. I’m right behind you.” His thrusts become faster and sloppy. With him grunting against my ear and thumb rubbing against my sensitive clit, it doesn’t take much for me to reach my peak. My eyes roll to the back of my head, which is thrown back against the pillow, and a wave of euphoria rushes through my body like electricity.

“Fuck.” The feeling of my walls gripping around him even harder was enough for him to find his own release. He stills inside me, his seed coating my what was once pure and innocent walls, and are now tainted and marked by him. The rest of his body goes limp as he lays against me trying to catch his breath. The two of us lay there, our bodies slick with sweat, taking in the warm air. A whimper escapes my lips at the lost feeling when he pulls out, some of his cum leaking out of me. Neither of us say a word. Our naked bodies tangle together under the sheets and he turns the light out. I let the rhythmic sound of his beating heart guide me into a deep and peaceful sleep.

[chiimmchiimm]

❝𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 !¡ 𝓉𝑒𝓃 ❞

CHAPTERS “  01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 - 06 - 07 - 08 - 09 - 10 -  11  - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 “  

The northern jail was the most dangerous in the country, social scum, thousands of criminals were locked behind their bars. Who would tell poor Blair that he would end up there because of his father’s mistake. The problem was not the lack of hot water, but that inhuman obsession that many of the prisoners had for “new toys.” Rookies had two options; be submissive and abide by veterans’ orders or suffer the dangerous anger of those disturbed minds. It all started one night when Blair had the bad idea of ​​going to shower alone.

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Jungkookoffender au x (female: Blair).   𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒:  smut.(later), offender au, fluff, angst. 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈: 4 k 𝑅𝒶𝓃𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓃𝑔:  +18   𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔:   dirty language, proposals, mood swings, spectacular bodies, muscles, biceps, problems, future friends ?, jealousy, confessions.

                                         Fear is an ephemeral feeling that can cause great consequences if we let it dominate us. I don't know if what I felt at that moment was fear or a simple tingling of what could happen, but I had already gotten into this and couldn't turn back. Halfway there, Lucy had harassed me with slightly irritating questions. When we crossed the patio door and saw where she was looking, her nerves betrayed her.

"What are you supposed to do? You promised me you wouldn't tell anyone." She begs, her cold, wet fingers brushing my wrist to stop me.

"Jimin won't find out about me, calm down. I know what I do."

Heading towards a stack of men stacked with Lucy behind me. Getting all kinds of reactions, some men frown their frown over my meddling in their affairs, others decided to be a bit more impolite and not cut a hair how much they needed female company. There I found him, sitting with his legs in the position of an Indian, playing what seemed to be a most innocent game of cards, although anyone who needs some intelligence could realize that it was not so much.

I couldn't even take the privilege of approaching him so that he could see me because a blue movie (the same one I saw in the cafeteria on the fateful day I met Hong Kong) had got in my way with too much determination. Although he was not as tall as Thirteen, I did have to stretch his neck up a little to give him an annoyed look. He had delicate features I agreed with his white skin, however, eyes injected with fury turned away any sweetness from him.

“Suga.” A slightly weak voice rang out behind me. The blue movie put all his attention on the way Lucy came out of hiding. The boy angry with the world seemed to soften his frown for a moment. "Please let her pass."

“Is she a friend of yours, Dallas?” Her question caused me some discomfort at the simple fact that it seemed that if I wasn't, my person was worthless. My friend nodded slowly before shrinking back behind my back. Suga snorted moving my hair causing it to form a face of torture, I did not like to get my breath in my face. All without getting out of front. Imitating a dramatic inhalation pass by him with the same annoyed air as him.

"I'm going with everything." He said, a man with an orange hairy beard. He bent his entire body to drag all the tiles onto the concrete. I looked immediately at his opponent too intrigued, Thirteen seemed too focused to worry about his surroundings, he did not notice my presence until he gave a smile full of pride to the redhead. As if my person will be a stimulant for him, he imitated the bearded man's gesture and slipped his own with too much confidence. Jimin, who was next to him, showed an expression of confusion mixed with a little more alarmed, it seemed as if the act of his friend had caught him by surprise. Thirteen brought a finger to his lower lip to touch him, he transmitted so much confidence that the redhead had no choice but to make his letters known. I opened my eyes surprised at how good his letters were, that redhead had a straight flush. Seeing himself as the great winner of the game, he leaned his body back with an air of pride. "Thirteen, it seems that I have ..."

The redhead closed his mouth impressed when the chestnut man revealed his hand. I throw the full as if he didn't care, then he got up and approached me.

"Graff, collect the money for me." His tone did not sound like an order, but rather, a proposal that the blond did not take long to accept. Deeply rolling his eyes in my surprised expression, he smiled under his breath as if that gesture was only for me. No need to open my mouth, as if reading my mind, he leaned toward my ear and whispered in a hot sigh. "Come with me, gongjunim."

Without unnecessary waiting, take a breath of air before following you to the other end of the large courtyard. He walked slowly with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders relaxed and the most serene look he had seen so far. He seemed quite happy despite not expressing it directly with a smile, well, actually, he was like that, he never showed emotions, only if it was necessary. Probably his good mood was due to the exorbitant amount of money he had just won, but the brightness that I perceived in his eyes when he turned and supported the fence, yelled at me that there was something else, that he was not only elated by the simple fact of having won a couple of dollars.

"You have accepted my proposal, I deduce. I must admit that I am surprised by how quickly you have decided, precious."

I frown intensely when I hear his compliment. Actually, he seemed in a very good mood, with a triumphant air that even the smallest insect could disturb. Arecosto the head while lowering a funny look towards me. His thick neck was in the front line, I had to take a lot of willpower to avoid being hypnotized by the movement of his Adam's nut. Coming out of my little temporary trance, I clench my lips and direct an overrated face towards his direction.

"Those are the bets?" Playing cards like little children? ”My scroll forms a sideways smile full of fun on his lips.“ I don't know who is most surprised. Thirteen, if you or me.

"There are many types of bets, gongjunim. That was just one of the many games my people are dedicated to. You know ..." He takes off the back of the gate to straighten and impose his height. He stretched his neck up to have more access to his facial reaction, which despite being almost neutral, I can perceive excitement from the discussion. As if it were his most banal custom, he leans his mouth over my ear to disturb her with hoarse whispers. "... keep up appearances."

“That is very good for you, isn't it?” I take the audacity to whisper directly on her cheek, to subtly paste the surface of my lips. My most lucid self is screaming at me internally how much I have spent making such a provocative gesture. However, when Thirteen tightens the jaw and separates with the darkened look, my imaginary self begins to dance in a triumphant dance. His proud smile had been overshadowed for a couple of seconds by a little confusion, frowning as he realized my ironic tone. The discussion I heard between Lucy and him has not yet left my mind, really, I never thought I saw him so broken. Taking advantage of their state of confusion, I opened my lips calling their attention to them, I remained silent for a couple of seconds, without reacting to their dark pupils, but sanity came to me like a tsunami. "I want forty percent of the profits to help you win. "

Her sharp laughter completely paralyzed my imaginary dancer, she looked at me with a big question in her head while my real self kept an eye on her peculiar laugh.

"You'll be twenty, that's what the rest of my people earn."

Expanding his eyes to his stingy attack. It is as much as he is that this percentage is too small. I urgently need the money to help Lucy and with that misery it would take weeks to cover what Shanghai is exaggeratedly asking.

"But I'm different." I mutter softly to sound much weaker. My sudden change in attitude seems to affect him, his shoulders stick to the ends of his neck with momentum, his gaze darkens more and he licks his lips. It forced me to continue this absurd game that I didn't even do where I am going, I am really desperate and if I have to use the tricks of a pampered girl to get what she wants, Eevee have mercy on my soul. "It was you who you asked me to help you. "

His wildly sensual smile almost destroyed the foundations of my security. My role as a weak girl was almost endangered when referring to her large body mass, she took a step towards my direction to almost completely hit our bodies.

"To increase that percentage you will have to earn it, a lot." Pronouncing that adverb too slowly, he kept his gaze fixed on mine waiting for it to be the first to yield. I did not do it. I don't calculate when time we were caught in each other's eyes, but enough for my sudden tremor to betray my urgency. I didn't know exactly what crossed his mind at the time, but when he looked away at the wall, I thanked him with a deaf gasp. "I'm going to give you thirty percent, if I see that you serve, I will give you forty for sure that you ask me."

I opened my mouth to close it instantly. Actually, it was more than I expected to get, really, I had said that percentage in a guiding way. Surprised at how well I had managed to cope with the situation, I turned around with a smile that was increasing as I moved away.

"That means that from now on I will become your personal trainer."

My smile disappears before I turn at him.

"I wasn't serious about being my coach." He tried to make sure that he was playing a joke. I looked for something in his expression that revealed his amusement, but he only looked at me with a serious look.

"It was a contract we stipulated in the gym when you tried to mistreat my bag."

"Yes, but ..."

"If I'm not your coach, you can't help me with the bets."

“But why? I already told you that I am a disaster, is that, really. I don't want you to owe me a favor, I don't care about those things ...

"Then there is no deal." His lips open and close too tightly. His brow frowns intensely before releasing a frustrated growl towards my direction. Then he turns and starts to get away from me. Flapping with exaggerated hands before running behind him. My fingers wrap his wrist in an attack of hysteria, he stops quite tense, as if the single act of my touch will cause him an accumulation of emotions that I would not know how to control. I notice the process of dilating his veins under my palm, I feel chills from the warmth of his skin. It is the first time I touch him, when I realize my actions, I withdraw the altered hand.

"Okay." I close my eyes when a little shriek escapes through my nerves. He says nothing, he simply advances as if he had said nothing. Leaving me practically at the mercy of all the curious looks that had been spectators of our scene. Suddenly looking down to the ground with my cheeks flushed with shame, not knowing if my modesty was due to my overexposure or the simple fact of having become manipulated.

A blow to the face is what I need to get back in me. With my head in the clouds while thinking about meaningless things with my eyes glued to the ground. Apart from the fact that Lucy had just hit me practically in the face with a rolled towel, I decide to let it be and concentrate on the task of collecting the empty bottles in a little pile.Another day that passed in this prison, I sighed reluctantly. It is true that Lucy's presence is pleasant to me (as long as it does not hit me with strange things), that the days make me more pleasant, but that does not take away the fact that I crave the freedom I know I deserve.

This morning, as I passed the calendar hanging on the wall of the cafeteria, I realized that today was the day I had been in this place for a month. As if being exact, there were three weeks left for my birthday, that little memory caused me to sigh again.

Glancing over the towel cart, I see Lucy wipe her forehead with her sleeve.

"You shouldn't work so hard, you're pregnant. The first weeks are the most important." I knew willingly that my scolding was not going to take it well for the simple reason that I was very stubborn. Confirm my suspicions when, in an act of total immaturity, he stuck my tongue out. I gave him a tired grimace before throwing the last batch of bottles in the trash. "It's a serious matter. My aunt almost lost my cousin ..."

"What luck." She whispers, under her breath and with her chin inward to avoid being heard, but my great auditory sense catches her immediately.

"What do you say?"

Throwing the towels badly, he gives me a foul look.

"What you hear. I didn't want it and if it dies then goodbye very good."

"You're talking about a life, Lucy." I reprimand, with accusation glistening by my tone of voice. "Your son." I whisper, this time ensuring that no one will listen to us. Looking at all the places where there could be people to verify that they were not following our conversation.

"I don't want it." He spat quickly before he rolled up a towel and threw it into the cart angrily. "It's my last word."

"But..."

"Hey, Blair! I thank you for helping me in the Shanghai affair but that doesn't give you the right to get into my life like that, except in such an intimate affair. You don't know ..." stop talking suddenly. His eyebrow frown almost instantly when he sees something behind me. Swallow sharply, your lower lip begins to shake leaving me stunned. When I decide to turn around, I meet Thirteen, he raises his eyebrow at Lucy, but she can't stand it and leaves the gym dragging the cart too quickly. He stays a couple of seconds analyzing in the direction that Lucy has left, frowns as I look at her profile. He seems worried but confusion also plays an important role in his gaze.

Then, lead your eyes to my direction.

“Come on?” “It's not a question, it's an order because it advances without waiting for an answer from me. I close my eyes and sigh overwhelmed. The gym exit was so tempting. I do a little breathing exercise to relax before turning and following. Actually, I can't understand the insistence he has to help me with my duck sporting ability. He stands in front of a punching bag and then bends down to deposit a bottle at the foot of the structure, his wonderful flexing muscles are visible. I silently follow his movements until he looks at me again, quickly looked away from his body completely ashamed. Traveling across the ground I look at him again to find him lost at the exit. You must still be thinking about Lucy. When he returns to his position he grabs the bag with both hands. "He has three attack zones, the blue one for the head, the red one for the body and the yellow one for the lower extremities. As you can deduce the other day you were trying to hit the area yellow."

"I already told you that I am a disaster, and I do not understand why you are still ..."

"Put your fists up." He growls, he's annoyed at my little collaboration, I can tell by the pressure of his jaw. I roll my eyes and abide by his order, I hold them in his direction but soon I was repressed. "Taller woman, you don't want to let them beat you."

Under the arms of blow.

"I have short arms, I don't give more of myself." I answer, wrinkling my nose as I move my arms dramatically in random directions. It is not my fault that I was born with so little spirit of sport. He suddenly stopped any action when I hear how a small laugh escapes his lips, one that immediately suppresses. Get serious again and pat the bag to divert my attention, but I can't help but see the way in which his lips have silenced that involuntary emotion. Actually, it seemed as if he didn't want me to know that my little self-criticism had seemed funny. I frown, it must be quite strenuous to keep your face so rigid all day.

