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palbabor-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Latibule

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, panic attacks & hypochondria, adult language, eventual SMUT

Words: 9790

His usual spot at the cafe is taken, and he’s already decided to keep walking on, but somehow, somehow, he manages to catch your eye.

His feet are slowing, a stuttering breath stagnating in his lungs, all at once hopeful and bewildered, but before he can examine his fluttering emotions, you’re alongside him on the noisy sidewalk, passing him his usual evening drink, a pleased smile on your soft lips.

Suddenly, the world smells like velvety pine and heady bergamot, and he can’t stop staring down at you.

Notes: hi. this is my first real foray into the world of Haikyuu!! & i’m so excited to branch into this fandom! if this is your first time reading my stuff imma warn you, i take things slow, so expect some slow burn.

this will be a multi-chapter fic with eventual NSFW/18+ only content. i will post warnings for each update. i’ll also link other chapters on this page and any other pages that come up, so keep in mind that there will be edits to links as things progress - i wasn’t planning on this being anything more than a one-shot, but this first exploration of Sakusa’s character turned into a monster & i wanna really hone in on that sweet, sweet build up.

big, huge shoutout to @wickedfaerytale & @albinoburrito for their edits and suggestions. y’all are amazing and i love you both so much, this fic wouldn’t be what it is without the two of you.

Latibule /lat-i-bule/ noun a hiding place; a place of safety and comfort

pt. i: an opening

[ pt. ii: four set ] ||

It’s a quiet coffee shop.

He likes that about it. He likes it almost as much as the simple fact that he can tell what day of the week it is by the smell of the disinfectant and bleach that’s being used behind the counter.

There’s a strange comfort to this place’s consistency and Kiyoomi Sakusa likes to linger here, propping his MSBY issued volleyball bag beside his usual table. He’s already placed his coffee order with the cheerful man who guards the cash register, watching as his paper cup is marked with a fresh sharpie and placed on the bartop, beside the elbow of that barista who always attentively turns to wash her hands before making each new order.

He had stumbled upon the shop his senior year of college and he’s haunted it ever since, content to sip on a smooth cortado as he watches over the latest plays from the MSBY games, mapping out his overestimations, his successes, and his flukes in his notebook– carefully lined kanji listing out what worked and what needs some extra practice. The caramel sweet flavor of the ristretto shots always helps to relax him, his broad shoulders lowering, the ache of self-induced tension and overworked muscles easing as his drink cools between his fingers, finally sinking fully into the plush leather seat of his clean chair.

The young woman, he should know your name, but he’s never caught a proper glimpse of your name tag, because you’re always moving, gives him a familiar lifting of smooth lips and places his completed drink on the handoff plane. You know his personal preferences well enough that you’re already moving the caddy of lids and cardboard sleeves forward, so he can select his own from the neatly stacked row. He gives you a cursory nod and his calloused fingertips pull the frothy beverage into his hands, cupping the curved sides and taking a deep drag of air through his masked nose, inhaling the bright smell of fresh coffee.

And…vines…or is it a tangy pine?

There’s something else that’s tickling his senses, and he blinks toward you, dark brows knitting together, a misplaced curl of inky hair brushing against his forehead, trying to make sense of the smell. His chin lifts and his head tilts, eyes watching your polished movements as you move onto the next drink in line. It’s definitely got some floral notes, but it’s not cloyingly sweet, like honeysuckle or gooseberry–no, it’s got some kind of balmy spice to it. It returns when you move closer and he swears he can taste summer when you shift back.

Odd.

When you look up at him again, he’s already stepping away, his running shoes squeaking across the slate tiles, making his way back to his bag and table. The aroma of your perfume is half forgotten when he cracks his laptop open, squirting some hand sanitizer across his chapped palms before he starts to clack his fingertips across the dark keys. He needs to get more lotion; he thinks as the sterile solution cools between his splayed fingers, this weather always dries his skin out.

The next time he comes in he spies you at the back of the shop, jotting something down in a large binder before kneeling behind the counter, returning with a sparkling, grated drain top. The white gleams under the accented lighting and he watches as you thumb at the paint, denoting a splotch of rust that rests under the dip of the metal. You return the cover to the ground and immediately twist to the hand washing sink that rests behind the bar, lathering up some dispensed soap and methodically stroking from the tips of your fingers to your wrists. A steady puff of steam is rising around you as he places his order–

[ a oat milk smoothie, with an extra scoop of protein powder, chia seeds, turmeric, kale, cucumber, dash of dates for sweetener ]

and by the time he’s paid and padding toward his usual spot, you’re finishing up, yanking a few disposable paper towels from the overhead dispenser and gingerly drying your damp hands.

He’s seen you wash your hands plenty of times before, but he finds himself distractedly following your movements this afternoon as he waits for his order and his computer to finish booting up. You catch his obsidian eyes when you turn around and give him a brief smile; a flash of teeth peeking through your lips before you move back to your binder. You jot down a few more notes as you move onto the fridges that sit under the countertops, pulling and prying at the gaskets that line the doors of the whirring chillers, speaking softly to a fellow employee, pointing out the missed stains and chipped flecks of ice that like to hide within the folds of the protective plastic.

You’re not overbearing in your coaching, keeping your tone even and friendly, focusing on what can be done going forward, rather than lingering on the ‘what if’s’ and ‘why wasn’t’ of the situation.

Practical, efficient, thorough with your work, and careful with your craft.

Those descriptors float to the forefront of his mind as he takes his smoothie from the barista that’s standing beside you. He lets his gaze hold against your half leaning form, watching the lead tip of your pencil mark over the stark red checklist that you’re working your way down.

He’s not sure why he’s so focused on you. He’s never thought much about you. You’ve been someone that exists in the background, part of his routine to be sure, but he justifies that your attention to detail is likely the reason why he prefers this shop to the dozens of other coffee houses that litter the main street by the MSBY training facilities and stadium. Your head shifts, and he can tell you can feel his gaze, so he swiftly plucks up his icy cold cup, his nose involuntarily trying to seek out that perfume you’d been wearing the other day.

Strange. His brow furrows, and he hunches into his sports jacket, walking back to his chair and his glowing computer. He can’t smell it today. Maybe you’re too far away, or perhaps you’d forgotten to put it on before coming in.

Pity. He’d liked it.

“Running a little late today, I see,” your voice snaps him out of his stupor, onyx eyes lifting to rest against your open expression.

“Kind of,” he replies blandly, his deep cadence muffled by the pull of his mask.

“Damn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be late! Want me to push your drink to the front of the queue? I’ve got the power to do that, you know,” you tease, tilting your head as a mischievous grin settles over your quirked lips. Kiyoomi blinks impassively down at you and shakes his head. How would he even reply to something like that? You were joking, right? You must be. And if you weren’t, the people who are clustered around the handoff plane would certainly realize that he was being given his drink first, clearly ahead of all of theirs, and they’d probably toss him a few disgruntled stares or mouthy jabs, and likely accuse you of playing favorites.

Wait. Favorites?

Does he count as a ‘favorite’ here? He looks away, lips drooping into a pursed line. You’ve always been…nice…but there’s no way he’s a favorite of yours. He’s hardly spoken to you in the year and a half that he’s been coming here. But is that all it takes? Just take up space in the cafe a few times a week and get special treatment?

No. You must be joking.

All the same, your jovial tone and that welcoming smile is a little intriguing.

He shuffles closer to the heat of the espresso machines, easily lifting his head over the lip of the bronze metal, watching you. You’re looking down now, fingers gripping the dark handle of the portafilter, holding it under the buzzing grinder to gather a fine sprinkle of dusky espresso grounds into the waiting basket. Then, you lift a lustery tamp to the heaping mound and press expertly against the delicate remains of the arabica, packing them to an even level before clamping the filter under the display of the machine. When you flick the switch that activates the group head you must sense his stare and lift your eyes to his, eyelashes momentarily fluttering against your cheeks when you spy his unabashed observations of you.

For a second, your hands falter, trapped within the unexpected intensity of his curious gaze, and you pat blindly for the cup that’s sitting to the right of your curled arms, embarrassingly disarmed by his transparent focus. But once your grip wraps around the waiting plastic, it seems to ground you and you let out a huffing chuckle, eyes crinkling up at his half obscured face.

“I’m only kidding about moving your drink up, don’t worry, I won’t get you in trouble. Besides, it’s against our policy. First come, first serve and whatnot,” you assure him, halting the stream of water that’s pouring the carefully timed flow of espresso into the clear shot glass that’s waiting against the gleaming metal of the drip tray.

“You’re busy today,” he notes, jerking his curly head toward the gaggle of college students sprawled across some of the bigger tables, their laughing voices and overly loud conversations easily drowning out the hum of lofi jazz that’s playing from the recessed speakers.

“Ah, yeah, finals are coming up for a lot of us that go to the university. I know my classes are starting to gear up for that last push and sometimes you just need a pick me up and coffee is great for that. We also get a big boost from the smoothies and frappes that we sell in the afternoons, so we get a little packed. Most of our sales happen during the weeks leading up to finals and midterms, uh, anyways, not that you asked for an economic lesson on a small cafe’s profit margins.”

“You’re a student?” he asks, head dipping back, eyes glittering in the lights. Wait. How old are you? Not that he can boast any sort of seniority on that front, he’s only 24 after all, but you just seemed, hmm, more mature? He didn’t picture you as a co-ed. Not that he’s actively picturing you when he’s not here. Well, he is a little recently, but you’ve always felt sort of timeless? Ageless? Is that the right term? You give off an air of confidence. So he’d assumed that you were older than him. Not in a bad way, in fact he’d sort of like it if you were. Why, that is, he’s not willing to look too deeply into, at least, not right now. Maybe later, when he gets back home and can…oh, you’re talking again.

“I’m a graduate student, but not for much longer. I’m finishing up my dissertation this week! Thank God. This semester has been the pits, I’m so ready for a break!” You sound genuinely happy and he can smell that faint aroma of your perfume each time you move.

“Congratulations,” he murmurs, unsure if you’d heard him since you’re stepping away from the machines that he’s posted himself behind. He watches you set up two steaming drinks, topping them with a lazy swirl of silky, housemade, whipped cream, a crosshatch drizzle of caramel, carefully snapping a set of black plastic lids on top, before calling out the handwritten names and handing them off to their respective owners. Then you’re back, hands already unhooking the portafilter, knocking out the used espresso pucks into the trash and bringing him back to that spicy smell of summer that sits on your skin.