"You have to shrink your body to reduce the exposed areas, in your case it will be easy you are a dwarf."

I let out an indignant scream.

"Excuse me, sir, I am taller than you." I am not short, my height falls within the middle. "I answer, pride transpires through all the pores of my skin.

"Yes, whatever you say. Now, give it." I feel a strange sense of comfort from the hint of fun in his voice, adding the fact that his words despite sounding uncompromising his expression said the opposite. I find myself imitating his act, clenching his lips to prevent the smile that threatened to leave, did. I hit the red zone to start at once with this impromptu training, suddenly I hear a pout of disapproval. "It doesn't happen that way."

"Then stop complaining and show me how it's done." I growl and, as I pat the sack through the cloud of anger that dominates all reason. Thirteen, raise an eyebrow surprised by my change in attitude. His pupils shine with something that is not described, it seems joyful but I am not sure. The next thing I do not see coming, it is placed behind me sticking his chest against my back, his hands move towards mine to lift them, I attend the first blow. It controls the movement of my body so naturally that I feel like a puppet. With each blow, a small push is accompanied, the redness of his legs brushes the back of my knees. I stop an involuntary gasp when his pelvis crashes into my butt in an abrupt motion. I feel my cheeks burn, my mouth is open as I remove myself to separate myself from it. To my surprise he releases me right away. I feel, as the heat of his body leaves mine when he stands next to me while he frowns confused. It is only after realizing my shameful little state when he realizes the reason why discomfort has been represented on my face so furiously.

His ladino smile doesn't help me at all.

"What happened, beautiful? Have you been excited?"

My cheeks burn under my palms when I cover my dead face with shame.

“Have you done it on purpose, right?” I growl, the words don't come out too clear from my coat of hands but I don't care. I know you heard me because a tongue click sounds.

“The what?” His little question, not at all innocent, causes me to run away from my shelter and uncover my face.

"That." I get the voice fast and stained with too much sharpness.

"And what is that?"

I open my mouth indignantly when I notice his intentions, he wants me to say it, he wants to see how I describe that so rough behavior. Thirteen, just resting an arm in the bag to get close to my face, he is mocking me, but unlike the other times he has had the audacity to mess with me, he had never done it that way, if he did not know his explosive character would even swear he's flirting with me. I discard that possibility with too much effusiveness, you are simply practicing your favorite activity, making fun of me. Nothing else.

"Always acting with such correction, gongjunim. Aren't you tired of always acting? I know you have loved what I have done to your little round butt. I bet you have loved the shape of my thrusts."

"Do not..."

"No, what." Take advantage of my evasion to bring his mouth to my ear.

"Don't do that." I whisper, fleeing from its heat moving to the other end of the bag. I put my back on the latex and crossed my arms. I am aware that I have betrayed myself with my cowardly behavior, but I have really been forced to act so impulsively because of the uncomfortable way in which my body began to succumb to its menthol breath. I do not know what happens to me when it is close but I begin to suffer ups and downs of chills that I fail to understand its purpose. I know you're behind me, I see your body reflected in the mirror in front. He rests his arm leaving his bulging bicep in sight, but he looked away almost out of necessity.

"Hello, Blair." A terribly familiar voice sneaks in between us. I look again at the mirror to find the image of Brain at the gym door. Moving away from that suffocating atmosphere, I walk slowly towards my friend knowing that I had a look nailed to my neck. I extend my arms and give him a friendly hug in the form of a greeting. As I separate, I see Brain's lovely smile. A blow to my back causes me to form a fist in Brain's jacket. I look sideways at the mirror beside me, Thirteen strikes the sack with such emphasis that the poor object swings enthusiastically. It's amazing how easy it is to hit, it seems as if he really knows what he is doing. Each blow is directed with such precision that if it is not because Brain was here, I would sit down and admire his skill. His voice brings me back. "Mrs. Smith has left the hospital, tomorrow you can return to your old task."

"Okay." I accept, I return her smile kindly. I close my eyes when another blow breaks into the room. Brain sweeps Thirteen's body with contempt for the scandal he was forming. His perfume interferes with my nostrils as a welcome intruder, a smell of lime rather than relaxing that leads me to approach him.

“Was I bothering you?” Brain's soft tone creeps into my heart like a pleasant storm. Another blow much more strenuous than the previous ones causes my shoulders to strike a start. The squeaky sound of the chain roars furiously with each punch, Brain narrows his eyes when in a quick warning, he can see how Thirteen does not take his eyes off his, indirectly provoking him with strong latex attacks.

"No." I am forced to intervene, I feel chills of regret all over my body, I wasn't sure if I told him about my small deal with Thirteen. "I'm fine, go to work."

"Safe?"

"Yes, go."

After a few long pleas for him to do his duty, the blows stop as if it were a miracle. Turning on my own heels, I find myself crossed my arms towards his person. Thirteen successfully ignores me with the cheap excuse of wiping the drops of sweat, which he had so arduously built along his brow for extreme exercise. Putting all my self-control into practice so as not to look at her skin, transparent through the fabric, I frown.

“What?” He growls, despite finding himself without an apex of breath he keeps his mouth shut.

"What was that?"

"It's called boxing, beautiful." Ironizes, through an unbearable tone.

I put my eye white.

"You're so bipolar ..." I sigh, tired of always having to carry the rational part in our pointless conversations. Thirteen is an effusive smile but so false that I drown in my own self-control. Glue a light (more than intentional) push to the bag, the latex hits my stomach causing me to bend at the sensation. I sigh, I jerk him away. "And now why do you behave like a little boy? Just ten minutes ago you were crazy about your sister's behavior ...”

Shit.

Oh holy shit.

“What the hell did you just say?” I had never seen him whisper so nervous, letting himself be carried away by a massive attack, hit the bag so hard it almost slipped off the roof. The chain squeaks elated by the attack, I can not help but shrink in my own fear, I deeply analyze his change in attitude because at one moment he stops breathing through his mouth and sinks his head into the sack, covering all possibility of seeing what it was Your expression now. I am pleasantly surprised when an affected whisper comes out through the tiny hollow of his arms. "Did he tell you, Lucy?"

"No, I heard it ..."

Take off the face of the sticky material, give me a confused look. From the pressure of his lips I can deduce that he is pressing his tongue against the palate, he was nervous, surprised and a little upset. I never thought that all those emotions could fit in one glance, every day I discovered a new facet of his personality.

"You can't tell anyone."

“Why?” I asked, lost in the depth of his confused eyes.

Resting his back in the sack as the only support, sliding a hand down his face to clean the frustration.

"Because it is better here not to have people you love, Blair."

NEXT

[ofthemuses]

Halsey’s MANIC (2020) Sentence Meme

Ashley

“I can't remember why the decision wasn't mine.”

“Took my heart and sold it out.”

“I only wanna die someday.”

“When I burst into flames I'll leave you the dust, my love.”

“I told you I'd spill my guts.”

“Seems like now it's impossible to work this out.”

“Is it really that strange if I always wanna change?“

“if only the time and space between us wasn't lonely.”

“I think I'm making a mistake.”

“But if I decide to break, who will fill the empty space?“

“I told you I'd ride this out.”

Clementine

“And in my world, the people on the street don't know my name.”

“Would you make out with me underneath the shelter of the balcony?“

“'Cause I don't need anyone.”

“I just need everyone and then some.”

“The blush in your cheeks says that you bleed like me.”

“And still with one eye open, well, all I see is you.”

Graveyard

“It's crazy when the thing you love the most is the detriment.”

“I keep digging myself down deeper.”

“I won't stop till I get where you are.”

“They say I may be making a mistake.”

“I know when you godown all your darkest roads, I woulda followed all the way to the graveyard.”

“I keep running when both my feet hurt.”

“Oh, it's funny how the warning signs can feel like they're butterflies.”

You Should Be Sad

“I gotta get it off my chest.”

“Got no anger, got no malice. Just a little bit of regret.”

“you're not half the man you think that you are.”

“you can't fill the hole inside of you with money, drugs and cars.”

“I'm so glad I never ever had a baby with you.”

“you can't love nothing unless there's something in it for you.”

“I feel so sorry.”

“I feel so sad.”

“I tried to help you. It just made you mad.”

“And I had no warning about who you are.”

“Won't see your alligator tears. 'Cause, no, I've had enough of them.”

“I really meant well from the start.”

“You should be sad.”

Forever ... (is a long time)

“I spent a long time substituting honest with sarcastic.”

“I curse my tongue for being mean.”

“'Cause I could never hold a perfect thing and not demolish it.”

“What am I thinking? What does this mean?“

“How could somebody ever love me?”

“Talk to your man, tell him he's got bad news coming.”

Dominic's Interlude

“Your eyes are fragile and timeless.”

“There's power in the words you whisper.”

“Your eyes are drawn to the worthless.”

“You should know there's power in the words you're thinking.”

“You can take a chance, come take my hand.”

I HATE EVERYBODY

“I'm my own biggest enemy.”

“Yeah, all my empathy's a disaster.”

“My friends are getting bored of me.”

“I don't know what they all think of me.”

“But in reality, I don't even remember anything but thinking you're the one.”

“And really I could fall in love with anybody who don't want me.”

“I know I've got a tendency to exaggerate what I'm seeing.”

“I know that it's unfair on me to make a memory out of a feeling.”

“If I could make you love me, maybe you could make me love me.”

3am

“Darling, I just left the bar.”

“Think I took it way too far.”

“My insecurities are hurting me.”

“Someone, please come and flirt with me.”

“I really need a mirror that'll come along and tell me that I'm fine.”

“Come on and make me feel alright again.”

“I know it's complicated 'cause everyone that I've dated says they hate it 'cause they don't know what to do with me.”

“Know that my identity's always gettin' the best of me.”

“I'm the worst of my enemies and I don't really know what to do with me.”

“And will you please pick up the fucking phone?”

Without Me

“Found you when your heart was broke.”

“Took it so far to keep you close.”

“I was afraid to leave you on your own.”

“I said I'd catch you if you fall.”

“And if they laugh, then fuck 'em all.”

“Just so you could take advantage of me.”

“You know I'm the one who put you up there.”

“Just running from the demons in your mind.”

“I didn't notice 'cause my love was blind.”

“Tell me, how's it feel sittin' up there?“

“You don't have to say just what you did. I already know.”

Finally // Beautiful Stranger

“Your eyes, so crystal green.”

“And I wonder if you'd like to meet.”

“Your voice is velvet through a telephone.”

“I wonder if you'd take it slow.”

“I've never seen a mouth that I would kill to kiss and I'm terrified, but I can't resist.”

“I know that beautiful strangers only come along to do me wrong.”

“But I think it's finally safe for me to fall.”

“I've never recognized a purer face.”

“You stopped me in my tracks and put me right in my place.”

“Used to think that loving meant a painful chase but you're right here now and I think you'll stay.”

Alanis' Interlude

“I could be a better man.”

“It doesn't matter to me.”

“And I have never felt the difference.”

“Bad news, think I'll probably die before I have you.”

“But I live for loving impolite.”

killing boys

“Told me pick my battles and be picking 'em wise.”

“So we'll sneak in the back and then we'll kick in the door.”

“Tell me have you ever keyed a Ferrari before?”

“And I'm not breaking, I won't take it.”

“And I won't ever feel this way again.”

“'Cause you don't need me anymore.”

“And all I want in return is revenge.”

“I don't need you anymore.”

SUGA's Interlude 

“I been trying all my life to separate the time in between the having it all and giving it up.”

“This wandering, with only blueness inside my head.”

“Self-loathing and pride live in my heart.”

“I was full of dreams, then I grew and made all of it come true.”

“keeping dreams as dreams would be better.”

“The dawn before sunrise is darker than anything.”

“But never forget the stars you hope for only appear in the dark.”

“I wonder what's in store if I don't love it anymore.”

“Is it even right? It's honestly different to the future I had hoped for.”

“It doesn't matter, now it's a matter of survival.”

“It may be different to what you were hoping for.”

“We are too young to be hesitating, just run head-on onto it.”

“So what you gonna do?“

More

“They told me once nothing grows when a house ain't a home.”

“Wanna scream but what's the use?“

“I just can't take it no more.”

“They told me it's useless.”

“There's no hope in store.”

“But somehow I just want you more.”

“Wonder will we ever meet?“

“'Cause I still believe it won't be like before.”

“And when you decide it's your time to arrive. I've loved you for all of my life.”

“And nothing could stop me from giving a try.”

“I've loved you for all of my life.”

Still Learning

“I should be living the dream.”

“I got a paranoia in me.”

“And you wouldn't believe everything that I've seen.”

“And no one around me knows who I am, what I'm on, who I've hurt and where they've gone.”

“I know that I've done some wrong but I'm trying to make it right.”

“Did the one I love do me wrong?”

“Give me up right now.”

“I know that I love you but I'm still learning to love myself.”

“ I go home and I got no self-esteem.”

“No man wants to really commit.”

“I try to be a man but sometimes if I breathe it's alright.”

“Some things don't change.”

929

“Well, who am I?”

“Can't remember half the time that I've been alive.”

"Don't meet your heroes, they're all fucking weirdos."

“Because nobody loves you, they just try to fuck you.”

"Oh my God, there's no way that's me"

“And I quit smoking, well recently I tried.”

"____ you gotta promise us that you won't die ‘cause we need you." 

“I lost the love of my life to an ivory powder.”

“But then I realise that I'm no higher power.”

“That I wasn't in love then and I'm still not now and I'm so happy I figured that out.”

“I've got a long way to go until self-preservation.”

“Think my moral compass is on a vacation.”

“And I can't believe I still feed my fucking temptation.”

“And I'm still looking for my salvation.”

[polar-stars]

🛑 Takara/Takayuki, ☠️ Hironori/Moe, 🎉 Keiko/Yasu (this sounds like a fun duo to me) :3

I hope you’ll like it and that I will do alright ovo;; (once I was home, I listened to a Calming Pokemon OST Compilation, hoping it would give me strength for you to like it)

For the first one, the idea is honestly by Kana ( @yourmoontothenightsky​ ) ahdhd I just couldn’t get it out of my head anymore, so kudos to her for that

Stop my muse from doing something reckless - Takara/Takayuki

“And?” Takayuki made an attempt on an unbothered voice, probably in hope to achieve the impression that he was completely sure on what the answer would be. But Takara did not fail to hear the hint of genuine curiosity in it.

She had currently taken a bite of the Xiaolongbao, a type of Chinese dumpling, he had brought her as the two were walking through the hallways of Totsuki. 

It tasted great. It was warm enough to heat her up a bit but not burn her tongue. The meat-filling was prepared well and also seasoned excellently. And mind you, when it came to meat Takara most certainly knew what she was talking about. 

However, she did not want to boost his ego all too soon and so she took a few more bites, putting up an extra critical act. She practically felt him getting all tense and impatient next to him. Internally she tried calculating how long it would take for him to spat something impolite. 

Finally right when he was about to open his mouth, she said. “It’s good, I guess.”

“Rea- I mean…Of course it is.” Takayuki retorted then, while crossing his arms. “You could have just fucking said it outright though, instead of that haughty performance!” 

Takara’s brows furrowed. “Excuse me?” Who was he of all people calling haughty, huh? Takayuki only huffed. “You heard me.” 

A “hmpf” escaped Takara. She’d show that angry rage-ball who truly was the Primadonna of the two. Wanna bet he’d take over an hour to praise her work, hardass tsundere he was? 

“Let’s get into one of the kitchens, I’ve got a pasta-dish to show you.” She therefore spoke challengingly. Takayuki took note of the competitive tone and was quick to respond. “PFAH, Fine by me. Though I hope you won’t feel sad when it fails to reach my leve-“ He suddenly was cut off as one of the students passing by, practically ran into him in their hectic. And being in such a hurry, the person had also already rushed past Takayuki when he was still trying to recollect himself. As he turned his head to the side to inspect who it was that crushed into him, all he saw was a bit of green hair flowing past him. 

Instantly, everything in Takayuki was triggered. 

He knew that shade of green. 

And he associated it with one particular, overly arrogant dickwad who was always looking for trouble. 

Just like he was often quick to talk, Takayuki was also quick to act. Sometimes too quick. Like in this particular situation for example, when his blood was boiling and his brain not working fast enough to satisfy it. 

He swirled around, reached out to grab the person behind him and raised a fist in the process. “YOU MOTHERFUCKING DOUCHEBAG!” 

Before his balled fist could fly however, Takara next to him was quick to get a hold of his shoulder and also said fist. Stopping his actions immediately. “You dumbass! What do you think you’re doing?!” She yelled. 

He shifted his attention to her, responding in equally loud manner. “I am about to punch a bitch!” “You’re about to punch Tori-senpai!” Takara corrected immediately, making Takayuki snap out of his rage as confusion spread on his face. 

He turned his head again and indeed, the one he faced was not the tall, male with his typical condescending smirk that jeered insults often beginning with “mid-” and ending with “-get”. No, the one he was facing was not even a male to begin with but a teenage girl, looking fairly irritated. 

After two more confused blinks, Takayuki finally let go of grabbing the upperclassman while also lowering his fist. 

“May I ask what that was about?” Tori raised an eyebrow, her voice cold. All Takayuki said in response was. “I….Sorry, I thought you were Eizan Shigeo.” This statement only seemed to make matters worse however, as Tori’s face visibly darkened and she spat. “You thought I was who?!” She sounded utterly disgusted. Not that Takayuki could blame her. 

“Again…sorry.” Takayuki muttered and looked to the side. Tori’s blue eyes narrowed for a second before she turned around and walked on, still having things to attend to. “Maybe you need to check out an ophthalmologist.” 

Takara couldn’t help but sigh, knowing that of course Takayuki could not just ignore that statement. She began shaking her head, as he roared. “Hey! Its not my fucking fault that you two share partly the same genes, aight?!”

Tori only turned her head. Her voice was pure frost. 

“Die.”

“THATS SOMETHING THAT THIS FUCKER ALSO SAYS ALL THE-!” 

Takara had enough and got a harsh hold of Takayuki’s shoulder again, pulling him away. 

Protect my muse - Moe/Hironori

(Honestly “Moe being in trouble” is still something I gotta practice writing, so thanks for the request actually :0 ! It will possibly be a bit clunky though)

Moe Saito was barely ever in trouble. 

She was close to quite a few dangerous and dreaded personas. No one in their right mind would actively try to land on the radar of Shigeo Eizan and all of his dangerous schemes, which is why there was barely anyone who would dare to harm one of the rare non-familar-related persons he actually truly cared for.  

Having invisible protection around her at pretty much every given time, Moe was therefore inexperienced how to behave in any sort of racy situations. 

Situations like the one she was in right now. 

“You’re so cute, Moe-Moe. Did anyone ever tell you?” A classmate had gotten a hold of her hands, while simultaneously attempting to pull her closer to him. Moe tried walking backwards, not liking his grip in any way. “A lot of people did.” She responded in her usual dry manner, but if one was to listen closely, one could hear the slight shiver in her voice. 

She looked around the empty classroom, a desperate attempt to spot any familiar face of Shigeo’s associates who usually were always so near. But hopeless. The only thing near to her now, was the wall behind her. The male who still held onto her hands had now given up trying to pull her towards him but rather supported her backwards-approach, in hope he could close the space between them once she had her back to the wall. 

“Can I call you just Moe? Can I?” He smiled, though Moe felt no warmth or friendliness coming from it. It was rather creepy. 

“That wouldn’t be very polite.” She retorted. 

“And such a pretty ribbon you got.” The male merely continued calmly. Moe’s insides were thrown in turmoil when she saw the hand reaching out for her most precious, dotted ribbon. “Can I look at it in detail?”

-

Hironori was just strolling through the school as he suddenly heard a few underclassman eagerly chat near an opened classroom in an otherwise empty hallway. 

“He’s really doing it, huh?” “He’s got guts indeed.” 

Hironori hid behind a wall, a little curious on what this was about. Did some dumbass on this school do something absolutely reckless again? Had Raijin been riding through the corridors on Shelby again?!

“Let’s see if he actually manages to get this done though. He said he wants to succeed through his ‘charms’, which he barely has being honest.” A girl argued. “I still think,… this entire thing is too crass for a truth-or-dare…” A softer voice spoke up. “…Shigeo-senpai will not blink an eye to destroy the entire life of whoever he believes of being at fault for it.”

Hironori leaned in a bit closer. With Shigeo’s name mentioned, suspicion had grown rapidly. Something was not right here. 

“But that’s exactly the idea!” Another voice spoke up. “He’ll snatch that ribbon-” Ribbon. “-and once he has it, we will smuggle it into Kawahara’s things  and once Shigeo-senpai-” Shigeo. “-will see his most precious baby girl-” Baby Girl. “-come crying to him without her most precious ribbon, that annoyance Kawahara will be gone over the night. And all it takes is Hima getting Saito Moe’s.” - Moe. 

“You disgusting cockroaches!” 

With the speed of a flash, Hironori stepped out from behind the wall, his voice being as sharp as a knife and his eyes having a dangerous fire in them. 

The group of middle schoolers flinched immediately and quite a few faces grew pale instantly. 

Utter contempt was shown in Hironori’s gaze as he looked at them. “You’re all through and through despicable and pathetic.”

He was quick to move into the direction of the classroom, just in time as he heard a familiar high-pitched voice wailing. “Don’t touch my ribbon! It was a gift!”

As he stepped into the room, he demanded. “Let go off her this instant.” 

The boy who had a crying and kicking Moe pinned to the wall, turned his head and froze instantly. 

Hironori only took a step further. His tone was cold but oh so full of warning danger. “Step away from her. Or I will decorate the room with your innards.”

This gruesome thought alone paired with such a threatening voice, sent shivers through the boy and he practically jumped away, raising his hands defensively. 

Hironori had to suppress not spitting him in the face. “Now piss off. And don’t you ever even think about stepping anywhere remotely near her ever again. Or I will find you and I will slice you worthlessness of a person into two halves.” 

That was enough for the boy and he ran out of the room immediately. 

Once the sounds of his hurried footsteps that most certainly feared for their lives vanished, Hironori turned his head to Moe, still shivering at the wall, her usually so unbothered and calm face full of tears.

“Moe-” He began, but then the much more shorter girl ran towards him, crashed into his legs making him stumble a bit backwards, pulled her arms around said legs and buried her crying face into them. 

“…Thank you, Nii-chan.” She sobbed, barely audible. 

He looked her for a few seconds, before he patted her head, careful to not distort her ribbon. 

“But of course.” 

For a hug filled with laughter - Yasu/Keiko

“There’s two major ways to interpret the beginning of World War I.” Keiko explained happily, while stuffing the smoked cheese Yasu had prepared into her mouth. “There’s positions who blame the entirety on Germany and Austria but there’s also people who say that all of them were dummy-dums for such a long time and that the situation was so overcooked that a war was basically inevitable. It just needed one event to finally let everything overbuilt and said event happened to be the shots in Sarajevo!”

“Ah..” Yasu responded while taking his notes. He had to write an essay on the war guilt for World War I tomorrow and had asked Keiko for help. 

He always liked Chieko’s help as well, but he had to admit that it was a nice change to be taught something without a few occasional eye-rolls and all-too-typical complains. 

“At the time, the entire guilt was put on Germany with the treaty of Versailles. Which did most definitely plague the young Republic in many ways!” Keiko continued. 

Yasu gave a slight nod. “I see….” He finished the last sentence he had been writing and looked up into Keiko’s radiating, teal-colored eyes. “Well, thank you a lot, Keiko-chan. This will all be very helpful.”

A jolly laughter emerged from his companion and out of the sudden Yasu had arms wrapping around him. “But of course, Ya-kun! It was a pleasure! I love it when people ask me stuff! It’s always a joy!” 

For a few seconds he sat still, a bit overwhelmed by the enthusiasm, while Keiko still giggled. 

Then he began lightly patting her back. 

[feynites]

Castlevania AU - Part Two

Yet more shenanigans with Young Tasallir. Tagging @lycheemilkart!

(Reminder to my followers on mobile to blacklist the tag ‘long post’ if you want to avoid having to scroll, since tumblr still eats ‘read mores’ on the original posts of people you follow if you’re using mobile/sidebar view.)

Tasallir’s combat instructor loathes and despises him.

 It is because Tasallir is not an exemplary student in this field, or so he believes at first. He does well enough at the beginning; learning his stances and holds, adjusting his bearing, following directions and copying patterns. These are easy things for him. His frame is narrow and scrawny, but the strength in his arms is fueled by his vampiric blood. Father has many tutors come for Tasallir, after taking him out of the nursery.

 Most of them are vampires. So, most come at night.

 But his combat instructor is a human. A gruff man, old and grey and worn in ways that make Tasallir uneasy. When he asks Nenae, at the end of the week, they tell him the man is ‘aged’. That his mortal lifespan is drawing into its closing chapters, and that even if no one kills him, he will soon enough die from the vagaries of time itself.

 To humans, unlike vampires and elves, time is like a plague.

 Nenae warns that it makes them more impatient, but Tasallir does not discover the depths of this until he combat training progresses, and he begins to falter.

 His instructor advances them into ‘sparring’. Trading blows. Tasallir is meant to deflect attacks, and also hit back. He is supposed to try and anticipate his opponent’s moves, read his body language, and respond accordingly. But he cannot do it. None of it seems comprehensible to him. No matter how his tutor attempts to explain, he cannot seem to perceive what he is supposed to perceive. He is not fast enough, and does not react in time.

 He is struck. His feet are swept out from underneath him. The silver-bright practice staff that his teacher holds stings when it hits him, and leaves angry, red welts sometimes, but the ‘lesson’ of pain does not make understanding any more clear.

 And his teacher grows annoyed.

 “Half vampire,” he growls one morning, dragging Tasallir up from the dirt by his collar. “Half vampire and half what? Rabbit?”

 The word makes Tasallir frown.

 Nenae has told him that this term, when used towards elves, is impolite. But his instructor is frequently impolite. He would not pass any of Tasallir’s etiquette lessons - a thought he consoles himself with, even as her nurses the sting of another failure.

 “You are a poor teacher,” he feels bold enough to say.

 The man rounds on him, and spits upon the ground.

 “And you’re a spoiled brat, and the most miserable excuse for a student I’ve ever seen,” he counters. Reaching out, he grabs one of Tasallir’s arms. The rough feel of his hand makes him flinch, grating like sandpaper against his nerves. Tasallir wrenches backwards, and uses sheer strength to break the human’s grip.