“Haha, it’s a little early for a congratulations. Don’t jinx me, will’ya? But seriously, thanks, that’s nice of you to say,” you continue, flowing easily back into this half-hearted conversation he’s accidentally struck up with you. He winces at that thought and dips his hands deeper into his jacket, hunching his shoulders into a habitual slouch that he instinctively imposes upon himself when he’s out in public.

“You want a lid?” you question over the hiss of the machine, and he lifts his head, finding your bright eyes through the misting remains of the cleared steam wands.

“No.” His response is clipped, and he gulps down a sudden burst of hazy anxiousness when someone brushes past him, jostling him closer to the low wall that divides the bartop from the cafe floor. He braces himself against the warming top of the machine, his large palm steadying himself, shoulders caving forward, his dark curls falling over his eyes, obscuring his face further. He clenches his jaw, a scowl blooming over his lips.

His social anxiety isn’t anything new, and it’s likely exacerbated by the bustle of the nearby college students, who seem to be getting louder by the second. The noise is needling under his skin. He starts his carefully ingrained breathing exercises, tugging in a deep stream of air through his flared nostrils.

But the smell is coffee is too overwhelming and suddenly his ritual doesn’t help much.

He can feel blood leaving his fingertips and toes, or as his cousin Komori puts it [ the inescapable dread of some imagined ailment, which is making him think that his body is rushing blood from his extremities to his vital organs, his fingertips cold, hands shaking, when in reality ‘you’re just feeling unsure of yourself, man. It’ll be ok in a minute, promise!’ ]

But in the end, it doesn’t matter what anyone calls it, or how they think he should feel during these heart pounding moments, he just knows that he wants to get out of here, now.

His agitation must have twisted the top half of his expression because the feel of your warm fingertips against his wrist jerks him out of his head, causing him to suck in an unsteady breath as he lurches backwards, pulling away from your offending touch.

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t think…I just…” you bite your lip, a look of stark worry passing over your usually open features. “Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Are you…are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” he grunts, teeth clenched, right leg bouncing in place against the tiles. Shit. It’s not like he could have predicted that you’d try to touch him, so you can’t really blame him for his misplaced reaction. Just get him his coffee and he’ll be on his way…

Come on…come on…

“Here you go. Sorry for the wait, Sakusa,” you lift on your tiptoes, the stretch of your legs and arms apparent as you hold his cup out, careful to balance yourself against the lever of the steam wand. He takes the proffered drink and nods his thanks at you, his gaze dark. The gesture might be a little strained, and he knows you likely think he’s some kinda freak at this point, but he’s glad to see your customary smile before he turns, shouldering his way out the door and into the promise of open air.

“Stop being so secretive about this place. It’s not like you can’t search for it online, Omi Omi. I saw you come in with the logo of their shop last week and I wanna try it out. Don’t cha’ gimme that look, I deserve to have good coffee too! And if it’s close by you can’t just keep it to yourself! Think about the rest of us, huh? Besides, I think they’d like to see something other than yer’ prickly face every once in a while.” Golden haired Atsumu Miya, his fellow teammate and setter for the MSBY Black Jackals, has been walking beside him for five blocks, jabbering on about the bland offerings of the big box coffee chains that surround their home gym, and how he hasn’t had a good cup of coffee in days. Tch, he’d said months originally, but that was an obvious lie. After all, Kiyoomi pointed out, slipping his mask on before the two stepped into the strong midday sun, he’d come in with an iced coffee two days ago, proclaiming to the whole team it was the best he’d ever had, bar none.

“It’s a small shop,” Kiyoomi glumly elaborates, his dark hair soaking up the rays of sunlight as they crossed the bustling pedestrian walkway. “I think it’s run by an American. The staff speaks English, besides Japanese. There’s one barista in particular, a young woman, she has–”

“English? Oh, hell yeah! I can practice! This is perfect! They got any specialty drinks? I couldn’t see any from the menu that they had online, but I told ‘Samu I’d send him a picture of the place.”

Hmph, what’s the use of bothering to hold a conversation with this guy, Kiyoomi thinks, obsidian eyes narrowing as his brows furrow over his scrunched face, watching Atsumu chatter on about the vague sampling that he’d seen on their website. He’s not listening, anyway.

The coffee shop bell dings as the two of them step into the space, greeted by a waft of freshly ground coffee and the sharp tang of disinfectant. “Ahhh,” Atsumu says, propping his hands on his trim hips and fixing Kiyoomi with a pointed look, “totally see why you like the place. It smells like they have a freaking bleach, whaddya call those, ah, an air freshener! Yeah, smells like they have an ‘eu de bleach’ wall plug in.”

“It’s clean,” Kiyoomi affirms, his own hands sliding into his pockets, fingers wrapping around his wallet as he steps into the line. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Not at all,” Atsumu grins, resting an arm on Kiyoomi’s shoulder as he glances over the chalkboard menu. “Just can tell that must be why you like this place so much. Bet you huff cleaner as soon as you get home.. Speaking of, I still need to see your new apartment, heard you let Ushijima come by and that’s not fair at all. Kinda– ow! Omi, ya’ friggin ass!”

Kiyoomi jerked his arm upwards as he stepped toward the register and the abrupt displacement sent Atsumu’s hand flying up, managing to perfectly strike himself on his nose as he attempted to counterbalance his sudden shift in momentum.

“HA-ah, ahem, I mean…hello! Nice to see you again, sir!” the barista calls out, poorly concealing his mirth at Atsumu’s fumbling behind a gloved hand. Kiyoomi nods curtly, his order on the tip of his lips, but before he can utter anything Atsumu is beside him again, leaning against the well lit pastry case and peering over his options critically.

“Hmm, ya’ got any of those little madeline cakes? They’re vanilla, kinda look like a shell? Saw em’ on yer’ website.”

The barista gives Atsumu a broad grin and twists to talk with someone who’s below the arched dome of the food case, quietly asking a few questions before looking back at the blonde man. “Yeah, we do! We’re actually just putting them out, my manager is checking for the–”

Atsumu steps impossibly closer to the gleaming glass and pops his head over the dome, peering down at whoever is restocking the sweets. “Oh! Hey there!” he chirps, lowering his chin, his face pulling into an exaggerated, cocky smirk. “Ya’ know what I mean, right? It’s kinda like a cake, but it’s small, like a cookie. It’s French. No, it’s not that. Maybe on the next tray? What? I can’t hear ya’. It’s smaller. I can step around, see if–”

A familiar voice pipes up before Atsumu can move closer and Kiyoomi turns, ears instantly pricking up at the sound of your reply. “I said, I know what a madeline is, sir. I’m rearranging and organizing my cart at the moment and, if you’d like, you can order your drinks first. I’ll have the madeline waiting for you on the other side of the bar.”

“Lemme just see one,” Atsumu grins, resting his hands against the glass. Kiyoomi’s lips curl at the sight, watching Atsumu’s hands leave lingering prints behind. Great, now they’ll need to clean and re-polish the display. Besides, you’d said you had them. Why keep pushing the issue? Ugh. If he wasn’t regretting his decision to show his fellow teammate the shop before, he certainly is now.

“Just wanna make sure we’re on the same page, is all. Ya’ might give me something else by mistake and that’s a waste of time for both of us!” Atsumu’s smile broadens, a shadowed look falling over his angular features.

You hop up from your crouched position, a wrapped package with bright blue lettering that clearly says [ French Vanilla Madeline ] on the side, clutched between your fingers. “Oh no, I get it,” you begin, mimicking Atsumu’s cheshire grin with startling accuracy. “You just want to double check! I mean, the words on the packaging do say: Madeline. So unless you mean something else, something that’s not called ‘A French vanilla madeline, made with real vanilla extract and buttery goodness,’ I think we’ve got you covered.”

Your voice is saccharine sweet, lilting over the words, a well-practiced smile lifting your lips. You’re still clearly mirroring the one Atsumu is giving you. It’s the snappiest your tone has ever been, and the fact that it’s being used against his annoying teammate is priceless. Suddenly, he can’t help the laugh that’s already snickering its way past his mask.

“Oi!” Atsumu cries, pushing himself off the case at last, his teeth gritted at Kiyoomi’s obvious amusement. “I just wanted to check! And you, manager lady, don’t be so mean!”

“Pfft, manager lady? It’s (Y/N). And me? Mean? I was not mean, I told you that we had them! I just needed to FIFO some of the other pastries first,” you defend, a surprised exhale falling from your lips.

“FIFO? What is that? Don’t use that food jargon on me! I get that enough from my brother. He does that crap all the time, like it’s some sorta secret lingo. ‘Don’t do that ‘Tsumu, gotta make sure it’s in date’. ‘Don’t come on the line!’ ‘Gotta wear a hat or a hair net if yer’ gonna be back here!’ ‘Don’t mislabel the rice!’ On and on. What’s with you food people? So uptight. Look, I just wanted to try one. Yer’ reviews said they were good! Here, tell you what, give me two. Don’t laugh! Omi, help! She’s picking on me!”

“Stop it, you’re making a scene. Any other inane questions? Or anything else you’d like to order, because I’m certainly not buying any of this for you,” Kiyoomi replies, sneaking a glance at your bemused expression. You catch his eye and give him a quick wink and he finds that his smile stays with him long after he, and a chastened and satiated Atsumu have left the warmth of the coffee shop.

“Mmm, these are pretty good,” Atsumu mumbles between bites of his madeline. “Ya’ want some?”

He stops by after his evening practice, when the sun has long since fallen past the horizon of the city, but as soon as he rounds the corner he regrets his decision.

The cafe is brimming with people. They’re everywhere; outside, they are clustered on the pavement, sitting on the collection of iron wrought chairs, and gathered in groups. Inside, most are sprawled close to the hand off plane, or draped over the couches and tables. They appear to be animated, with computer screens and voices bright, too bright. His usual spot is taken, and he’s already made up his mind to keep walking on but somehow, somehow, he catches your eye.

Suddenly, the world smells like velvety pine and heady bergamot, and he can’t stop staring down at you.

“Hey! Glad I could catch you. Wanted to tell you good luck on your upcoming game! I think I saw on the news that it’s tomorrow? Right?”

“Yes, we’re playing Azuma Pharmacy. They have a good starting lineup. It’s entirely possible that we’ll lose.”

“Jeez,” you exhale, cocking your head at his serious expression. “Kind of a pessimist, aren’t you?”

“I’m a realist. I’m perfectly prepared to beat them, but things always play out differently on the court, no matter what your personal expectations are.”