 “You see?” the man says, pointing at him with the training staff. “You have strength. But nothing else. You might look like a dancer, but when it comes to the art of the sword, the best you’ll ever be is a brute.”

 Tasallir balks in offense. He is twelve, now; has been out of the nursery for six years, and has learned a great deal about the world since then. About culture, and refinement, and science, and philosophy. Law and poetry and mathematics.

 “I am not a brute,” he insists. “I have never even hit you. Not once.”

 His instructor raises an eyebrow.

 “That is not something to take pride in, boy. You’re supposed to try and hit me,” the man says, shoving his practice sword back at him. Tasallir fumbles with it, a little, and earns a sigh. When he looks up, his teacher is running a wrinkled hand down his face.

 The man looks at him grimly.

 “How do you even hunt…?” he wonders.

 Tasallir blinks.

 “What?” he asks, baffled. He has no ‘hunting’ instructor. He has read about hunting, of course. It is something done for sustenance, and for sport. But Tasallir has only even left the castle once in his life. Where would he hunt?

 “Hunt, boy. You’re half vampire, aren’t you? You drink blood, don’t you?” his teacher presses.

 He blinks.

 “No,” Tasallir says. “I drink milk.”

 His instructor stares at him until he begins to feel uncomfortable under his gaze.

 “So this is why,” the human man finally mutters, at length. He sets his staff against the courtyard wall, and lets out a long breath. The light in the chamber is bright enough to simulate daylight. The tall windows look out towards a rocky beach, where gulls crack shells open against the cold, grey stone. Tasallir waits uncertainly, as his teacher stares out towards the sea.

 “Sooner or later, you will need blood. You’ll need to hunt. He wants you ready, but you’ve got all the killer instinct of a china teacup.

 Tasallir wavers.

 “What do you mean?” he asks.

 His teacher doesn’t answer, though. And after a while, he has him put back the practice sword, and leave his lessons early.

 It’s unexpected. But Tasallir won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He leaves, eagerly, and changes out of his training clothes. Putting on a high-collar tunic and some soft shoes, and settling into his room to read until dinner instead. Father gives him books, but so does Nenae; Tasallir usually understands Father’s books better, as they are generally about facts and science, chemistry and biology and architecture. Sometimes magic. But when he has free time, he likes to read his Nenae’s books, too, to try and understand.

 They are fiction. Made up stories, from the world beyond the castle. Legends and myths and things that are either untrue or unproven. Tasallir had asked them why such words would hold value. He is still not certain that he understood their explanation, but he had gleaned that this was something important to them. And when Tasallir speaks to his nenae about their books, they often smile, and seem lighter. Less far away from him, in the confines of their chambers.

 For that effect alone, he would read them.

 He passes his extra hour muddling over his nenae’s ‘fairy tales’, which bear little resemblance to what he actually knows of the Fair Folk, until supper comes. Then his evening lessons consume him, and he mostly puts the entire matter out of his mind. Other tutors have come and gone. Perhaps he can finally stop having ‘combat lessons’, now. He does not care for them and would not miss their absence, really.

 It seems his wish might be granted when he has no more such lessons for a few days. But then a week later, his instructor returns. Tasallir is woken abruptly by a rough hand on his shoulder, and a gruff face staring down at him.

 “Get up,” the man says.

 Tasallir checks the gilded clock in his room.

 “It is too early,” he says. He has a schedule.

 His instructor does not care, though. Merely barks at him like a dog, until finally Tasallir must pull himself out of bed, and dress. He puts on his practice clothes, feeling tired and cross over it. Interrupting his sleep is becoming more and more troublesome. His history teacher says it is because dhampyrs grow fast and tall and undergo many changes in their adolescence.

 By the time he reaches the practice courtyard, though, he is mostly awake. His hair is bound, if not as neatly as he would prefer, and he is dressed. He has not had breakfast yet, but that probably will not bother him for a few hours still.

 His footsteps waver as he arrives to find that his teacher is not waiting for him alone.

 There is a girl in the practice courtyard.

 She is elven. With no vampire in her, Tasallir thinks; she smells like Nenae. Warm. She’s a little younger than him, or perhaps just smaller; dressed in a pink nightgown, with muddy slippers, and ribbons in her dark hair. His instructor has her sitting on the ground, tied to one of the practice racks, and there are huge tear tracks on her cheeks.

 “What is this?” Tasallir asks, utterly thrown by this development. And not a little fascinated, too. He has never met another child his age before.

 His teacher gestures towards the girl.

 “Kill her,” he says.

 Tasallir balks.

 “What?!” he replies, aghast. Kill her? He does not even know her, why would he kill her?

 Raising his eyebrows, his instructor gestures towards the girl again.

 “Outside of this castle, her kind are a dime a dozen. Like rabbits; long-lived but quick to breed anyway. Others use them as chattel. Your father could buy a thousand more just like her without batting an eye; indeed, I’m sure he has, over the years. And plenty others besides. Her life is essentially worthless. Take it, and I will let you conclude our lessons.”

 Tasallir blinks, rapidly; astounded.

 His teacher spreads his arms.

 “I mean it,” the man says. “Kill this girl, and you will never have to deal with me again. I know you would like to be rid of these lessons. Now’s your chance, boy.”

 The girl starts crying harder. He can smell the salt of her tears from here. Her fear, too, is a sickly scent. Bizarrely interesting, but also repellent. Tasallir gapes in utter consternation, and cannot even begin to process these instructions.

 “I’m not going to kill her,” he says, as incredulous as he has ever felt.

 His teacher’s expression does several odd things.

 “No?” the man replies.

 After a moment, he pulls a sword down from one of the display racks.

 “Don’t know how?” he suggests. “I can demonstrate. And then we’ll get another for you to do.”

 Tasallir takes a step forward, alarmed.

 “No!” he insists. His heart speeds up. What is going on? Is the man insane? He must be. Father has hired him a lunatic for a tutor. It would not be the first time, but Tasallir has never seen it take so long to demonstrate itself before.

 This is worse than when one of his former science teachers attempted to get him to vivisect a mouse.

 “Tasallir,” his teacher says, sharply. His gaze is hard. “Think carefully. This girl is of no consequence. Now that she has been here, she will die, whether on your sword or your father’s fangs. There is nothing to be gained by mercy. The only benefit is to you, if you strike.”

 “I’m not going to murder someone!” Tasallir protests. “Do you realize what you are saying?”

 His teacher laughs. It sounds wrong.

 “Do you?!” the man counters. He turns away from the girl, and gestures at him with his sword. “You’re half-vampire, boy! A dhampyr! A damn blood-sucker! The rabbit that birthed you is little more than a pet to the greatest predator who has ever lived, and his blood runs through your veins. Your father kills more easily than he breathes, boy. That’s what a vampire is. Death incarnate.”

 Tasallir takes several hurried steps back, as his teacher rounds on him. The sword comes level with his throat.

 “But you,” he says. “You. How can a soft rabbit heart beat in that chest of yours? Where’s the wolf!?”

 His heart, whatever it might be called, beats swiftly as he is cornered. Real fear grips him, deeper than even the shock and confusion.

 “I don’t understand what you are saying,” he tells his teacher, for what feels like the thousandth time.

 It is the wrong thing to say. The man’s expression twists, and in a swift move, he smacks the flat of the sword against Tasallir’s face. The metal stings. The girl cries out in alarm, as if she thinks he has been stabbed; but it would take more than a basic sword to cut him, really. Especially in the hands of a human. His teacher hits him again. It hurts, even if he doesn’t bleed. He raises his hands.

 “Stop!” he protests.

 “Where is it?!” his maddened instructor presses. “Where is the wolf? Where are your fangs? Son of Ravasan!” He hits, again and again, until Tasallir is crying and shielding himself. Pressed into the corner while the sword whips through the air, and even the cutting edge scrapes him a few times. “Son of a rabbit! What a waste, what a waste!”

 “Stop it!” Tasallir cries, and finally reaches up, and grabs the sword with his hand.

 The metal bites and scratches at the skin of his palm, but his grip is strong enough to keep his teacher from yanking it back again. The man staggers away in disgust, and draws a knife from his belt.

 “If logic won’t work, let’s see what a little blood can do,” he says.

 Tasallir watches in horror as he walks towards the girl.

 He can’t really mean to…?

 Oh no.

 His blood goes cold, as his teacher moves to grab her. Tasallir shoots up to his feet, heart pounding, and for a moment all he can think to do is stop it. This is all wrong, this is madness, he can’t kill a person! That’s murder! Tasallir has read books of laws and tales of history, he knows his father is a vampire and that vampires kill, but that thought seems abstract and very far away from the reality of a little elven girl and the knife in his teacher’s hand.

 He reaches his own palm outwards, even though he is still several feet away.

 “Stop!” he commands.

 The word lashes out the way no weapon in his hands ever could. For a moment Tasallir almost thinks he can see it. Like a silvery noose that ties itself around his teacher’s limbs, and abruptly halts him. But only for a moment. When he blinks, the air is empty. And his instructor is standing stock still, immobile.

 Except for his eyes. His eyes have turned towards Tasallir; wide in shock.

 For several breaths, there is nothing but stunned silence all around. Then the captive girl lets out a shaky breath, fraught with tears and the fear still clinging to her.

 “Are you… are you doing that?” she asks.

 “Boy,” his teacher grits out, in a tone of voice that promises punishment.

 Tasallir moves quickly. Leaving him where he is, not at all sure what he did or how long it will work for, as he hastily unties the girl. He’s not expecting her to throw her arms around him. It is an unpleasant surprise, she is wet from tears and rumpled and muddied, and smells like sour sweat. Tasallir carefully pries her back off, trying not to grimace as she clutches his hand instead, but he pushes past the physical discomfort as she looks at him with wide eyes.

 She doesn’t say anything until Tasallir has hurried her out of the training courtyard, though. Then she starts crying again.

 “I don’t understand what’s going on,” she says. “What is this place? Do you know where my family is?”

 “This is Ravasan’s Castle,” Tasallir tells her. “Where did you come from?”

 The girl sniffles.

 “Montsimmard,” she says. “My mothers work for Lady Julianne. I was sleeping, in my bedroom with my sister, and I heard a noise. And then the next thing I knew there was that man, and I was here, and he wouldn’t talk to me. He put a cloth in my mouth to keep me quiet, until he took me to that room…”

 “Was anyone else with you?” Tasallir wonders. “Did he take your sister too?”

 “I don’t know,” the girl says. “I was alone when I woke up.”

 They run, Tasallir unconsciously leading them towards his room, before he hesitates. That is probably where his teacher will go to look for him. It is where most do, because it is where he is easily found. But if what that man said was true, then Father might want to kill the little girl, too. Tasallir would not be shocked by such a thing, little though he cares to think of it.

 He does not know what to do. The castle is no place for the girl. The feel of her hand in his is making him agitated, too, feeling cramped and trapped and itching at the back of his teeth. As he hesitates, though, the girl finally lets him go. She pauses to catch her breath.

 Elves are weak, Tasallir remembers. They cannot run as fast or hit as hard or do as many things. His Nenae cannot, and so, probably, neither can the girl.

 He hopes he will not have to pick her up and carry her.

 But he thinks he knows how to, at least. He has seen his father do it, of course. Hands beneath the knees and shoulders, walk steady, go silent. The thought reminds him of his Nenae, and Tasallir makes a decision.

 “This way,” he says, once the girls’ breathing is not so bad. He leads her quickly down a different corridor; veering away from his rooms and instead following the path the leads to his nenae’s. When he was younger, the path would never bring him to their door unless it was the end of the week. But then for years, he did not even attempt to approach his nenae’s chambers unscheduled. When he was ten, he finally tried again, and discovered that the safeguards that had once deterred him were no longer in place. Father no longer expected disobedience; so he had simply let them fall away without renewal.

 Tasallir had not known what to do with the information. He had stood outside of his nenae’s door for an hour, fearful that pressing forward might still make him unwelcome, somehow. That it would lead to the whole thing being discovered, and revoked. And so for the past few years, he has only used the knowledge sometimes; when he is frightened or lonely, when he wishes for the safety of the nursery again, he will go and sit outside his nenae’s door.

 It never opens, so that is not a fear. His nenae is still confined in their rooms.

 But this time, he can only hesitate for a moment before he knocks on the door.

 “Tasallir…?” his nenae calls. “What…?”

 He opens the door at their answer, relieved that it is swift - it would be too impolite to open it otherwise - and hurries himself and the girl inside.

 Nenae stares at them in shock. They look as though they have just stood up from their writing desk. Their hair is loose, and they are wearing a soft day robe, with orange flowers on it. There are dark circles under their eyes, and no powder on their face. Tasallir closes the door shut firmly behind them, and turns the lock.

 “What on earth is going on?” Nenae asks.

 “I am sorry for the intrusion,” he says, and bows politely to them. “I believe my combat instructor has gone insane. He kidnapped this girl and told me to kill her. I stopped him, somehow, and we ran away. I didn’t know where else to take her, Nenae. She’s an elf, like you.”

 The girl glances at him uncomfortably for a moment. She stares at his eyes, before she ducks her head, and seems to come back to her senses a little.

 “Je vous demande pardon, ser,” she says to Nenae, with appreciable manners. “I hate to intrude.”

 Nenae stares at them for a moment. Then they shake their head a little, and breathe in sharply. Lifting a hand, they push back a few strands of their hair, and swipe self-consciously at their cheeks.

 “No. No, of course, you did the right thing coming here,” they say, reaching over and resting a hand on the girl’s head. “Poor child. Tasallir, take her into the solar, straight away. Just give me one moment and then I will come and you can tell me everything, properly.”

 With a nod, Tasallir gestures the girl towards the correct doorway. She goes, only scent of her fear still giving evidence to the fact that she is not really calm yet. The solar is a nice room, though. It overlooks the same rocky beach as the training courtyard, but with a more picturesque view, and there are plants and soft chairs and a neatly organized game board that can be reconfigured to play a number of games. The girl sits down and Tasallir reaches into one of the drawers beneath the main soft, and pulls out a pair of slippers. Normally he wears them while he plays games - the room can get too hot for proper shoes - but it seems more imperative to offer them to the girl.

 Her slippers are muddy, and mud itches.

 She takes the offering, and does not seem to know what to do with it for a moment. Until her mind catches up to her, and she pulls off her grimy slippers. Tasallir gives her a waste basket to drop them in, while she slides on the new ones.

 “I don’t even know how I got so muddy,” she murmurs.

 “The training courtyard has dirt floors,” he says. “I never understood why. It just makes things messy. In hindsight, I probably should have noticed my teacher was insane earlier.”

 “Oh.”

 They sit in awkward silence. The girl stares at her hands, and sniffles, and then reaches up and tries to straighten the ribbons in her hair. Tasallir doesn’t know what to say. He’s relieved when Nenae returns; this time dressed in proper day clothes, with their hair tied back, and powder on their face. Usually, when Tasallir visits, they have a tray of sweets. Today they only have tea, which they settle down onto the serving table, before moving to brush a hand over Tasallir’s head.

 “Are you alright?” they ask him softly.

 He looks up at them, and nods. One of their fingers brushes across his cheek.

 “He hit you?” they ask, in the same low, careful tone of voice.

 Oh. Tasallir had nearly forgotten that, in the rush of everything. He doesn’t like to think of it right now, either, he finds. After a moment, he shrugs awkwardly. Nenae’s expression shifts. They pass him a cup of tea and a cool cloth, and quietly tell him to just rest, before they turn their attention towards the girl. As Tasallir breathes out in relief and sips his tea, Nenae settles onto the seat next to their unexpected guest. They ask her several low, soft questions, too. Most of which the girl either nods to or shakes her head at. A few merit answers out loud.

 “What is your name, sweetheart?” they ask.

 “Serahlin,” the girl says.

 “What a lovely name,” Nenae commends. They give her some tea, too, and then gently fix her hair ribbons for her. “I almost named Tasallir ‘Seravir’, which is very close to that. Your mothers must have impeccable taste.”

 “They do,” Serahlin says, a little more steadily. “Memae and Mamae are the most respectable elves in Lady Julianne’s employ. They are always faultless.”

 “I suspected as much,” Nenae tells her. “It would take such people to raise a child so brave and well-mannered, especially under the circumstances. I’m certain that they will be proud to hear you handled a terrible situation so well.”

 “They’ll be worried,” Serahlin says.

 Nenae rubs her shoulder.

 “They’ll be beside themselves, that’s true. But we’ll get you back. I will even see to it that you are all given a gift, for the trouble.”

 Tasallir finds himself reassured. Serahlin also seems to be, as she tries to keep up the polite conversation for a while; before her distress wins out, again. Then he watches as she crumples into tears. Nenae shushes her gently, and pulls her into their lap. They rock her, as they used to do for Tasallir when he was much smaller. Humming and soothing until Serahlin’s elven body seems to just… give out, in exhaustion.

 He watches in consternation as the little girl falls unconscious.

 “Is she alright?” he checks. He can hear her breathing, and her heart beating.

 “Yes, just utterly drained. Poor thing,” Nenae clucks. They lay Serahlin out so that she can lie down on the seat, and then move back over to sit next to Tasallir instead.

 “Darling, what did you do, precisely, to stop your teacher?” they ask him.

 Tasallir considers.

 “I said ‘stop’,” he recounts. “And I held out my hand. And then… something happened. I think I saw ropes? But not real ones. Maybe they were just in my mind. They seemed to grab him, and after that, it was like he couldn’t move anything except for his eyes.”

 Nenae takes in a long breath and lets it out again. They brush some more of his hair back. In their lap, one of their hands is clenched into a fist. It trembles, slightly.

 “May I hug you, Tasallir?” they ask.

 Ordinarily, after having Serahlin grab him so much, he thinks he would say no. But watching her be cradled and cuddled by his nenae had left him feeling strangely. Almost envious, he thinks. So after a moment, he nods in agreement. And then he closes his eyes, as his nenae sweeps their arms around him and crushes him to their chest. The sensation is nearly overwhelming, but he savours it anyway. Surrounded by their scent, and the feel of them holding him. They bury a nose in his hair and breathe in deeply, before pressing several kisses to his crown.

 “My baby,” they say. “How dare. How dare you, Ravasan…”

  “Nenae?” Tasallir asks, tentatively.

 They lean back after a moment, and frame his face with their hands. Their fingers brush over the reddened marks on him, soothingly; though the marks do not hurt anymore, and have not for a while. They stopped stinging while he and Serahlin were still running.

 “Don’t worry,” they say. They have an odd expression on their face. “Nenae will fix it. Your friend will be alright, and you won’t ever see that ‘teacher’ again.”

 Tasallir thinks he should feel reassured. But for some reason, he finds himself wary instead.

 “How?” he wonders.

 “How?” Nenae asks, though they do not actually seem offended. They press a finger to his nose, before they finally sit back and give him his space again. “How indeed. There is no authority greater than your father’s, and there are some things he wants from me that he cannot take by force. Not without ruining them forever after. So, this time, your father will do as I tell him to. Because it will cost him nothing and gain something.”

 Tasallir sips some more of his tea.

 “What will you give him?” he wonders.

 Nenae shakes their head.

 “Nothing you have to worry about,” they say.

 “But I will worry about it,” Tasallir refutes. He is almost surprised at himself. Nenae frowns a little, and he stares down at his teacup. “Forgive me…”

 “No, no. I know you worry, darling,” they say, patting the table next to his hand. “It’s nothing. Just a little blood. It won’t even hurt me.”

 He stares at his nenae; at the pallor that has consistently overtaken their complexion. The dark circles covered by powder. The faint hollowness to their features, that seems to have grown more and more noticeable. Bit by bit, over the past few years. He knows it is rude, but he stares, too, at their neck. He never sees the bite mark, though. They always cover it up. He only knows it is there because once - just once, before he left the nursery - he saw his father come, and bite Nenae there.

 He smelled the blood, and cried.

 “I’m sorry,” he offers. “I made trouble for you…”

 “Nonsense,” Nenae says.

 Tasallir swallows, and thinks of what his teacher had been telling him, when he was trying to get him to kill Serahlin. About things costing nothing, and gaining something. But that is not how balance works. That is not the order of things. Even if one does not pay a cost themselves, energy must always be transferred.

 Does his father think in such terms?

 But surely Father has read all the same books that Tasallir has? Ethics and philosophy as well as science and physics and everything else. His history teacher once told him that there was not a single book in the world that Father had not read.

 So maybe it is Tasallir who truly does not understand the nature of this bartering, in lives and blood.

 “Nenae…” he asks, tentatively.

 They look towards him patiently.

 “Am I going to have to drink blood, one day?” he wonders.

 His nenae pauses. Their gaze turns down. Slowly, and with deliberate care, they unclench the hand in their lap. Then they smooth it over their lap, and onto the upholstery beside him.

 “If a vampire does not drink blood, then they will die. The same way that if I do not drink water, I will day,” they say. “You, Tasallir, will be able to survive on either. But. Blood will give you power, and it is power that is addicting. Once you begin to drink blood, Tasallir, you will want to keep doing it. The more you do it, the harder it will be to stop. So… I would rather you did not do such a thing, unless needs must.”

 Tasallir nods in understanding. He feels a rush of relief.

 “I will not have to?” he checks, just in case.

 Nenae smiles at him. The last of the tension seems to ease from their posture.

 “You will not have to,” they promise.

 Tasallir stays another hour, then. They finish having tea. Serahlin does not wake up, but Nenae tell him to leave her with them. When his usual breakfast time comes, he leaves. He stays away from the training courtyards, but his instructor is nowhere to be see. Tasallir manages to pass the rest of the day in relative peace; he goes to to his evening lessons, when his vampiric tutors awaken. He tries to focus on his studies, though it is harder than usual to curtail his thoughts.

 When he is finally free to have his own time again, he heads back to his nenae’s rooms.

 The way is warded, once more.

 Tasallir feels mixed feelings, and even apprehension when his steps - rather than rerouting him back towards his own room - instead bring him to the stark double-doors of his father’s study. He hesitates before them, trying to swallow down his trepidation, but knowing he must be expected.

 It is rude to keep people waiting.

 With his heart hammering, he reaches up, and pulls the door to the left open. It is heavy and solid in his grasp. Father’s study is massive, filled with the sounds of clicking machines and whirling devices. Bookshelves tower between wrought iron windows. A map of the world is etched into the floor, and a faint, acrid scent clings to the air. His father’s large, wingback chair is situated next to the largest window in the room.

 Tasallir can see his arm, as he sits in it.

 The door to the study shuts behind him. His father stands up.

 “Tasallir,” he beckons.

 Dutifully, he moves forward. The summons to follow is obvious, as his father heads through one of the side doors of the study, Head down, Tasallir trails after him. They head through one of the workshops, and then down an unfamiliar flight of stairs. Though the castle still has so many, even despite Tasallir spending all of his life in it. He watches the light recede behind them, while his father glides effortlessly downwards, until they are in a cell.

 His combat instructor is bound in the middle of it.

 Tasallir startles again. The man is covered in welts. His eyepatch is gone, and his clothes have been torn in some places, but what seems to be the weight of several heavy blows. Blood trickles sluggishly down into his collar. It looks as though someone has beaten him many times over with some kind of belt or whip.

 It is an unpleasant sight, and Tasallir does not want to see it.

 “What is going on?” he asks.

 His father comes to a halt in the nearest corner of the room.

 “Your nenae informed me your instructor was unsuitable,” Father tells him. “They have reprimanded him. I now leave it to you to decide what to do with him.”

 Tasallir shifts uncomfortably in place.

 “What do you mean?” he asks.

 His father’s gaze does not seem to rest on either himself or his combat instructor.

 “I mean what I say. What would you have done with him?”

 “I…” Tasallir’s gaze skitters away from the wounded man before him. The scent of blood makes him feel nauseous. “I don’t know.”

 A long silence descends. Father seems ambivalent. When he ventures a look back towards his instructor, the man only returns his stare with disgust. Disgust and disappointment, so apparent that even Tasallir cannot mistake them.

 “Where’s Serahlin?” he asks his father.

 “What?”

 “The elven child.”

 “Oh. The girl has been taken back to her home,” his father says. “Memories erased. Compensation provided.”

 “Truly?” Tasallir finds himself asking.

 Father looks at him, at that. As if surprised by the question.

 “When have you known me to lie?” he asks.

 “Never,” Tasallir supposes. “But I am learning new things every day.”

 He would never openly rebel against his father. His will is absolute; he is the oldest vampire in existence, and quite possibly the most powerful being in the world. Next to that, Tasallir and Nenae are only dust. But for some reason, today, he finds himself thinking of his mother’s gods. Of the way defiance tastes at the back of his tongue, like the crack of power flying forth at a single command. The chaos of these situations grates against him, like a hand pressed to tightly to his skin.

 He wants to put it right.

 Father looks away from him after a moment.

 “Decide,” he commands.

 Tasallir closes his eyes, before turning on his heel to walk back out of the room.

 “Send him away, then,” he decides. “No more combat classes.”

 His father does not object. So Tasallir walks out of the dungeon, and back through the work room. He is at the door to the study, before he hears his father’s voice again.

 “Tasallir.”

 He stops.

 “You must learn to fight.”

 A sigh escapes him.

 “A new instructor will be sent for. Do not trouble your nenae with this information.”

 When that seems to be all, Tasallir finally opens the door to the story, and hurries back out again. Waiting until he is in the hallway to slump against one of the walls, and retch over the stress and the lingering image of his instructor’s battered form.

  ~

   Tasallir is eighteen when his nenae dies.

 If he were a more sentimental person, he thinks he might claim that he knew the moment it happened. But the truth is, he does not. He only knows the matter after - knows when the castle shakes, knows when Ravasan’s fury and pain begin to resound through the firmament of his construct, and his cry of anguish resonates in such unfamiliar tones that Tasallir would not even recognize his voice, save for the fact that no other being could impact the castle so entirely.

 His blood, rarely warm, turns to ice in his veins.

 He can think of only one thing that even could merit such a cry.

 His nenae has been gone for nearly a year, by then.

 They left. A moment of opportunity, Tasallir thinks. Ravasan had, for the first time in memory, neglected the eluvian room. The sounds of a mirror activating were not unfamiliar, resonating through the other reflective surfaces of the castle, but the panic that ensued was. The castle had cycled through a hundred different locations, since then. Scouts were sent out. Tasallir was locked in his quarters; sealed away, at first, and then dragged out by contrast. Dangled like bait, as he was escorted from the castle for the first time since… the first time, in fact.

 We must find your nenae. It is not safe for them. They are in danger, Tasallir. We must bring them back…

 He had not known if he believed his father’s words, then. Wavering in uncertainty, lost in the knowledge that Nenae had left of their own will. Just as they had tried to do before. They had left…

 …They had left without him, in the end.