You give him another smile. This one comes quickly, and it’s bigger than any of the others, the pull of it lighting up your face. It’s different, and he can tell that the way you’re looking at him has shifted; that you’ve liked this answer. He’s not sure why, it’s the truth. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Good point. Well, win or lose, you’ve got my luck! I better get back inside. Your drink is on me by the way, for the other day…when I touched your hand…well, I’m sure you remember. Anyway, see you, Sakusa!”

He watches you slip past the packed lines of students, already rolling up your sleeves so you can wash your hands. Once you’re behind the espresso machine you’re hidden by the burnished copper and he walks on, shouldering his MSBY bag higher, lifting his coffee to his lips. It’s got a rich flavor, well balanced and expertly poured. Once again, he’s reminded that you’re good at what you do and, despite the balmy heat of early spring, that makes his fingers tingle and his skin break out in gooseflesh.

Later, when he’s falling asleep, he keeps seeing your eyes. Watching as your colored irises come alive in the moonlight, hopeful, shining, and wholly focused on him.

At practice, Atsumu insists on completing his post workout stretching next to him. He’s used to Kiyoomi’s sullen silences and barbed retorts, content to chatter however he pleases, flitting from topic to topic as he eases into his cool down routine.

“I need to go back to that coffee shop. Ya’ been back lately?”

“No,” Kiyoomi lies, brushing a stubborn wave of curls out of his sweaty face.

“Too bad. Maybe after Friday’s practice? That girl really knew her stuff. Made some great coffee, too. What was her name? Ah, that’s right, (Y/N). She’s cute, what’s her story?”

Something twinges against Kiyoomi’s rib cage at the word ‘cute.’ Hmm, that’s not normal. He flips to his left side, facing away from Atsumu’s greedy eyes and leering smiles.

“How long has she worked there?”

“Not sure,” Kiyoomi replies, flattening his palm against the cool flooring of the gym. “At least a year, maybe more.”

“That other barista said she was a manager. She’s not one of the owners, is she?”

“Dunno.”

“Is she a student? Kinda strange to see an American working in Japan, and she’s definitely an American. She’s good with the Japanese, but her accent is off.”

“Your accent is off, so I’m not sure what your point is. I can understand her, and I can’t say the same for you.”

“Jackass!” Atsumu snaps, flopping up from his splayed stretch to butterfly his muscled legs. “It’s called a regional accent, and it’s perfectly normal. Ya’ got one too, city boy!”

“See? No one says things like that. You sound like a cartoon character. Sometimes I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Yer’ full of it!”

“Hmph,” Kiyoomi hums, curling himself onto his haunches and flattening the tops of his hands against the floor. The satisfying crunch of his wrists as his fingers settle makes Atsumu visibly shudder and Kiyoomi flashes him a quick smirk of his own, hoping it will spook his stretching companion enough that he’ll leave him be. He prefers to do his cool down in silence.

“She do anything else? Other than diligently slaving over yer’ coffee, that is?”

Tch. It seems that luck isn’t with him today. “She said she’s a graduate student.”

“Oooh, what’s she studyin’?”

“Not sure.”

“Yer’ about as fun to talk to as a stack of bricks, ya’ know? Bet if I’d asked you what her name was the other day all you’d say was, ‘I use’ta just call her barista: first name: cute, last name: girl.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t reply. Something about these questions is bothering him. He doesn’t like that he can’t answer them properly– it’s frustrating, really. All he can honestly tell Atsumu is that you’re neat and efficient, that you have a smile that he can’t quite shake out of his head, a perfume that he wishes he could place, and that, to date, you’ve given him one free coffee. The fact that he knows that you’re a graduate student is sheer luck, information that you’d happened to share with him, not that he’d asked you about. He uncoils his hands and flips them over, letting his eyes rest against his reddened palms. Oh, and you’d touched his wrist once and the sheer metaphysical weight of that contact had nearly sent him stumbling backwards.

It’s stupid; he’s stupid.

It’s not hard to talk with people. It’s just…he knows he’s not good at it. Besides, when would he practice? He’s surrounded by extroverts; extreme extroverts. Extroverts who defy all sense and who usually can’t be silenced unless they’re tucked into a deep sleep, and even then it’s doubtful. Both Hinata and Bokuto have demonstrated that they can, and will, talk in their sleep. Still, it’s frustrating to find himself boxed into a corner, completely at a loss and unaware of the most cursory, mundane, simple, facts about you. For almost two years, he’s seen you at least twice a week, shouldn’t he know more? Why doesn’t he know more?

“Why not give her a ticket to a game?”

Atsumu’s question makes him lift his head, abandoning his musings as he lets the weight of that suggestion sink in. The setter is crinkling his eyes at him now, that all knowing smirk back on his lips, umber eyes hooded, mischievous. “The front office can do that, ya’ know? We’ve got extras. They keep em’ for that purpose. Just say she’s a special guest, or a potential sponsor. They ain’t gonna question you.”

Kiyoomi looks away, crossing his legs and leaning to his right side, feigning disinterest as Atsumu tells him who he can speak with, where he can see the upcoming calendar, and what seats might be open. It’s a good idea, a great idea, and he can’t help but loathe that Atsumu thought of it first.

The ticket is good for a first row balcony seat.

It’s situated in the best spot. He’d picked it out himself, carefully looking over the colored diagram of the stadium and belaboring the proximity of the sight-lines, wanting to let you have a bird’s eye view of the court. Where would he like to sit, if he could watch a game? What works? What doesn’t? Too high and you can’t catch the movement of the ball. Too low and you can’t see the players. Too far to the right or left and you can’t see the breadth of the court. It’s tricky, and he’s cautious with his selection. He can’t help it.

Kiyoomi only considers you not even liking the sport when he’s placing his order, watching as you carefully tuck his empty cup down on the polished steel of the bar. Shit.

The cafe is quiet. The students are gone, and when the register barista goes to the backroom it’s only him and you in the well lit space. The click of the burr grinder almost makes him jump, and he compromises with his nerves by shifting toward his usual table, resting his bag in the chair and taking in a deep breath.

The gentle press of the tamp is audible over the low beats of the music and he hears you knock the side of the portafilter, no doubt leveling off the crushed arabica before you hook the device under the grouphead. Seconds later he sees you flip the switch for his shots, already grooming his heated, foaming, oat milk in the short pitcher, popping the liquid free of any errant bubbles. You’re gentle with this part, and he’s always loved to watch you pour his cortado, liking the raise of your arm and the flick of your wrist as you let the creamy milk flow into the paper cup, swirling a rosetta design through the ochre of the waiting espresso.

Usually, this well-oiled process of yours calms him, but today he feels fidgety and his head is buzzing. The sooner you finish the drink, the sooner he’ll have to talk to you. Shit, shit. When you move the dark lids forward, his hand feels like it’s heating around the slick paper of the ticket, making it clammy and tacky. He bites his lip and removes his hand from his jacket, wiping his palm against his dark jeans.

You’re already looking up at him, nodding toward the fragrant cup that’s waiting at the edge of the handoff plane. Automatically, he lurches forward, completely in-sync with his familiar routine. The question [ would you like a ticket to one of my games? ] is resting on the tip of his tongue and his fingers are hovering beside his cup. He can see that they’re shaking and that sight doesn’t ease him. Then you ask him something and he feels everything skitter to a halt. Why is this happening? It’s just a ticket, it’s just a game.

Wait. You asked him something?

He does his best to ignore the humming of anxious tension that’s filtering down his fingertips and lifts his bowed head. “What?” he mumbles, lips unsticking at last.

“Just asked how your game went the other day. I tried to record it but my stupid cable box isn’t working. I need to try and see you guys, I know I’ve probably said that before, but it’s pretty pathetic of me to not catch one game when the stadium is only two miles away. Plus, I know y’all are a great team! Heard you made the playoffs last year, that’s so awesome!”

It’s a perfect segway.

But he feels like he’s rooted to the spot, like his tongue is trapped against the roof of his mouth, and his hands are too heavy to move, content to shake beside his cooling drink as he whittles his time away, too filled with the what if’s to do anything about the here and now. He’s going down a mental checklist, mulling over each possibility, cautiously tampering with that heady rush of excitement that’s threatening to bubble out of his masked lips. Shit.

He’s gotta check his vitamin intake, maybe he’s low on omega 3s? The team has a general practitioner on standby. He really should call him after this, maybe run by his office before the next practice.

Something’s off with him.

Wait, that worked.

That shift in his whirring thoughts broke him out of that suspended state and then, before he completely fucks this up, the ticket is down against the counter and he’s muttering something about unlimited uses, that if you can’t make it now, then you can always switch the date, or add someone on, if you have a [ boy ] friend you want to take; the next game works best with the seat that’s listed, he’s checked. He knows it’s open. Again, zero pressure and no worries if you can’t make it. See you around.

You might have responded, you might have smiled, fuck, you might have laughed at him. He’s not sure.

All he knows is that as soon as he is out of the shop he’s calling the team’s gp and confirming an appointment for tomorrow morning. It’s not natural for his heart to stutter and thump like that. It could be an arrhythmia.

It could be any number of things.

He hasn’t felt this nervous about a game in years. Sure, it’s a good team, and they have four players that are of his generation, most of them powerful outside hitters that will probably give the Jackals a good run for their money, but they’re not insurmountable. They can beat VC Kanagawa; they’ll have to if they want to advance further in the lineup for the playoffs.

It’s just…

He keeps looking for that seat. Your seat. He’d gotten to the stadium early; opting to forgo the first team meeting, saying he needed to practice his wall drills, work on his spin, but that’s not the real reason. The real reason is something that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. At least, not before a game. He steadies himself, reiterating that it’s not practical or helpful for him to worry about things like that.

Nevertheless, he’s pinned the seat in his mind. He studied it as the lights shuddered on, the maintenance staff flashing him bewildered looks as he stepped into the empty brightness of the court. He’d found it again during the pre-game warmup, onyx eyes committing the location to memory, searching for the little details that he could watch for if he wanted to find it again, later, when the arena was packed with thousands of eyes and waving signs.

As they open the main doors and the seats fill up, he’s still looking at the seat.

“Whatcha looking at?” Hinata asks, his burst of orange hair already slicked with sweat, vivid eyes sharp.

“Nothing.”

The results of Kiyoomi’s physical had shown no outliers, no cause for worry or concern. Everything was fine. He should just get a little extra potassium in, maybe eat a few more bananas in the morning, or after his practices. He’d been a little miffed when he opened the manilla folder, eyes hunting for abnormalities, for a reason, an explanation. If nothing is wrong, then why does he feel like he’s tingling with adrenaline all the time? It makes him light-headed, sluggish, and that’s detrimental to his playability, to his value to his team.