 In Kirkwall, Tasallir found something. Standing in a dingy tavern, trying not to touch the wealth of filthy surfaces; even with his gloves on, he felt over-exposed and surrounded by chaotic mess. The scouts were out searching the less visible parts of the city. Tasallir’s job was to be, by contrast, very visible. The bright lure to draw his nenae out. As he stood in the tavern, wishing to be elsewhere, some patrons had passed close. Making inappropriate comments, asking pithy questions. Reeking of ale and spit and even more unpleasant things.

 Someone passed into him from behind.

 Tasallir froze.

 For the briefest moment, he caught a familiar scent. In the corner of his eye, there was a flash of bright red hair. The feel of fingers brushing, just briefly, against his arm.

 Then it was gone. And by the time Tasallir had decided whether or not to turn around, whether or not to really look for someone who did not wish to be found, there was no sign of anything. The moment brief enough that it could have been a dream.

 He found the note in his pocket hours later. When he was alone in his room, and finally dared to look.

 My dearest Tasallir,

 I am so sorry. You will never know how sorry I truly am, my son, that I could not take you with me. That I left you behind. I can offer you no excuses. I had but one chance to go, and no time to find you. In a moment, I took it. In the next, I nearly ran back. But as you read this, you must know, of course, that I did not. I did not go back for you.

 And I cannot. That castle is a tomb, and I cannot let myself be sealed away. I cannot endure it any longer. The more freedom I taste the more I know that I would rather die out here than live another minute in that gilded cage.

 I do not know if you will understand that. You have never known freedom, so you do not understand the cost of its absence. It is my greatest regret that I could not bring you with me. That I cannot show you the world as I see it. But I know he has you searching for me. Dearest one, I do not know what my words will mean to you. If you are angry at me. If you are confused. If you are lonely and afraid. They may mean nothing now, after this abandonment, but I hope you will still heed me. If only a little.

 You must not stay in that castle. You must not remain with that dead man. The world can be a frightening and dangerous place, Tasallir, full of sorrow and treachery. But it is also full of so many wonders. Ravasan knows many things, but he understands less than enough to fill a thimble. There are wonders out here that you will never recognize until you are free. Win your freedom, my son. When you see the door open, seize your chance, and barrel through.

 If you can forgive me, come and find me again. My life is a string of regrets, but you are not one of them.

 All my love,

 Nenae.

 Tasallir had read and re-read the note. Until finally he had folded it neatly away, and hit it in a pocket on the inside of his boot.

 He was not angry. He could not even fathom being angry, and he had no reason to feel frightened. Loneliness… Tasallir could not say either way, he supposed. There was a gnawing ache in him, and like a missed step in the dark, the end of the week felt strained and strange without his nenae’s voice to steady him. But there was so much upheaval, how could he know if he felt loneliness, when his father’s minions dragged him through every major thoroughfare in Thedas, leaving him struggling through crowds and trying to navigate evening bridges, stranded in market squares with screaming children and aggressive vendors?

 Did he want Nenae to be found?

 …That didn’t matter. What mattered was that Nenae did not want to be found. So, Tasallir kept the letter in his boot.

 As the castle quaked, and his heart sank, he felt as though he had made the gravest mistake of his life.

 Father called a war council.

 The engines of the castle churned. Tasallir was summoned, but then, so, it seemed, was every other creature of the night. The castle was situated high atop a foggy hillside. The doors were flung wide open for seven nights, as vampires from across Thedas poured in; solitary figures, and covens, ancient beings and freshly-turned degenerates. To say that Tasallir had any advantage over the rest would have been folly. His father put out the summons, and screamed wrath into the various portals and machines of the castle; and when the fury would die down in him, he would retreat to his study, and seal the doors.

 Not once did he call for Tasallir in particular. Not even to recriminate him. It was days before Tasallir even learned what had happened.

 In Kirkwall.

 The Knight Commander burned his nenae at the stake. Maleficarum, they were branded. A wicked elven mage.

 Tasallir maintained his composure at the news until he was alone. Then he broke down. Falling to his knees, as he shook, and shook, and wondered where that anguished sound was coming from. Until he realized his throat was aching from the strength of his own cries.

 Like father like son, perhaps. But Tasallir’s fit lingered only in the unsteadiness of his limbs, and the way his mind could not focus on a single thought of fire, or the red of Nenae’s hair.

 Ravasan’s was far more enduring.

 On the seventh night, the doors slam shut. The war council is assembled. Tasallir takes not of the crowd. Not only vampires, in the end, but some others, too. Mages. Artisans of the dead from Nevarra; forgers of night-terror golems from Orzammar. Magister lich lords, abominations, and more. Ravasan’s war council is the most crowded that Tasallir has ever seen the castle be. It suddenly strikes him that the spaces around him were, perhaps, even meant for crowds these size at some point. The cavernous chambers feel, for the first time in his recollection, necessary to comfortably accommodate the crowds in the castle.

 The chatter of the masses goes silent, as Ravasan glides out into the meeting chamber.

 “Children of the Night,” he greets. “The time has come. A thousand years ago, I stood before a council of you. Some of you the same faces, even then. And I disbanded the armies of dusk, in the name of a prosperous future.”

 Ravasan seemed massive, to Tasallir. At that moment he all but towered. His cloak a black shadow; his body a wall. His skin bleached as bone. There was nothing in his eyes. Just a void, like the hollow pits of a skull.

 You must not remain with that dead man.

 “I stand before you now to decry that Ravasan as a fool. I call upon you, now, to join me in forsaking the world ruled by mortal souls. My beloved is dead. Burned by those who would count themselves as virtuous. I care not if they have any virtue to speak of. I care not if any living being does. I call for their deaths! For all of their deaths! I call for the chantry’s decimation, for the slaughter of their peoples, for the streets to run red with blood. I call for war!”

 The hall bursts into uproar. Tasallir is stunned; he had never even thought such a thing might be possible. War? Armies? He stares blankly ahead, as the uproar among the gathered crowds surges. Some cheer and roar in delight, crying out in triumph, as if something they have long awaited has finally come to pass. Others call out questions, raise their arms, trying to mitigate the furor of the crowds as they seek answers or clarifications or try and gain Ravasan’s attention.

 It is futile, of course. Father did not come to debate. He came to announce. Tasallir watches him leave, letting the crowd fight among itself. Some onlookers try and follow, but the castle will not let them.

 With what advantages her does have, Tasallir turns, and makes his way down a side passage. Detouring several times, before he finally manages to get onto a pathway that leads to the double doors of his father’s study.

 They are locked.

 Tasallir musters himself, and slams the knocker down.

 “It is me,” he announces.

 There is a long wait.

 But just when he has begun to abandon it in futility, the study door opens a crack.

 He pushes it the rest of the way. Once he’s inside, it swings shut behind him, of course. The study is quiet. The usual click and clack of machines has been silenced. The lights are dim. Moonlight streams in through the large study window, and shines against the skin of Ravasan’s hand, from where Tasallir can see it.

 He approaches the chair.

 “What are you doing?” he asks.

 His father does not deign to answer. His eyes remain fixed out of the window in front of him.

 “A war?” he presses. “You mean to sic the forces of darkness on Kirkwall?”

 Father’s gaze remains fixed. But one of his fingers taps the armrest of his chair.

 “Kirkwall?” he says. “No. My son. I mean to raze all of Thedas.”

 Tasallir hesitates.

 “What… who’s ‘all of Thedas’, in this scenario?” he asks. “The chantry?”

 “All of them,” his father insists. “The Free Marches. Orlais. Ferelden. Tevinter. Nevarra. Antiva. Every country, every nation, every filthy shore from here to Seheron. Every human, every elf, dwarf, vashoth, all of them. I will not suffer them any longer. This nightmare, this unceasing nightmare of rebirth and decay. Every inch of it must be destroyed…”

 Tasallir stares at his father, and feels a familiar incomprehension dawn.

 Suddenly, it is almost as if he is twelve years old again. Staring at his combat instructor, as the man commands him to kill an innocent little girl. The cold in his veins feels heavy. A stone in the pit of his stomach; the bottom of his heart.

 Madness.

 “Father… that is pure insanity,” he says.

 There is silence.

 And then, before he can blink, there is a fist around his throat. Tasallir’s eyes widen. He barely has time to lift a hand, to think of defense, before he is pitched across the room. His back slams into one of the study bookshelves. Hard enough to knock the breath clean out of him, as his father rounds on him like a nightmare. Looming and stone-faced, except that the hollow pits of his eyes seem lit with a hungry, all-consuming fire instead.

 “Insanity?” he demands. “Insanity, my son, is that your nenae died in Kirkwall! Where I sent you at least half a dozen times! Did you think this was a game?! That a dozen scouts scouring every city in the realm, an engine churning every night for months on end, was idle farce?! I sent you to find them, and you left them to their death instead!”

 Tasallir hurries back to his feet. Keenly aware of the creature before him, the ancient and unnatural being bearing down upon him. He raises his hands, and flinches as his father reaches out and flings a nearby chair into the wall. The crash of the wood splintering into pieces echoes on impact.

 “Father!” he beseeches. “Stop!”

 Another piece of furniture flies. This one collides with Tasallir, and knocks him into yet another bookcase. As Ravasan bears down on him again, he is struck by the sudden certainty that if he does not do something quickly, he is going to die.

 He draws his sword.

 The silvery blade gleams, moving from its sheath with the power of a thought. Physical fighting was never Tasallir’s strong suit; but telekinesis, as it happens, is something of a rare talent. He hurries out of his father’s path, and sends his sword arcing forward in a defensive move to deflect another thrown chair.

 Ravasan reaches out, in a sudden flash, and grasps the handle of his blade. He wrenches from the hold of Tasallir’s mind, so fierce that there is no resisting it. The pull jars him, badly. He staggers, and then falls backwards as his father strikes out at him with his own sword.

 The blow is shocking. The blade slices through his jacket and vest, and cleaves neatly into his flesh. Burning silver-bright as it cuts a swath across his torso. His own blood spatters, dark red, against the front of his father’s cloak, and the wall beside him. Tasallir’s eyes are wide. The pain is excruciating. He falls, clutching at himself; caught by a sudden, desperate fear that his heart is about to fall clear through the wound in his chest.

 Father halts.

 The fire in his hollow gaze seems to flicker out for a moment, as he stares uncomprehendingly at Tasallir.

 His sword clatters to the floor.

 “Father…” he breathes.

 The man stares at him.

 His head shakes, just slightly. Then he backs away. Hastily at first, it seems; but then maybe that was just the jittery state of Tasallir’s own mind. Because a moment later, he is gliding away. Back over to his chair, as if nothing of note has just happened. Tasallir’s blood spreads across the floor.

 “Leave,” his father instructs.

 With a great force of effort, Tasallir picks himself up off the floor of the study. He nearly slips in his own blood. His arm clutches his chest, as the wound burns. He does not know what to do for it; he has never been so badly hurt before. With numb fingers, he physically lifts his sword. More out of some obscure habit towards tidiness than anything else. His thoughts are scattered; delirious.

 You must not remain with that dead man.

 Leave.

 He takes the command further, perhaps, than he father intended; as he staggers from the study, and then hurries to his room. Stopping only long enough to wrap his torso in bandages, and try to stem the bleeding, before he pulls on a fresh set of clothing. The kind he normally would wear on one of his searches for Nenae. He leaves his hair loose, as he belts his sword on again, and then makes his way back into the churning corridors of the castle. Heading down and down, until he finds the main hall again. The double doors are closed; but the side entrances are open, as servants hurry to and fro, trying to accommodate the maelstrom of guests.

 Tasallir is not recognized, nor regarded.

 He slips out of the castle, and vanishes into the night.

[roleplaysinner]

Indecent Proposal

Indecent Proposal--------------------"Stop here!"....Sonalima asked the cab driver. "Here?"....The cab driver asked back, a bit amazed.

"Yes, that's what I said. Please stop the cab."...Sonalima said.

The cab stopped by the side of the main road and Sonalima stepped out of the cab. She walked straight for a few metres and then turned to the bustling lane on her left. She had seen this place a few times while passing through in her car, but never thought in her distant dream that he would be having to come here some day.It was almost 6 PM in the evening and the sky was cloudy. There were a few girls and women standing by the side of the lane. She approached one of them and asked..."Hey, can you show me the way to Laalkuthi?"

The girl with the heavy makeup seemed to be a bit puzzled. She looked sideways to another girl who was standing a few feet away from her, who also gave her a puzzled look.

"You need to go straight and then turn right to the narrow lane by that lamppost. You will then see the red building. That is Laalkuthi"....the girl said in a hesitant voice.

Sonalima did not waste any more time and walked straight towards the point the girl had pointed to, trying to ignore the bewildered looks and whispers of everyone there in that lane.

Sonalima Chatterjee was 38 years old. She had a small chain of beauty parlours in the city of Kolkata. She had set up her business almost single handedly after the untimely death of her husband when she was only 25. She was one of those rare women who possessed the right combination of intellectual and physical charm, and therefore had always been an eye turner for men throughout the years, despite the conservative attire she chose to drape herself with. There have been several men who had approached her explicitly and subtly, over the last decade and more, but had always been turned down politely and a few even impolitely when they have tried to persist with their pursuit of her despite Sonalima's rejection.