He looks away from Hinata and paces past Atsumu’s arched eyebrow, ignoring the implications of that wicked grin that’s resting on the setter’s quirked lips. It’s fine; he’s fine. His eyes look up to the balcony again. He really shouldn’t be doing that, he reminds himself. It’s a distraction, and he doesn’t–

Oh. There you are.

He can’t make out details, not from this distance, and he suddenly feels self-conscious about his face. There’s no mask. He doesn’t wear it when he plays, and this will be the first time you’ve seen him without it. Suddenly, he wishes he hadn’t cared so much about the visibility of the court. Why did he plant you so far away? If he can’t see you, then there’s no way you’ll be able to tell which one he is either…oh…wait…his name is on the back of his jersey and they’ll announce his number. Nevermind.

The referee calls for the teams to line up and he diligently follows his teammates, standing in his usual spot, ignoring the dull thump of his heart as it beats a ragged tattoo under his ribs.

They won.

They won, and he’d racked up a whopping 23 points for himself, a personal milestone. It’ll be something that will go down on his athletic record, that the local and national news reports will chatter about, that he can feel proud of. He’s glad; you always show him your best, so it’s only fair he does the same for you too.

He’d peeked up at your seat during each time out, each break, every time the momentum shifted, and before he hit every serve. You looked like you had your feet propped up, resting against the metal barrier of the balcony, and he could see that your arms were wrapped around your knees. You were paying attention, and that knowledge made his lungs swell and his pulse quicken.

Now, after he’s finished toweling some of the clinging sweat from his brow and the matted droop of his obsidian curls, he twists back, facing your seat, but you’re not there. An empty curve of plastic greets him and his heavy brows furrow, his fingers dropping the towel onto the bench as they curl up into his palms.

Did you leave? It would make sense, he supposes. The game is over. He just thought you might come down. Might want to talk. Not that he’d have much to say. He never does. Stupid; what would he talk with you about? See the game? Yeah, duh.

The distant voice of MSBY’s public relations manager is calling for him. He’ll worry about it [ you ] later, he thinks, he’s still got a job to do.

During his interview he can hear Atsumu’s voice. It’s annoying. While the setter doesn’t attempt to tone himself down, he rarely talks that loudly. Kiyoomi glances over at his straight back, watching as his hand cups against the back of his golden head, an infectious laugh bursting from his turned lips. Strange. It’s not like him to chat with someone for that long, not when he’s got his own post-game interviews to conduct. He usually–

Ah, it’s you.

Suddenly, questions like: [ how does it feel to be considered for the 2025 Japanese Olympic team? ] don’t matter. His head is half cocked now, dark eyes following the two of you, his comments to the national reporter falling into clipped monosyllables. This is unprofessional; he should focus on the matter at hand, it’s not like him to be distracted.

He’s been thinking about that a lot lately. That so many things are suddenly not like him.

When you push playfully at Atsumu’s shoulder, he lapses into a stormy silence, nails biting into his clenched palms, pressing half moons into his calloused skin. After answering one more question: [ something about his future plans - how’s he supposed to know? That depends on trades, on opportunities. And right now he’s not in the correct frame of mind to answer honestly, not when he can see that you’re right there ] he bows to the smiling face of the reporter, formally concluding his participation in the interview. He knows it’s abrupt; he knows he’ll likely get an earful from the MSBY PR director, from his coach, and from himself, when the full weight of his uncharacteristic rashness hits him, but right now he doesn’t care.

His feet feel like lead and the steps that he’s taking shudder against the gym’s polished flooring. He’s usually smoother than this, more collected, but can’t will himself to stop lurching forward. He tucks his hands into the darkness of his team jacket, coiling his numb fingers into tight balls, and hunches his shoulders. He likely looks like thunder and this suspicion is confirmed when a ball boy scuttles out of his path, eyes wide, but Kiyoomi doesn’t care.

Atsumu hasn’t noticed his approach, but you do, and that shy wave and familiar smile makes his breath catch in his throat. Damn it. What’s going on with him?

Atsumu notices your wandering attention and turns, following your gaze. Once he spots Kiyoomi, he gives him a cheeky smirk, dipping his chin, lazily fixing his amber eyes on Kiyoomi’s arched figure. “Look who caaame!” he calls, lacing his tone with poorly concealed glee. “She said you gave her a ticket. What a great, absolutely original, idea! And you had your record breaking scoring streak today too! Hey! Maybe she’s good luck! Watch out (Y/N), pretty soon we’ll be hooking you up with a personal mascot job if ya’ can light such a fire under our stoic hitter’s ass. Must be something special in that coffee yer’ serving him.”

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes at Atsumu’s blatant needling and the setter chuckles, flipping his focus back to you, sensing the rising agitation that is rolling off of Kiyoomi in waves now. “Well, sure was good to see ya’ again! Talk to me next time, huh? I’ll get you a boxed seat. It’s much better than those nosebleeds in the balconies.”

You shake your head, a smile pulling at your lips, and make a show of rolling your eyes. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, you know? And what boxed seats? Feels like I’d see them if you had them,” you tease, earning yourself a last laugh and Atsumu’s back, a friendly hand waving a last goodbye as he finally strides toward the waiting cameras. Kiyoomi watches him go, his shoulders tense, a feeling of unease settling in his gut. Is Atsumu doing this on purpose?

He almost snaps a retort at his retreating figure, but the sound of your voice immediately snatches his attention toward you. His dark gaze meets yours and the look in your eyes makes his palms feel itchy and his feet scuff mindlessly against the floor.

“This is gonna sound so dumb, but it’s been on my mind since I got here…”

Kiyoomi’s fingers twist in his pockets, coiling over each digit, and his pulse feels like it’s speeding up again. “What?”

“It’s just…well, you look so much younger without the mask,” you let out a small laugh and duck your head, teeth pulling at your lower lip as you face away from his widening eyes.

“Is that bad?”

“No! You look good! Uh, I mean, not that you didn’t…I just wasn’t sure…not that I’d thought about it…a lot…uh, I…yeah, I’m…No, it’s not bad!” You press your hands against your mouth, steepling your fingers under your nose and fix him with a sheepish grin. “Anyway, I know you’ve got things to do, but Miya was right about one thing, you had a great game. I had a lot of fun and it was so nice of you to get me that ticket, and well…”

You pause, lowering your hands to yank your purse forward, fingers digging into the leather before you right yourself once more, returning with a small, zipped bag, and a plastic card that’s balancing atop the metal teeth. “It’s a…well…I sorta tried to think of some things that you might like. To say thanks! It’s nothing fancy. A nail filing kit, because I read that volleyball guys like to keep their hands in tiptop shape, one of those portable ball pumps and some masks.

The masks are from a great company, back home, er, in the states. Well, at least I like them, they’re super durable. And the card, uh, ha, um, the card is to the cafe. I know it’s not super original, but I didn’t know if you liked any other places. And I didn’t wanna assume or — Haha, oh God, I am talking your ear off. Just…here! Take this from me so I can get my foot outta my mouth, okay?”

You press the bag forward and before he can tell you he doesn’t accept gifts from fans, his hands are already out of the safety of his pockets, firmly wrapping around your offering. “Thank you,” he bows. He wants to say more, but he’s not sure how.

He didn’t mean to come by the cafe.

He thought he’d go for a quick run before practice, maybe loop the block, or jog toward the university. None of these things are close to the cafe, but apparently his feet had other ideas. The shop bell rings when he steps inside, wiping some hand sanitizer against his heated palms, onyx eyes alert, already searching for you.

A male barista [ is it Kane? ] greets him and before he can stop himself, he’s asking if you’re there. “Oh, (Y/N)? Nah, she’s off today. But I can make your cortado, you get almond milk, right?”

“Oat,” Kiyoomi replies, voice muffled by his mask. Damn. Why did he come here? He didn’t mean to and now it’s looking like it was a wasted trip. A useless instinct. He’d wanted to thank you properly for your gift, which had been on his mind a lot the past few days. Perhaps that’s why he felt so compelled to jog the extra mile, why he can’t seem to keep away, why he keeps looking for you as he waits, even though he knows you’re not here.

Maybe he can text you his thanks. That would make all of this easier. Oh, wait, does he even have your number? He pulls his phone out of his pocket and examines his contact list, searching for you. No, nothing under your name. Maybe he put it under something else? [ barista? cafe? ] Again, there’s nothing. Damn. Why didn’t he ask at the game? Or when he gave you the ticket?

When he picks up his drink and paces back into the sunshine, he’s still kicking himself that he hasn’t asked for your number yet. It would have made things so much simpler, he reasons, sipping at his coffee; now he’ll have to come back.

But days pass, and he hasn’t returned.

There’s just too much going on. Too many team meetings and late practices. Too much preparation. The pace of his schedule has never bothered him before, but now he keeps hoping for some kind of reprieve.

The other morning Atsumu strode into a meeting with a cup from your cafe, proudly flaunting the familiar label. It made Kiyoomi’s blood boil [ did he see you? talk with you? Did he get to see that addictively pleasing smile of yours? ] and later that afternoon he experienced his first scolding.

“What’s going on, Omi? Five missed digs? This isn’t like you. You look like your head is in the clouds. Come on, get it together. Big game in five days.”

“Sorry, won’t happen again.” It’s all he can say.

When he’s heading toward the team showers, he catches sight of Atsumu’s knowing leer and he grits his teeth, ignoring the huffed snicker and scoffing head shake that the setter sends his way.

Finally, two days later, he’s got some free time. There are other errands he needs to run, things he should do, but the only thing he can think about is you.

He’s walking up from a side street, one he rarely takes, when, at long last, he catches sight of you. You must be on a break. You’re sitting at a bench, facing a small, but well laid flower bed, flipping the pages of your open book languidly as you read under the cool shade of a gnarled tree.

He’s glad he’s wearing the mask that you gifted him.

You’d said that they were durable, and their quality had genuinely impressed him. When he got home, after the game, he slipped them out of their individual plastic cases, fingering the thick, well made materials before washing one. He’d left the others in their containers. He’ll use them, eventually, but not right now. He wants to savor them. He wants them to last.

Kiyoomi is almost to your side when you look up and he bites against his lower lip as soon as you give him that friendly smile of yours, already closing your book and standing, waiting for him to step closer. He comes to a stop in front of you, peering down at you through his dark lashes.

You always smell so nice, he thinks, unconsciously shifting closer, seeking more. You must have showered before coming into your shift because the crisp scent of peppermint and gentle lavender makes his nostrils flare hungrily under his mask.

“Hey there!” you begin, tucking your book into your arms. “Long time no see. How have you been?”

“Fine. I have practice later. I came by the other day. I…” he lapses into frustrated silence, dark brows falling, letting his hands grip at the material of his jacket. Why is this so hard? You, all the others on his team, Motoya [ hell, even the notoriously impassive Wakatoshi has come out of his shell over the years ] can slip into a conversation. Damn it, how can everyone else make this look so easy?

“Saw you’re playing the Adlers soon. They’re the team the Jackals have a sorta rivalry with, right?”

He blinks down at you and lets out a shallow exhale. There you go again. You’re giving him a life raft, a conversation he can fall into, something he enjoys talking about. He remembers his stilted conversation with Atsumu, the one where he did not know about any of the basic things, the obvious things, the things that made you, you. It’s nice that you’re looking out for him, that you’re helping him along, but he doesn’t want to talk about volleyball, not right now.

“We do. How did your finals go? You said you had a dissertation?”

“Oh!” you blurt, your eyes widening, but you’re clearly pleased, even a little excited that he’s asked. “You remembered! Finished it up last week. Now I just need to knock out my revisions and I’ll either go back to committee, or they’ll approve it! I’m hoping they approve it. I’m sick of looking at it, haha.” Your fingers tap against your book and you duck your head, a quick smile passing over your smooth lips. “Uh, did you want to come in for a coffee? Not trying to hold you up, if you’ve got practice to go to.”

“I was the one who came over.” He sounds a little harsh, he thinks, nose wrinkling under his mask. He’s never worried about being blunt, but that doesn’t work here. He doesn’t want to be, not with you. “I mean, I wanted…wanted to say thanks, for the masks and the other things. I like them.” He points to his covered face and you let out a chuckle, gleaming eyes crinkling as you look up at him. Damn, you’re pretty. How has he not noticed that before? He wants to see you laugh again, he’s just not sure how to go about it. Does he even know any jokes? Shit.

“Awe, I’m glad you like them! Speaking of, Atsumu came by a few days ago, I guess you must have worn one around him because he was trying to sniff out if I’d given them to you. He’s a funny guy, but I cannot get a good read on him. It’s almost like he’s doing stuff on purpose, but he’s never blatantly obvious about it. The way he was talking, I was kinda worried he was trying to play a prank on you. Does he like to get under your skin or something? He’s–”

Kiyoomi’s not thinking when he leans down. He’s been doing that a lot lately, not thinking. It makes his skin prickle. Or is that the smell of peppermint on your clean neck, the fragrant lavender in your hair? The kiss is soft; more of a press of his lips than a real caress. But it’s nice, and he actually likes being this close to you, but something feels off and, ah, damn it.

His dark brows knit together, furrowing his forehead, when he realizes what he’s done. He didn’t take off his mask. How stupid. But that shaky gasp of air that you let out when he pulls away, and the following upward lift of your body, your lips chasing his, clearly wanting him to come back, oh that’s so worth it, mask or not.

Your eyes are the first thing he sees when he looks back down, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so perfect. They’re bright, vibrant, and rich with an excitement that makes his toes curl.

The smell of lavender and peppermint, of you, is almost overwhelming, and yet somehow it’s all together, not enough. He doesn’t say anything and neither do you.

What is there to say?

That one, half-formed, touch said it all. It expressed every frustration that he’s felt over the last few weeks, every faded memory of your voice, of your playful smiles, of those hesitant conversations you’ve helped him through. It’s all there, sitting quietly between the two of you, shimmering in the sunlight as you take a step closer and his hands finally fall out of his pockets, waiting, hoping for yours.

“(Y/N)! Break’s over! Coffee’s not gonna brew itself!”

The distant voice of your coworker shatters the euphoria and you tense, pulling away, your head turning toward the barked command as you call out your reply. Kiyoomi huffs out an impatient breath. He wanted to try that again. Do it right this time. How pathetic is he? Kissing you through a mask? But his annoyance dies when you face him again, slipping your hand tentatively into his.

His digits fall limply around yours and he can’t help but marvel at the softness of you. One of his thumbs lifts and he traces the skin along your knuckles, unsure if he’s even breathing anymore. “Come on,” you say, looking down at his touch before lacing your fingers through his, showing him how to hold you. “I’ll make your coffee.”

You’re walking forward and he has the inane urge to snatch you back, wanting to see how the rest of you feels, wanting to know how you’ll fit into his arms, but he distracts himself by following you. There’s a budding warmth that’s spreading from his palm, where your hand rests inside his, to his chest. It feels like a low burning fire is coursing along his veins and his heartbeat thuds out of rhythm, but for once he doesn’t care.

In fact, he thinks he likes it.

He sits in the cafe for too long, his coffee cold, the cup almost empty. But before he leaves [ already so, so late for practice ] he gets your number.

He taps the unfamiliar digits carefully into his device and you watch from the counter, your chin propped in your hand, a gentle smile kissing against your palm. Then he stands, pausing beside you and you run your index finger down his arm, lingering your touch beside his wrist, making him shiver in the warm sunlight, a pleased grin hidden behind his mask.

notes: this man has what, 10 pages of interaction? idk why and idk how, but he is stuck in my brain - like, seriously send help, i think i’m in love.

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strangerays · 4 years ago

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Nothing in Particular Update #2

It’s the Nothing and Particular and Everything update part two: the electric booglaloo. This one is long, so strap in.

It’s been a while since I wrote an update for this story. To be honest, this one gave me a lot of stress, but here I am! Writing this story feels like it is going very slow. I keep telling myself I’ve made a lot of progress (which is true, I have) but for some reason it doesn’t feel like I have? This is likely just my own insecurity. To be frank, I can’t believe I’m still writing this story. If you had told me in February that I’d still be writing this when the weather got warm, I would have laughed.

I am SO excited that I will finally be able to focus on writing now that I’m out of school. I’m afraid to speak the rough deadline that I’ve given myself for this story (the end of August-early September) but now that I’ve spoken it into existence, I hope I can finish! (I hope I can stop watching dumb videogame playthroughs and listening to The Magnus Archives and get something done)

Here is a link to the story introduction and previous update!

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-); @wannabeauthorzofija @a-completely-normal-writer @baguettethebooklover @corkytheguar @writeherewaiting

STORY CHANGES/THOUGHTS/IDEAS:

Here is a big one: I’ve been trying to write this story for myself. I started writing Ray’s story from a place that was personal to me, but I feel like, as that part of myself has begun to heal, I’ve started to think about what a reader would want out of the story. I’m realizing that this is my story so it has to be what I want. Drafts are drafts for a reason, so I’m going to try to get better at letting myself explore what is fun to me.

I always thought I was a discovery writer (I still sort of think I am) but as I’ve finished small sections of the story, I am finding that it’s very helpful to do a rough outline of scenes in upcoming chapters. (I also recommend turning to this if something doesn��t work and you need to retrace your steps!) Just helps me feel more organized!

Jude’s character has got to be one of the most difficult personalities I’ve ever written. Putting her beside Ray just makes it harder. Where Ray is secretive and keeps to herself, Jude is ready to unpack her entire life’s story to anyone. I find that I really have to slow down when writing their interactions. I know this is going to be nowhere near perfect in the first draft, but I think it is a main contributor to my slow writing.

I really like this little narrative I’ve created in the background of the main plot with Ray and Lonan. I love writing these scenes because it’s a way for me to use Lonan when he’s not actively with Ray and to show why Ray is predetermined about things at certain points. Also I love their friendship so much <3

CONGRATULATIONS TO ME on starting to read again because I forgot how much of a help reading other people’s stories can be when you’re struggling with your own oml

I now have a set timeline for the story! Takes place ~4-5 months.

I did that thing where you write a letter from the characters’ perspectives and that was kind of fun

Also just for fun I thought I’d add in that I spent an hour and a half last week filling up a page in my sketchbook with diagrams of the plot. It feels good to be a mad scientist

EXCERPTS UNDER THE CUT!

*At this point, I’m only sharing writing that I am really proud of in order not to spoil the story! This is because I am unsure whether I want to publish this story someday. With that said, that does NOT give you permission to steal my ideas!

CHAPTER: NIGHT CRIES

In the last week of summer, I did everything I could to avoid post-vacation blues. I rode my bike along the gravel roads with no destination, wore my dark sunglasses to people-watch, and fed salami to the minnows that floated on the cusps of boulders. Usually, I sat still for so long that my elbows turned a deep shade of red and the blood in my toes buzzed.

New pockets seemed to open up in Point Blink every day. And with them, came new people. Most of them were older – a middle aged woman who caked her lipstick on, an uncle estranged from his brother, a couple who had miscarried. I hadn’t forgotten about the kids at Mothouse. It was impossible not to think about them. It wasn’t just that I’d never seen them before.

The girl’s limp cigarette bled a trail of smoke that seeped into my Vans. My shirt folded like skin over my bed post. Haunted the room – foiled my mauve sheets and teased my locks. Swept the curtains apart and heated the oak floor. Beams of moonlight leapt to my bookcases; highlighted the posters from various podcasts and bands that I listened to. Wind whistled when I was too still. She forced me to look outside, onto the dark cul-de-sac lit by the reflections of forming rain puddles. No matter whether I sat at my desk or burrowed under my sheets, I felt out of place. She made my bedroom louder. She made my bedroom quieter.

I decided it would probably be best if I never saw her again.

To be honest, I don’t remember much about writing this chapter because it was over a month ago (sorry) but I’m still quite happy with the prose! This comes in after Ray sees Jude for the first time at Mothouse. Based on a first impression, decides that she might want be friends with Jude.

CHAPTER: SORRY

If you spend any long amount of time with someone, you’ll become a thief to their behaviors. If I stared long enough, trees began to replace all of the people we’d ever seen. Oaks had roots that serpentined the ground like children splashing in the bay, pines with needles like spindly old hands, maples with hollows like watchful eyes – all things Lonan had taught me to observe.

CHAPTER: GHOSTS

Then there was the sea – violent and knowing as it romped within bays and alcoves. She had eaten me many times before, both my father and Lonan too. Gulped them as if they were shining plastic wrappings left behind after a meal. I spited her for inviting me once again. I reached up again to grapple with the next rung. It twisted and offered a low whistle.

In these two chapters, Ray is on a photography trip with her class. This is the first time she’s been on this annual trip without Lonan. She left that morning with a goal of being independent and learning to get on with one of the only people she has felt close to. I realize now that the Ghost excerpt sort of sounds like her dad and Lonan have drowned?? Which was not my intention??