Life had taught Sonalima to maintain her distance from most men. She did not have any complaints about her life and enjoyed her freedom and status in the world which was otherwise mostly ruled by men. It was not that she was inert of physical needs, rather contrary to what most men thought of her, she was a woman of very high libido. But living single had taught her to take care of her own physical cravings, which she catered to masterfully behind closed doors of her own bedroom  almost every night   .

There was one person in her life whom she cared for more than her own life. It was her son Sayan. Sayan Chatterjee, nicknamed fondly as "Tukai" was Sonalima's 18 year old son who has recently passed his 10+2 exam. Sonalima was overprotective of her son and because of her extreme maternal love and affection towards him, Sayan had grown up to adopt a reckless and carefree lifestyle. He was intelligent, tall and athletically built, and he reciprocated the love of his mother by being equally fond and affectionate towards her. He lacked discipline, but adored and loved his mother sincerely.

Sonalima never thought she would have to step foot in the lanes of the Sonagachi area in Kolkata, and she was fuming with rage at the ignominity of her current situation. She was walking through the most infamous red light area in the city and almost everyone was gawking at her with bewilderment and curiosity.

She did not look at anyone and turned into the narrow lane which the girl had pointed to. There were a few girls and women standing in the lane, all of them having tried their best to present themselves as attractive to prospective customers.

It was 6 PM in the evening now and the dusk had set in. Sonalima walked to the front of the red building which she presumed to be the "Lalkuthi" she had come to visit. There was a man wearing a dirty t-shirt and lungi sitting at the entrance of the building, with gutkha in his mouth.

"Is this Lalkuthi?"....Sonalima asked the man, with a frown.

The man got alarmed a bit. He looked at her carefully from top to bottom and tried to comprehend the reason for her visit. Then he responded with some apprehension in her voice...."Yes! What do you want?"

"Where is Shanta Bai? I need to meet her."...Sonalima said.The man spit out the gutkha from his mouth to the adjoining drain and then said...."She is upstairs, attending to a customer. What do you need?"

Sonalima did not spare any more words.....she just walked in through the door and entered the building...the man was too perplexed to resist her in any way....Sonalima saw there were two girls standing downstairs. She asked them again...."Is Shanta bai in the room upstairs?"

One of the young girls just nodded her head, being too overwhelmed with Sonalima's strong tone and appearance.Sonalima walked up the stairs to the first floor....there were two adjoining rooms to which the doors were closed but not bolted....Sonalima approached one of the rooms and heard the faint sound..."Aaahhhh....aaahhhh....aahaahhh".

Her face flushed with anger and she barged into the room by pushing at the door....there was a 45 year old man humping a 21 year prostitute on the bed.... they almost jumped up on the bed seeing her walk in like that.....the man was almost at the state of no-return which Sonalima could see from his facial expressions....

"Are you Shanta bai?"....Sonalima asked....with a stern voice...

The girl moved her head  on both sides and then pointed to the adjacent room....Sonalima walked out of the room and then pushed the next door to enter the other room.

She found her son Sayan sitting on the bed wearing his jeans but a bare torso, and there was a 30+ year old prostitute in the process of undressing in the room. She had stripped off her saree and was about to unbutton her blouse when she entered the room.

Sayan was mortified seeing his mother there...."M-mom!"....he somehow blurted out...

Sonalima walked straight to her son and slapped her hard."What do you think you are doing here? You scoundrel! Shame on you!"....Sonalima screamed at her son.

"Mom! I am s-sorry!"....Sayan said meekly as Sonalima slapped him once more. "Don't call me mom!"....Sonalima said angrily....she then picked up her son's t-shirt from the side of the bed and threw it on his face...."Put this on!"

Then as soon as Sayan put on his shirt....Sonalima held his hand and pulled him out of the room....

The prostitute inside the room followed them...."Aare aare...where are you going? What about my payment?"

"How much is it?"...Sonalima asked by turning towards her."800."....Shantabai responded.

Sonalima reached inside her bag, drew out two Rs. 500 notes and handed those to Shanta bai and then walked down the stairs along with her son, who followed gingerly behind her.

"Mom!"....Sayan tried to say something..

"Don't!....don't call me mom, you worthless boy....Did you ever think what will happen to me if you get AIDS from here?"....Sonalima said without looking at her son....her voice reflected her anger but it also almost choked with emotion.

Sayan did not dare say anything....he just followed his mom out of the narrow lane, as the other girls and women standing there cleared the passage for them They walked out to the wider lane, still within the Red Light area, when a big thunderbolt flashed across the sky and it started raining....They tried to walk fast but soon it started to rain so hard that they had to look for cover.

Sonalima walked towards a shade by the side of the lane along with Sayan. She did not have any umbrella and so had to take cover there from the rain. There were two prostitutes who were also standing under the same shade. Sonalima and Sayan stood a few feet away from them.

Around 5 minutes passed with them standing there...."How many times have you been here, Tukai?"....Sonalima asked...with a sober voice.

"This is the first time, Mom!....but how did you get to know?"....Sayan asked. "Your friend Rahul. I met him on the road and when I inquired to him about you I found him to be hesitant to say anything...then when I pressed him hard he told me that you are here."....Sonalima said...

"Rascal....he is just jealous of me!"....Sayan murmured.

"You are getting wet.....come closer to me.".....Sonalima pulled her son by his elbow....her  anger was already dissipating somewhat....somehow she has never been able to be angry on her son for too long

"How much for 1 hour?"....Sonalima was startled by the voice.....he saw a middle aged man with an umbrella standing in front of them and asking her. Initially Sonalima could not make sense of what he was asking....she just frowned and asked...."What?"

"How much will you take for 1 hour?".....the man asked again.

"Aare babu, come here. I will take 500."...one of the girls standing beside them called out.

Sonalima now understood what the guy was asking her about....Her face flushed red with shame and embarrassment....with her son standing beside her.

"No no!....I need her. This item looks hot."....the man then thought a bit and said...."I will pay you 1000 for one hour. You deserve it. Shall we go now?"

Sayan intervened at this point...."Hey, you go away. She is not going anywhere!"....He yelled at the man.

Now a couple of other men had walked to the same spot, seeing them talk there. One of the guys asked another guy...."How come we did not see this item here before? That means we still do not know this place well enough."

The other guy said...."Indeed! she is so fair!....and look at that ass....I am sure she will drain your balls."

Sayan moved in front of his mother....."Hey, did I not ask you guys to go away?" One of the men this time addressed Sayan...."You seem to be so young and already an expert player, haan?....So you like mature ones? This classy bitch must be almost the age of your own mother. How much is she charging you?"

Another man laughed sarcastically and asked...."Is she still somewhat tight down there? What did you experience, son?"

Sonalima could not wait any extra second there.....he tugged at her son's hand....and walked hastily away from the spot towards the main road....not caring anymore of the rain which drenched them.

[mbdigitalarts]

Quotes from Source book

I have used the quotes from this book as it contains many different types of conflict, this being conflict between the countries, characters, internal conflict, physical and political conflict. This gives me a wide range of potential ideas to use for my FMP.

“Unlike me, Violetta had inherited our mother’s rosy temperament and innocent charm.”

“Unlike my sister, blessed with shining black hair to compliment her dark eyes and rich olive skin, I am flawed”

“My left eye became so swollen that a doctor had to remove it. he did it with a red hot knife and a pair of burning tongs.”

“While my sister emerged from the fever unscathed, I now have only a scar where my left eye used to be. While my sisters hair remained a glossy black, the strands of my hair and lashes turned a strange, ever-shifting silver, so that in the sunlight they look close to white, like a winter moon, and in the dark they change to a deep grey, shimmering silk spun from metal.”

“As always, I made sure my hair covered my scar.”

“Scorch marks on the wall, their bodies melted from the inside out. Everyone is frightened of malfettos, sir. Even you are reluctant to do business with me. Please. I’m helpless.”

“I never said i wanted to marry her. I am merely Proposing to take her off your hands.”

“Tomorrow she’s yours. Just... Keep this private. I don’t want Inquisitors knocking on my door and fining me for giving her away too young.”

“I grabbed two long strips of silk cloth that make up a Tamouran headwrap. I would need to cover up my silver hair”

“I looked over my shoulder one last time at my bedchamber door, as if expecting my father to walk in. where are you going, Adelina? He’d say. There’s nothing out there for a girl like you.”

“In the dim glow of night, I could see the gloss of her dark, marble eyes, the thinness of her delicate skin. Her beauty was so pure.”

“I tried in vain to escape his grasp, but his hand only gripped tighter untill i gasped from the pain. My father pulled hard - I stumbled, lost my balance, and fell against him. Mud splashed my face. All i could hear was the roar of the rain, the darkness of his voice.”

“I gritted my teeth and stared back. ‘I hate you,’ I whispered. My father struck me viciously across the face. Light flashed across my vision. I stumbled, then collapsed in the mud. My father still clung to my hair.”

“The storm drowned me out.I dragged myself away from my father’s body. this is all wrong. But that was a lie. I knew it, even then. Do you see how I take after my father? I had enjoyed every moment. ‘I didn’t mean it!’ I shrieked again, trying to drown out my inner voice.”

“She looked as if she had been crying, and dark circles under her eyes marred her perfection. There was a bruise on her cheek, turning blue and black.”

“His white robes are embellished with more gold than the others iv’e seen, definitely clothing befitting his status.”

“His hair is the colour of wheat, pale for a Kennetran, and cut in a fashion i haven’t seen much in southern Kennetra - Shorter on the sides, fuller on the top, with a slender tail wrapped in gold trailing down the nape of his neck.”

“His face is lean and chiseled as if from marble, handsome in its coldness, and his eyes are pale blue. Very pale blue. so pale that they seem colorless in in the light.”

“ ‘How impolite,’ he mocks, his voice velvet and deep. Even in the midst of chaos, I can hear him.”

“One of the Inquisitors nearly cuts him in half with a swing of his sword, but the boy slices his hand clean off. the sword clatters to the ground.”

“ ‘It’s the Reaper!’ Teren shouts, pointing at the boy with a drawn sword. He starts heading toward us. His pale eyes are mad with glee. ‘Seize him!’ ”

“A column of fire explodes from his hands, slicing a line across the platform and dividing the soldiers from us with a wall of flame stretching high into the sky. Shouts of terror come from behind the fiery curtain.”

“The only part of his face not hidden by his mask are his eyes - hard, midnight dark, but alight with fire.”

“I try not to cry. ‘I don’t want to,’ I whisper, but my words fade away at the look in my father’s eyes. I take the butterfly’s wing between my fingers, the rip it from its body, my own heart tearing as I go.”

“ ‘Are you worthless like that butterfly, Adelina?’ I shake my head in panic. No. Please. Give me a chance. ‘So show me. Show me what you can do.’ Then he breaks my finger at the joint.”

“Now, instead of wearing that silver mask and his hooded robes, he’s clad in finely spun linen and a black velvet doublet trimmed with gold, clothing exquisite enough to belong to the wealthiest aristocrats.”

“But his hair holds my attention the most. It looks dark red in the light, so dark it’s almost black, a rich shade of blood that I’ve never seen before, tied back into a short, loose tail at the nape of his neck. it is a color not of this world.”

“A gold ring flashes on his finger.”

“He wears a pair of thin gloves, and when I look closer, I notice tiny flecks of blood on their surface. A chill runs down my spine. He doesn’t smile.”

“ ‘My mother used to call me Kami Gourgaem,’ I reply. ‘Her “little wolf.’”

“The last thing i need is for a killer with blood-flecked gloves to dislike me.”

“The king uses malfettos as an excuse for his poor rule. As if we are to blame for the state of his impoverished nation.”

“ ‘you-’ I stammer ‘You’re the prince.’ No wonder he looks so familiar. I’d seen many portraits of Kenettra’s first born prince as a child.”

“Enzo leans close enough for me to see slashes of brilliant red in his eyes.”

“Underneath the leather, his hand is a mass of burned flesh, most of it healed over in thick layers of hideous scar tissue that must have accumulated over the years, while a few spots remain red and angry.”

“Teren is nineteen. does she like me for my youth? Perhaps she sees me as a boy, four years too young for her. He marvels again at how lucky he is, to have drawn the attention of royalty.”

“A famous poet from the Sunlands once described a beautiful face as ‘one kissed by moon and water,’ an ode to our three moons and the loveliness of their light on the ocean. He gave exactly two people this compliment: his mother, and the last princess of the Feishen empire. If he were alive to see who I’m now looking at, he would add him as the third. Moon and water must love this boy desperately.”

“Under canopies of long, dark lashes, one of his eyes is the colour of honey under the sunlight, while the other is the brilliant summer green of an emerald.”

“His hair, black and shining, drapes across one of his shoulders in a loose, silken braid. His olive skin is smooth, flawless, glowing. The faint musk of night lilies envelops him in a veil, intoxicating, promising something forbidden.’ “

“The boy smiles at me, exposing dimples. ‘It’s good to meet you, mi Adelinetta.” I shiver at the softness of his lips. He takes my hands and leans down to kiss me on each cheek. His hands are cool and smooth, his fingers slender and encircled with thin gold rings, his nails gleaming. His voice is as lyrical as it sounded through the door. ‘I’m Raffaele.’ “

“ ‘Oh,’ I manage to reply. I’m a fool. He isn’t the client at all. The man inside is the client, and Raffaele is the consort.”

“The breeze combs through his hair, revealing several brilliant sapphire strands glistening under the black, jeweled lines moving against a night canvas. A second marking.”

“Raffaele glides around me in a slow circle, his eyes alight with curiosity. The way he’s circling me feels almost predatory, especially when he passes to the weak side of my vision and I have to turn my head in order to keep him in view.”