CHAPTER: A DIVINE INTERVENTION

“Do you believe in ghosts?” A raspy voice teased from behind me. Cigarette smoke tickled the words, like they were stuck together with jelly inside of her. The question wasn’t particularly calming, but it strengthened my grip on reality. As if the foiled leaves, bark, and dandelions had sprung from the ground and begun to float, they came crashing back down.

I was made of stone.

“I’m not a ghost,” Jude said. “If I was, a ladder would be a pretty counteractive way to outrun me. I could just float up there and haunt you.”

“Maybe you’re a ghost,” she asked, her voice distant.

I shifted my grasp up and down the sides of the ladder. “What?”

“Don’t you believe in ghosts?”

I was reading back some of Ray and Jude’s conversation and there are so many snippets of dialogue that make me laugh because I totally forgot I wrote them... but UGhhH I don’t know if I want to share them because I don’t know whether or not I want to try and publish the story someday. Speaking of that, it’s sort of because it’s so personal to me? I don’t know (this is for future me to pursue) Honestly though, reading these back has made me really happy :)

I wanted to shake her by the shoulders. She acted as though Point Blink could breathe – as though corpses in the cemetery might pull the grass away like dead skin, neighbors would draw blades, and blood-salt would stain her clothes rather than that from the sea. “Trust me, they’ll forgive you. But, I’m just saying, most people around here don’t care nearly as much as you think so. Most of them are way older anyways, so they’re tired of us.”

“Is that you complimenting yourself?” Jude asked.

“Not intentionally,” I said, “but I will take it.”

She laughed. “You shouldn’t be so nice to strangers.”

I wasn’t trying to be. I just didn’t think I wanted her to dislike me.

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing or a good thing,” Jude said. “Being good gets you tucked into a thousand different memories. Being good makes you live a lifetime.”

I almost laughed, but then I wondered what I was to her now. “I don’t talk to lots of people.”

“Sometimes there aren’t many people to talk to. But I thought you would have loads of friends.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I thought you would too.”

Alarm like grief lit her eyes, but she laughed. I did too.

“You hardly know me,” she said quietly.

Then the girls explore some old newspapers and letters in a fire tower! Spooky fun!

CHAPTER: YOU LET THIS HAPPEN

This isn’t a major spoiler as it’s literally in the blurb I wrote, but Ray and Jude are caught (targeted..??) in a fire. Ray is brought back to a field where she is questioned.

CHAPTER: NOTHING HAPPENS

He was quiet for several moments while he painted a picture with what little details I had given him, then said, “It’s unfair. I think that’s why it hurts.”

“Because we almost got hurt?”

“No. Because it came true.”

His gentle, ragged voice made me think I could tell him anything. Sometimes, I think that, even then, he knew I left something out.

Ray talks to Lonan after the fire... She’s being a bit dishonest about what actually happened.

CHAPTER: WHY NOT

I remember how the barest amount of red light glared across Lonan’s entire scalp and washed his boyish curls magenta from the roots out. When Jude leaned back on the counter, she melded into the darkness.

This chapter is just part of the narrative that I created with Ray and Lonan’s friendship. There isn’t much I want to spoil from it, but I liked this paragraph!

CHAPTER: INEVITABLE

“We didn’t do anything,” I said.

“Someone did. Why won’t you believe me?”

“I think I would remember whether or not someone was there with us,” I said, “even if we didn’t have the picture.”

This was untrue. I hung lots of photos in my room. A long time would pass before I went to a restaurant again, or a specific coven on one of the beaches, or an outfit that I wore, and I would look into one of my pictures and remember it, and then I would be quite angry with myself that I had almost forgotten that thing forever.

“I don’t think you understand what I mean,” Jude said. I didn’t like the way she’d lowered her voice. She sounded different every time I saw her. She reached out her arm so our photos were side by side and our fingers were almost touching. “I don’t think you want to.”

Ray finds herself alone in the school’s dark room with Jude. Based on the contents of one of her photos, she tries to convince Ray that there is more to the fire than what meets the eye.

CHAPTER: (this one is untitled)

I didn’t mind that he followed me everywhere. Even when he was quiet, I didn’t find it strange to be around him. We sat silently through films and went on walks. Once, he had fallen asleep while watching The Iron Giant in my bed. I didn’t know if I should wake him up once it ended. I tried not to stare at him. He’d rolled onto his side and bundled himself in one of my blankets covered in stars up to his shoulders so only his small face poked out like a baby owl’s. His soft breath messed his dirty gold coils. They were at their longest. Except for the ebbing light from a candle on my desk, my house was asleep – Lonan needed to go home.

For the first time, I wondered if anyone cared where he was.

Another small part of the little friendship narrative! (This really is the part of the story where I get nostalgic for my childhood, isn’t it) Ray starts to discover more about Lonan’s home life in this part of the story, but there’s not much that I think I want to reveal about that for now.

CHAPTER: THE CRUX OF IT

Why did I feel so paranoid? I found myself staring out the window, into the film of blue that the late sun shown onto the grass and trying to remember what summer felt like.

My main problem was that I didn’t know how to talk to Jude unless it was about Sugarfell. I ran from the hush of cigarette smoke behind closing doors and heard her loud voice in conversations. Even though there might have still been a part of me that wanted to be friends with her, I didn’t have much to base that feeling off of. I could have spent hours clicking the little pieces of her that I had together, but the crux of it was that I would never know Jude unless I forced myself to.

For some reason, that really scared me.

I spent all week trying to think of what to say to her. By Friday afternoon, I still had nothing.

I left off writing with Ray actively avoiding Jude’s little investigation into the arsonist. Ray doesn’t want to be involved in this because she feels that it will throw her sense of normalcy off course. She really just wants to learn how to adapt to a life without her best friend. (It doesn’t help that she’s got fresh trauma)

What will Ray decide? I don’t know. We shall see. (just kidding I know)

Sorry this update was longer! I think I would like to start updating more often than once a month just because they would be shorter and those of you reading this won’t forget what happened in the last update. There are thousands and thousands of words that didn’t show up in this update because - like I said - I don’t know whether I want to publish this story ever?? I’ll probably talk more about this in a separate update.

Thank you so much to those of you who read about my story! I hope you enjoy it!

p.s. btw I now have a myWriteClub account! You can check it out here and stalk me as I tragically fail my writing goals!

#ffs writing this update was like throwing a boulder into a lake #there was so much I wanted to share #it's really difficult to decide what to share as sometimes a paragraph that I'm really proud of will be really spoilery #I can only imagine this will be more and more difficult as I get further into the story #ANYWAYS #I feel like I'm really beginning to see who my characters are <3 #I feel like a proud mother #To be honest #I kind of hated Jude in the beginning #but now I feel like Ray hates her too so that makes me like her #haha im so mean #tune in next time for a Sapphic spy date

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canyouhearthelight · 5 years ago

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The Miys, Ch. 118

Winding down to the end of 2020, when there will be an announcement regarding the story. No worries: I’m not stopping at the end of the year!

First, thanks for this chapter go to: @zommbiebro for Jokul, @wildforestferret for Hannah, @baelpenrose for Alistair and being an amazing Beta Reader/writing partner, and @raven-fae for originally giving me the NERVE to start posting this so long ago. I never imagined that a one-off response to a writing prompt would become so much!

Housekeeping stuff: I updated the Master List and the page links over the weekend (whew), and also finished all the chapters that will post through the end of the year! Much excite, so relief.

Rushing between appointments, I was trying to multitask by looking over one of the files for the cooking class volunteers. Quiet beeps in the back of my mind should have reminded me to watch where I was going as I kept setting off proximity warnings in people I nearly ran into. I was so focused on my task that I ignored the mutters around me of how rude I was being, until the alert suddenly started getting louder and louder, practically screaming before I snapped out of my trance and stopped walking.

In front of me was a familiar set of broad shoulders, and just past him was a wall that I nearly ran us both into. “Conor, what are you doing?” I asked, started to see him seemingly just staring at a wall and humming away.

He turned toward me with a grin, dropping a kiss on the top of my head in greeting. “I didn’t realize that was you,” he answered. “I heard someone coming, but figured they would either turn or rather run into me than the wall.”

“And why are you staring at the wall?”

“Wasn’t staring,” he corrected. “I was working on this.” He stepped aside with a flourish, revealing one of the wall-tanks set up throughout the Ark for Else. Soft yellow motes drifted in the tank, evidence of Else’s continued breakneck evolution. However, this tank had something new in it…

“You put snowflakes in there?” I asked, confused.

He ran a hand through his hair and laughed. “When Sam, Derek, and I started putting out the Insert Winter Holiday decorations this week, Else got curious and asked what we were doing. Derek explained - he talks to them better than I do - and they wanted something in their habitat, too, like we have.”

“And you decided on snowflakes?”

“Else picked that, actually. They are very curious about snow, since they developed… well, here, where there is no weather…”

“I guess that is fair.” Suddenly, I felt rude for talking about Else like they weren’t present. I still hadn’t gotten in the habit of speaking directly to them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you…” I cringed a little inside.

Is okay, Else replied. We are not offended. Will we see real snow one day?

I thought about it. “Probably? Von has atmosphere, and the nights are long enough that the temperature probably gets really cold. It may have the right conditions for snow.”

Many humans think snow is beautiful. We would like to see snow.

“You and me both, buddy,” I admitted. “I love it.”

Conor shuddered. “No thank you. You can keep your cold mush.” Checking his databand, he groaned. “I have to get going. See you later, Else.” He dropped another kiss on my head. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he promised.

“No bruises?”

“No bruises.”

I smiled before jumping to check the time myself. “Shit,” I swore softly. “Else, I gotta go, too. I have an appointment five minutes ago.”

Humans can time travel?

“I wish,” I muttered, practically running to get there on time. I prayed that Alistair kept Hannah busy while I raced to our interview.

I showed up breathless and dishevelled, but only ten minutes late. Great first impression you’re giving, I scolded myself as I tried to get my hair somewhat more tidy and catch my breath. Straightening, I scanned my datapad and entered my office.

Hannah was nodding seriously at something Alistair was saying, and all I could do was pray he wasn’t telling her some embarrassing story about me. Both of them looked up as I entered, and Hannah approached me to shake my hand. “Hello, Sophia! Or should I address you as Councillor. I’m not entirely sure…”

“Sophia is fine,” I reassured her. “Did Alistair explain why I asked you to meet with me today?”

She shook her head. “No, we were just talking about Zachary’s work with Councilor Ranganathan.”

“That is part of it,” I agreed. “Zach is one of several people who Pranav is mentoring, hoping to build a pool of candidates to fill his position in the future. I asked you to meet with me to see if you would be interested in doing the same, with me?”

Her eyes widened. “You want me… to learn your job?”

“I assure you, it is much safer than I make it look.” I tried to sound confident, but was already bracing for her to reject the position.

“It’s not that - “ Wait, what? “I just. Do you really think I could?”

“You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you could do it,” I assured her, somewhat dumbfounded. Recovering quickly, I pushed on. “I want to be clear - this is an elected position, so there is no guarantee that you would be my successor. The goal of the mentorship is to help you decide if you even want to do it, at all, along with ensuring that the Ark has the opportunity to choose between people who definitely know how to do the job. And more importantly, want to do the job.”

Alistair picked up from there. “In the Before, if you remember, many elections were decisions based on which candidate would do the least harm, rather than the most good. The Council is trying to change that.”

She nodded in understanding. “So there would be other people you are mentoring?”

So far, so good. “Hopefully three, yes.”

“Will you be working with us at the same time?”

“If all three of you accept, I am hoping to work with each of you one day per week individually, and the rest collectively,” I confirmed. “More specific than that, I will meet with all of you to explain once I know who has accepted. But I wanted to extend the offer in person, so I can answer any questions you may have.”

Hannah nodded again. “Would we be working the same hours you do?”

I was very glad Alistair and I already thought that part through, along with Tyche’s input. “Initially, no. You would only work half of my shift, and what half would be at my discretion. However, this would be considered your job allotment, so you would not have to worry about any schedule conflicts. The only reason I will be deciding which half of my shift you work is because it may change due to Council meetings that you may not be privy to, or if there is nothing beneficial to your learning happening during the other half.”

“Why only half?” She asked.

“Councilors generally work double shifts,” Alistair advised her. When her eyes widened again, he continued, “In my experience, as her assistant, she will never ask you to work as much as she does, but she is very insistent that if she is not working, neither are you.”

I shook my head at him. “What he isn’t explaining is that there are also often large gaps in my day when I have no appointments and no paperwork to go through. So being in the office for sixteen to twenty hours sounds grueling, but I am rarely here the entire time. That’s just the window when people are allowed to set appointments, or when the Council can convene outside of emergencies.”

Her shoulders sagged with relief. “I was honestly about to walk out until you explained that a bit better.”

I leaned over to Alistair and hissed. “People skills!”

“Professionalism…” he murmured back.

Hannah smiled at our antics. “Another question: What exactly do you do?”

I groaned, and Alistair smirked at me. Jokul had been so right on that point that it wasn’t even funny. “Since Zach is shadowing Pranav, I’m going to assume you know how the parts about voting in Council sessions works, right?” She nodded. “Okay, so that’s the big part that most people know about. They vote on an issue, their votes go to their representative Councilor, who votes on their behalf, short version. On a day to day basis, each Councilor is responsible for heading up everything on the Ark in a certain field. For me, that’s any large scale events, staffing, or major adjustments to how people are able to live their day-to-day lives. I have one assistant,” I gestured to Alistair, “and an Administrator, my sister Tyche. She handles all of the small staffing concerns, because she is amazing at it.”

“So… Insert Winter Holiday, the annual Food festival…?”

I nodded. “Along with the gravity changes, the day cycle changes, the proximity alerts, creating and maintaining quiet rooms, finding people to back fill gaps caused by large projects or initiatives, large scale announcements to the ship, et cetera.”

“That’s… a lot…” She bit her bottom lip in concern.

“Really, it’s a handful of major events each year, plus the daily stuff. And I work really closely with the other Councilors, largely because once most projects are past a staffing point, it falls under their jurisdiction to execute.”

Slowly, she nodded. “Okay…” After a moment, she nodded much more firmly. “Okay, I’ll try it.”

One down, two to go, I cheered in my head as I resisted the urge to scream with joy.

<< Prev Masterlist Next >>

#the miys #found family #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #aliens #original science fiction #science fiction #scifi #apocalypse #learning to live #hfy #earth is space australia #original writing #my writing

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gatherthesuspectspod · 4 years ago

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A hundred ways to die in Wales

Hello Tumblr!

My first post ever here! I’m still learning the ropes, so please be kind!

This might be awfully presumptuous of me, but you may recognise the name from a few years back. Before all of this happened, I worked for BBC Radio 4 as their Welsh correspondent - a bit niche, I grant you, but I did alright on social media. I even had a blue tick on Twitter before it went down for good.

At its peak, whatever media you worked in, scoops were delivered on social media. No one went to the radio or the newspapers for breaking news. Hell, even the TV news was struggling. So, even radio journalists like me had to be twitter savvy, you know?

It does make me wonder how Tumblr survived. As a journalist (well, former journalist) I should probably have done some research and found out…

My housemate, Jack, suggested I start to keep this blog so that he, in his exact words, ‘wouldn’t have to listen to me moan about not being a journalist anymore.’ So, here I am, coming to scream into the void that is the last social media platform standing (apart from LinkedIn… Shoulda known that even during the apocalypse, start-up CEO Chad Moneybags would still need to post motivational bullshit about 5 am starts and tagging every post with ‘#crushingit’)

Anyway, I’ve strayed slightly from the point… So, this blog isn't going to be full of hard-hitting investigative journalism or even those colourful local news stories you used to see about water skiing hamsters. It’s just going to be me, posting my thoughts about how much more screwed the world is than the previous week.

Cheerful stuff, right? Well, as REM sang, ‘it’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine’. And you know what, while fine might be stretching a bit, it could be worse...

Before it happened, when people thought about the end of the world, we always pictured some huge catastrophe. ‘The Hollywood Apocalypse,’ Jack calls it. You know the kind - people screaming in the streets as some unspeakable horror unfolds about them.

In movies, the end of the world was always sudden, over in a flash, with pockets of humanity left to pick up the pieces of a shattered world. Except, that’s not how it happened, not that we should be surprised, life rarely imitates the movies.

In fact, it happened so slowly and contained so many individual strands that by the time it arrived, it took us even more by surprise - even the right-wing newspapers didn’t have time to come up with some ‘pithy’ name for it. I’ve always liked the term ‘tipping point,’ The point at which every one of those strands, however linked or disparate, tipped the scales so far against humanity, there was no turning back.

I mean, we shouldn’t have been surprised. We had been warned, after all. For years (no, decades, even) scientists talked about how we were destroying the earth. From the changing climate to the destruction of entire ecosystems, all in the name of capitalism.

People warned us it would lead to societal collapse. It wasn’t hard to see it coming, if you were paying attention. But, even if you were paying attention, the sheer magnitude of it was enough to cause even the strongest advocates some blind spots caused by existential terror. Like a Lovecraftian monster rising from the depths of the ocean, who could wrap their head around the true horror.

Instead, we played out our little culture wars as the planet died… we elected people to distract and not solve… we lied and allowed ourselves to be lied to. Until, in the end, there were so many that no longer cared about the truth that finding a solution was never a possibility.

The rise of ignorance led to the rise of populism, which led to the rise of fascism, and eventually isolationism. Each country, widowed and trapped in its own poky bachelor apartment of despair. With nothing but memories of past glories to keep it going while the world around slowly burns.

The thing about this kind of creeping apocalypse, this tipping point, is that there is a certain mundanity in it all. There are millions dead, but there was no Hollywood pre-credit sequence of terrified crowds running through Manhattan.

This apocalypse had an absence of symbols - actually, no. That’s not quite right. I mean, we don’t have the statue of liberty drowning in sand while hyper-intelligent apes roam the planet, sure. But last week, the sea caught on fire… the fucking sea! You’d think after completely decimating the planet for a hundred years, some companies may have learned a lesson or two - like not setting dire to the fucking sea again!

And just today, the newspapers are full of pictures of yet another ghost town in West Wales slowly sinking into the sea. We have our symbols, alright. They are just smaller, more mundane than the Hollywood apocalypse we always felt we deserved - as a species, we are so arrogant that we feel even our extinction deserves something special, something showy. But, like I said, if you are paying attention, there are symbols to be found everywhere.

Is our slow, boring apocalypse better than the ostentatious apocalypses of Tinseltown, complete with their big budget explosions and alien invasions? I’m honestly not sure.

One part of me used to think that at least then it would be over quickly. This was a particularly comforting thought during the war, as English shells rained down on Cardiff. But, even the war fizzled slowly, bubbling away around the fringes, with neither country having the resources, will or money to mount any serious threat to the other. It turned out that not even the newly installed Albion dictatorship in England could get away with a costly hot war, while millions of its citizens starved to death.

It sounds weird to say, but slowly you adjust to it. You know? Slowly, bit-by-bit, the fucking sea being on fire doesn’t seem such a big deal as it did a year ago. Slowly, bit-by-bit, you stop watching the news. You realise the images of starving children 50 miles away over the border have become the norm.

You become desensitised to the food queues, the extreme swings in weather, the rapidly shrinking coastline. When was the last time you even saw a bee? It’s all just normal. But in spite of all of that, we still sit here, night after night, staring at our tiny plastic phones, reading the latest #crushingit update from that douchebag Chad, half hoping that there is still time for the aliens to show up and finish the job…

I realise that was quite a long run-on sentence, but it’s been a while. I’m out of practice. Like I said, it’s been three years since I last wrote, well, anything! I don’t know if anyone will even read this… I mean how many people can even access Tumblr anymore? But, Jack was right, it did help to get some stuff out.

Until next time (possibly), stay bored out there!

Kara

#crushingit #bored #apocalypse #audio drama #audio fiction #Gather The Suspects

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docharvard · 5 years ago

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docharvard’s stardew mega modlist v.2

howdy doody everyboody!

my last modlist did pretty well with regards to notes, but there have been some major changes to both stardew and my modlist since then, so i thought it was high time i made a new one! once again, this is mostly graphical overhauls, with a few gameplay tweaks and cheats here and there. most of these mods are fairly popular, so chances are you would already know them, but i hope this compilation finds its use anyway. now, without further ado, the list starts under the cut!

one final warning before i proceed, as of today 21st of February 2020, some of these mod’s official releases do not work with Stardew 1.4.5, but they do have unofficial patches floating around on the forums that update them to work with this patch, and i will be linking to those instead of the official releases for those mods (you will need a chucklefish forums account to download them). if you see this in a few months or weeks time from when it is posted, it is probably in your best interests to check the official releases for updates.