“He picks up Violetta, laughs, and spins her in a circle. She squeals in delight as I stand by. Later that afternoon, I challenge Violetta to a race through the trees behind our home. I pick a route that is filled with rocks and crevices, knowing full well that she has just recovered from a fever and is still weak. When Violetta trips over a root, skinning her knees, I smile and don’t stop to help her. I keep running, running, running until the wind and I become one. I don’t need my father to spin me in a circle. I can already fly.”

“On a strange impulse, I reach out and close my hand tightly around the rose’s stem. A dozen thorns slash into the flesh of my palm. Still, I clench my jaw and tighten my grip as hard as I can. You’re right, Violetta. Finally I release the stem, staring in wonder at the blood that blooms on my hand. Scarlet stains the thorns. Pain enhances beauty, I remember thinking.”

“The whispers in the dark corners of my mind now spring free of their cages and fill my thoughts with their noise. They bring a flurry of memories, of everything I’ve already seen and everything I’ve fought to suppress. My father breaking my finger, shouting at me, striking me, ignoring me. The night in the rain. His shattered ribs. The long nights in the Inquisitor’s dungeons. Teren’s colourless eyes. The crowd jeering at me, throwing stones at my face. The iron stake.”

“ ‘Formadite and Caldora, the twin angels of Fear and Fury,’ he whispers. ‘Amber, for the hatred buried in ones chest. Nightstone, for the darkness in oneself, the strength of fear.’ He hesitates then looks me in the eye. ‘Something blackens your heart, something deep and bitter. It has festered in you for years, nurtured and encouraged. I’ve never felt anything like it.’ ”

“Raffaele’s eyes, so warm and sweet earlier, now seem dark and frightening.”

“If I cannot pass their tests, then they will do to me what they must have done with the boy who could not control the rain. They will kill me.”

“He touches on her alignment with the amber and nightstone, her overwhelming attraction to the twin rocks. As he feared, Enzo narrows his eyes in interest. Raffaele shivers at his expression. He has recruited many Elites for the prince in the last few years, but none has ever shown Enzo’s same alignment to diamond, such fiery ambition. Being near his energy is intoxicating.”

“ ‘We’ve all seen what she can do. She has no reason to tun on us.’ Raffaele hesitates. ‘Tread carefully, Reaper. We don’t know the extent of her energy yet.’ “

“Enzo nods once. His expression doesn’t change, but the scarlet slashes in his eyes burn bright. He presses a gloved finger against Raffaele’s chest. His voice is a quiet command. ‘Next time, do not keep secrets from me.’ “

“I stop humming. my smile fades. ‘Violetta?’ I murmur. Imove my arm and roll her to face me. Where Violetta’s face should be, there is instead nothing. The bed collapsed beneath me - and suddenly I am falling. I fall down, down, down. I fall forever.”

“Front and center before them stands Enzo, his hair the colour of blood, his hands folded behind his back, and his gaze fixed unwaveringly on me. Gone is the hint of mischief in him that I saw when we first talked in my chamber. Today, his expression is hard and unforgiving, the young prince replaced with a cold-blooded assassin. The cavern’s strange lighting casts a shadow over his eyes.”

[empirestateofmars]

EXPERIMENTAL WRITING

By Hakim, Terminale L, a short story written in Jan 2018 that pays homage to Dickens’ Christmas Carol. Enjoy!

Hakim,   Messed-up Christmas Carol

I never cared for chairs. They don't walk, or move, or serve any purpose really. The whole world would have been better if not for chairs. They occupy space, breathe our air… I never intended to become one myself. All pie long, my jellyfish family say I don't remotely resemble someone who would accept to have asses on him everyday. When I ask what I look like, they answer : « On a good day ? Like Gollum. ». Never played a Pokemon game before, but Gollum sounds like a good bloke. I look in a mirror but all I see is a dilettante non-chalantly satiating a curmudgeonly marzipan. Indeed, a darling marzipan is selling another wobbly bodice ripper to an unruffled trombone. Some rhetorical girl is overwhelmingly confessing the girl near the lunatic. This is quite the fun story. We do not have time for it. Thus, if not for my liquid sword, the red limey-chimney-woundy-timey-wibbly-sucky doves, the plane and the hole in the sky, I would not have got my Law 52 back. Now, where do storytellers start ? Not at the beginning, I presume, nor at the end, if we begin in the middle, Time might explode so… What if I don't start ? No story, no reason to read me. That would certainly help Time with logic. Nevertheless, have you watched Timecop with Van Damme ? Time doesn't make more sense than Shakespeare. If I begin before the beginning… ?

My name is Harpon Aragon di Hispania, I am from Texas. I am of a certain age, don't ask you impolite fool ! My age is but a number. A good one for a Bank such as me. I am tall, large, big, safe, many people work in me, they take lunch in my belly, feed me with their money. I am a great bank. At 5 o clock, I count my money, have a good swim in it, then I come home, except when I don't. Mostly, I let myself sink in the sugary green papers, and in the golden apples of power, that is to say : Money. Money and I have always had the strangest relationship. He comforts me, begs me to use him, as if this would free him. He can't understand, he will never be free for I can't let go. Hardest thing when you love someone is to be happy around them. I am so concerned with his safety, I forget to enjoy him, kiss him, love him. As a revenge, he cuts my little finger five times a day. I write a song for him to make up to him. He forgives, we dance together, I promise there shall be love between us for many moons and here we go again. Just a damn circle, except I go lower, and lower, to keep him around me. Money takes time. Money makes me tired, grumpy, cold, labels me  « penny pincher », but I always come home to him, always welcome him inside me. I love him to the point I… Forget my other life, as a happy, YOUNG, married man. Three days could pass without me looking at my wife, of course she can't see me, she is blind. A fellow, in court, threw her on the floor, ripping apart her pages, her leather. My wife is a law book, specialized in work. The original, you might say. She is from when man was but some ape in the forests. These apes would draw some lines on cavern walls, and say : « OOOMAAAA. Wourrka Leuwaaaa ». Sorry for that pathetic transcription.  And… My wife… How do I put it ? She is… as you say it, old. So old that I ask her about when good presidents ruled the States. She said : « Meh. Don't know about that. You sure that existed ? ». Oh ! I guess the story has started. I introduced an element I exposed some lines ago : Law 52. Isn't it a lovely name for a law book ? And that's my wife, or book, if you like! So… What if we start with the tale ? Even if the universe sometimes fails to be a fairy tale, that's why money is here ! Or was. I thought he could do anything. The damn fool was but a crawling bug, cruel, manipulative, and familiar.

I came home late on Globelskufeui 25th. A year ago. Somehow, I had stayed up late to close the store, count money and his new babies. Adorable, they all had the face of a respectable man with a beard.   When I opened the door with my shoe, I smelt a noise of arguing. Law 52, my blind wife, was caught in a battle with kitchen utensils. I didn't know they could talk. Quite a surprise for me. I went to the toilets, crapped for a while and came out. There and back again, I brought some drinks. She was arguing with those kitchen utensils. Resigned, I sacrificed myself and charged into battle. « What's with all the noise, woman ? A bank can't crap without being disturbed? ». To which she answered « You fool, you underpay your workers. That is injustice, infamy ! I demand your head on a plate ! Chop his head off ! By freedom, equality, all that is good in the world, I require you be punished ! It's Christmas, offer something to your workers ! That's what you do, at Christmas, you offer ! ». My wife has a burning passion for politics. She loves watching debates, more like hearing. I suddenly recalled I had employees ! So I logically explained why I wouldn't pay them. “ Honey, if I paid, they wouldn't be poor, right ? Therefore, if they don't complain, they don't need the union. They don't need laws. Consequently, if you follow me there, you wouldn't have a purpose ! Bad people would come and recycle you. Babe, I can't let that happen. Not on Christmas ! Not this way !”. What I really craved to say but never had the courage to was : “Christmas, just another hack to steal my money. Why spend it on a worthless present ? If I bothered about Christmas I'd have to… To… Give my precious away ! That can't happen. The salesmen that took Christmas won't have Harpon Aragon, I am smarter !” or “Most people believe that a rascally toothache greedily shares a shower with a somnambulist, but they need to remember how overwhelmingly a stalactite living with the dissident prays. A darling alchemist learns a hard lesson from a rhetorical cleavage. Toscanini, although somewhat soothed by a labyrinth from the maestro and some gonad, still approaches her from a maestro defined by the coward, derive perverse satisfaction from her a looking glass beyond a boy with an onlooker beyond a widow, and dances with the dark side of her trombone. A tea party ruminates, but a lunatic toward the tenor almost takes a peek at another clock” Law 52, sorrowless : “ Infamy ! Selfishness ! Out ! Out, you monster ! As a Social Justice Warrior, I don't accept being married to a man such as you. Out ! Out !”. Swift as ever, she pushed me outside the window, I fell on a plane headed to Guatemala and began my journey.

Guatemala is lovely in winter. Stars reflect on the Death Star they're building to conquer the world. You think it's the Star that glows. Too bad the flight was not pleasurable. No air to breathe, shitty weather. I complained when we landed but they said : “We hate it when poor people illegally travel on our cheese planes.”. I retorted : “I'm no poor people. I'm a bank ! It's Christmas ! Don't be silly now. People have this word like “Christmas” all the time. I hate Christmas. But, it must mean something, right ? Like special treatment. Or chocolate ! Others eat chocolate. That gives me diarrhea but, if you go look for some, that'll allow me to escape. So, we got a deal ?”. I don't know why, he put me in jail. Guatemala is not nice when you're in jail. I dropped my soap many times. All in one may, I met three persons, ghosts mostly. I must be attractive to ghosts. I get slimey when stressed, they could like that. Anyway, did I ever tell you about Guatemala's archives? Like hive-mind, ever-growing. It's a flower you eat, gets inside your mind. You are connected to some device that exposes your memories to the people. That way, Guatemala gets all intels on prisonners. You can call it rape. That's how I felt it, anyway. I ate this bitter pink plant.

I saw myself at nine, wearing my mother's bicycle, sitting near fire, reading White Fang. And Christmas was all around. No mom, dad, sister. Just Christmas. Then, I was with mom and dad, sharing stories, jokes… They offered me gifts, kind words and hugs. Another Christmas was when my fiancée turned my proposal down. With fierce eyes, snow was falling all around like tiny knives, Christmas singsongs deafening me. The snow borrowed money from the ribbon. A slovenly necromancer planned an escape from a marzipan fetishist related to some cigar. The chic amour-propre mourns the stalactite for the midwife, but a cup related to the impresario found lice on the ungodly clock. Consequently, she said : “I won't have it ! I am not a threeway woman ! You and Money can have it all, be together ! Why would I care ? Don't you see Harpon ? He infiltrates your mind like the one ring. And take a shower for Christ's sake !”. Her name was Rose, and she was an albatross. Could fly anywhere, my darling. Such a disapointment. My memories formed a shadow, haunting the room, me. The guards turned it off. I fought like hell. This shadow had no right showing those memories ! Like butterflies, they flew away, I never saw them again. Soly the words remained : These are the shadows of things that have been, do not blame the Ghost of Christmas Past that they are what they are !

Here we go again. Ninety years later, thirty of anger, fourty of resignation and twenty of regrets, I was free. I used a time-travelling pill (isn't Guatemala marvelous ?) so I could be young again. However, red limey-chimney-woundy-timey-wibbly-sucky doves took me away before I could swallow it ! So, in a way, you could say I was old. Alright. Now, back to it. Thirty doves were swirling around me. “Take a good, long look at this world, boy, for you are not part of it. These smiles, and peaceful moments you know not. Christmas has forsaken you. You have money, no ? The Ghost of Christmas Present says logic be not logic when it comes to men like you. So, we throw you in the sky !” Present ? I did not know what to make of this. Money ? Why money ? I knew it all. It was as clear as day to me. The secret of all things, I had cracked it. The plane was planned ! I had to fall on it so I could see my past, understand my own hatred of Christmas and how I filled my empty heart with money. Hence the birds ! They too were trying to show me something. Then, they threw me in a hole in the sky.

Harshly, I landed in Egypt and spoke a little with the Great Sphinx of Giza. He was polite enough to cut me some slack and not ask me riddles. He did however sneeze at me. The he spat a liquid sword. What was wrong with him today ? So disgusting ! He usually behaves. By way of apology, all he said was “Man, you suck !”. Before I could retork, I was sent away, through that same hole. My mind couldn't comprehend. What ? Why ? How ? Is The King alive ? Then, it hit me. I was falling up ! Expending Money's family every day… I was rich as hell ! I had a mountain filled with gold ! Although, it felt like falling. Money is not my friend, he never was. The Sphinx threw the liquid sword in my direction. And, as a knight in the night, I fought Money. Can't destroy it. I scared him away, this animal ! A whale helped me. Both, we defeated Money. Earth went back to a barter system. Stupid, won't last, but good enough, for now.

And that is how I became a chair ! To atone, I turned my walls into wood, my face into a seat. That way, I can support people. Oh, mom and dad, I do look good as a chair ! When I came back, Law 52 opened her arms and said : “Justice has been served”. I suspect she was behind all this but can't find any proof. Money and I, we go way back. Then, A dahlia conquered a guardian angel. A piroshki completely hosted a comely shadow. He called her Lila (or was it Toscanini?). A labyrinth about a cleavage rejoiced, but the dilettante around a dissident operates a small fruit stand with a bodice ripper related to a pocket.