ENGINES/PRE REQS most of, if not all, the mods on this list will require some combination of the following engines to run. i know nothing about coding, so i cannot give an apt description of what they do or how they work, but trust me, you will need them. if you don’t download all of the mods in this list, you might not need all of them, check the requirements segment on a mods nexus page to see which of these engines you will need to run it.

SMAPI - SMAPI is the modding API for Stardew, necessary for all modding (besides old xnb mods).

Content Patcher

Custom Critters

Json Assets

Mail Framework Mod

More Grass

PyTK

SpaceCore

TMXL Map Toolkit

QUALITY OF LIFE mods that don’t change the game significantly, but slightly improve the base mechanics to make it easier/better.

Auto Animal Doors - automatically opens all barn and coop doors at a set time every morning, and closes it once all animals are back inside at night.

Big Silo - increases the hay capacity of silos to around 200k.

Casks Everywhere - gives the player the ability to put casks anywhere, instead of only in the basement of the house.

Crop Transplant - gives the player the ability to move crops and trees without destroying them.

Mod Update Menu - puts a handy-dandy extra button on the main menu that shows you your modlist and whether any mods are out of date. clicking on a mod in the list will take you to its web page, if you want to download the updated version. (sometimes, like SMAPIs console, it is wrong. occasionally will tell you a mod is out of date when it isn’t, but is more often right than wrong.)

No Crows - removes crows, no more losing crops to those thieving corvid so-and-so’s.

No Fence Decay - fences no longer decay and break down over time. they stand for time immeasurable, like the monolith in space odyssey, or the empty shell of a blockbuster video.

Safe Lightning - lightning will only strike lightning rods, or if none are available, it will not strike at all.

Stack Everything - gives the player the ability to stack every item in the game, items like casks can now be stacked instead of having a 1:1 ratio in inventory/chest space.

UI Info Suite - ui overhaul(ish) that adds things like being able to see if you’ve pet an animal that day, whether the travelling merchant is in town, what your luck is for the day, or how many days a crop/keg has until it’s finished, etc. this mod is a must have for any playthrough, even if you’re going completely vanilla. possibly the most useful mod that exists for stardew.

GAME TWEAKS things that add mechanics or change gameplay. immersion (i don’t know what else to call it)

Babies Take After Spouse - makes your children actually look like the offspring of your chosen spouse. also adds some more outfits for toddlers, if you’re into that.

Canon Friendly Dialogue Expansion - adds a metric buttload of new dialogue for all of the friendable characters, in case you’re sick of seeing the same four sentences on loop.

Cat Gifts - bit of a misnomer, makes your pet (either cat or dog) occasionally bring you gifts of random items. it’s pretty darn cute.

Climates of Ferngill - expands the games weather system, as well as tweaking the original one, to add new things like fog, and weather that changes over the span of a day instead of being one set thing.

Eemie’s Bees - adds bees! they hang around your beehives! very cute!

Lunar Disturbances - adds a rad lunar system to the game, including an overhead moon that goes through phases. also adds stuff like eclipses and blood moons.

Mizu’s Flowers - adds so many new flowers to the game. frankly, it’s quite homophobic how few variations are in the base game.

Oasis Greenhouse - completely reworks the greenhouse to be way bigger (on the inside, it doesn’t take up more space on the actual farm) and have more rooms in which to do greenhouse things, like spots to grow trees.

Seasonal Villager Outfits - stardew residents will now change clothes on the reg, including during different events, depending on the weather, and with the seasons.

Slime Hutch Winery - retextures the slime hutch to look Not Garbage, and adds a customisable inside space that you can combine with Casks Everywhere to make a usable winery.

cheats there is only one mod in this section but i couldn’t figure out what other section to put it in.

CJB Cheats Menu - it’s a cheats menu. for cheating. amongst normal cheaty things like infite health and stamina, gives you the ability to increase your movement speed, and harvest crops with a scythe, which i find immensely useful.

AESTHETIQUE who needs the orignal graphics when you’ve got soft pastel versions? most of these are by elle, aka junimods. she’s good at aesthetic overhauls, sue me.

Bathroom Replaces Spouse Room - replaces the spouse room with one of three nicer looking bathrooms, in case your spouse has decided to have an unchangeable hideous colour scheme that does not go with the rest of your house, like all of them do.

Better Artisan Goods - retextures the artisan goods (milk, cheese, fruits, etc) to look prettier/more accurate.

Elle’s Cat Replacements - highly customisable cat retexture, including fur patterns, and the colour of its collar.

Elle’s Critter and Butterfly Replacements - retextures the little critters and butterflies that hang around the valley.

Elle’s Dog Replacements - same as the cat replacements but for dogs. the nomenclature is difficult to grasp, i know.

Elle’s New Barn Animals - retextures of all the barn animals, with a whole bunch of customisation options to choose from for each.

Elle’s New Coop Animals - same as the barn animals one. shocker.

Elle’s Seasonal Buildings - highly customisable retexture of all the buildings on the farm. pick from a bunch of designs and colour palettes to make your farm the best representation of you it can be. or don’t, i’m not your dad, i can’t tell you what to do.

Flippsie’s Alternative Lamp Posts - retextures lamp posts to look a little more victorian and aesthetic-y.

Garden Variety UI - customisable ui colours! let’s you customise the look of all the menus, inventory bar, etc, from a buuuunch of different colours and designs.

Industrial Kitchen and Interior - retextures the kitchen appliances and benches to a softer aesthetic.

Starblue Valley - reshades the whoooole of stardew to make it colour gooder. greens are more green, blues are more blue, and the whole game looks a lot less yellow and harsh. much softer and easier on the eyes.

Wildflower Grass Field - retextures and adds a bunch of variation to the grass that grows around the valley. instead of one grass texture everywhere, there is now over 50 possible combinations, really makes the whole place look much more realistic and varied.

Yellog’s Wood Craftables - retextures and redesigns the craftables (chests, beehives, kegs, cheese press, etc) to have a softer palette, with a rustic wooden aesthetic.

and that’s that folks! i also use these two harvey dialogue expansion packs, but that’s because he’s my favourite bachelor, so i kept them off the general list. i hope y'all found this modlist useful, sorry it took me so long to get around to making/updating it. thank you so much for all the followers on this newer sideblog of mine, it’s really cool to see other people enjoying a game that i love so much. catch y'all on the flipside! ^-^

#stardew #stardew valley #stardew valley modding #stardew modding #stardew mods #stardew valley mods #stardew modlist #stardew valley modlist

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leanarg · 5 years ago

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Practice Challenge II

((Hi again! So, these are 3 fics in one post! Including my first two rps with @ladyreggiewright (our very first one after ages not doing this so asdfghk) and with @wylan-caldwell I had so much fun doing both, so thank you, guys! <3 Thanks for reading too, hope you enjoy them as much as I stuggled writing them ;P Google Docs link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ARTjqveFJ1njDc2LL0PU4C0ShN2jlO9JC1Imt9MDTh8/edit?usp=sharing ))

A CHANGE OF LUCK

“Alright, y’all ready?” Rita said with a loud voice vibrating with nervousness. “The speeches are over. In the next block, Prince Arin will be picking the names.” That was her fifth lap around the entertainment office floor and she just couldn’t stop repeating what Vandy Post had already announced before each round of commercials. I knew she was trying to act authoritative, but seeing her in this state was always amusing.

It wasn’t unusual that the building was bursting with energy this late at night. The pre-press team always stayed working on putting together the bulldog broadsheets content and adding the last details, then sent the whole thing before the deadline to the press team operating on the last floor, where they were all in charge of the printing process. I would dare to say there was activity in this place 24/7. But this particular night, we were focused on The Report. The streets looked almost empty from up here, everyone was at home in front of their TV waiting for the names of the lucky girls randomly picked by a drawing of names out of different crystal boxes. 35 provinces, 35 boxes, 35 names.

My attention had been focused on Arin’s stern expression. His life was about to be decided by fate, or as many people want to call it, destiny. I wonder what was he thinking, standing there expressionless, willing to uphold his duty.

Is he excited? Is he nervous? Is he wishing he could run away from that room and leave all this tradition behind?

My name was inside of one of the boxes, so I should had been even more anxious and edgy than Rita herself, but, after the PET Gala fiasco, where: I hadn’t gotten the clues I was so close to getting, I hadn’t finished the job I was supposed to be doing and my one month salary had been reduced to half; I was certain that whoever was in charge of my luck was not very fond of me.

“They are back!” Rita shouted as soon as Arin’s face reappeared. Everyone in the room fell silent. I scoffed a laugh when I noticed them unconsciously leaning slightly towards the big tv, but I ended up doing the same after adjusting my glasses. One by one the basic information of the selected were being transcribed from the screen to our devices as Arin picked out their papers.

<< “From Allens, Idalia Moretti, from Angeles, Emily Rose White,... from Honduragua, Callia Adair…” >>

My fingers were moving fast across my cellphone’s keyboard. These were the girls we would be hearing a lot about from now on and I needed to know everything about them.

<< “From Labrador, Lea…” >>

I froze. My head felt dizzy trying to take in what I had just heard. For the shortest of seconds, everyone’s eyes were on me. I could hear Rita’s voice instructing them to get back to work and maybe someone else was now in charge of The Globe’s blog but at that moment I couldn’t care less about that.

It’s really happening... I made it to the selection!

Finally, I could stand up. I was feeling so much energy inside me that I wanted to run. Suddenly, the lift made a sound and my dad came quickly out of it and … wait, my mom is here? She was carrying my sleepy little brother, Dean.

I could read the shock on my parents’ faces.“I’m in!!” I said a little too loud but since Mr. Grant was there no one dared to complain. My dad let out a short laugh before extending his arms for an embrace. “Congratulations, Rosie, I knew it would happen, didn’t I tell you V?” He said to my mom. “Grants always get what they want.”

Ugh, I wish. But I wasn’t going to argue with him right now, so I just offered him a wink.

As soon as my father let go, my mom surrounded me with her free arm. “So how does it feel to be a lady, huh? We have to celebrate this!”

“Well, do ladies feel hungry this late? Cause I wasn’t feeling it a moment ago.” “Yes, let’s leave these guys to work in peace.” my dad said suddenly remembering where we were. After clearing his throat as if that simple gesture was a switch between the dad and the boss, he talked with Rita to make sure someone had replaced me updating the blog, then he congratulated everyone for their dedication and finally wished them good night. “I just hope you are paying me the full day,” I said to my dad as we all headed outside.

“I mean, are you working right now?” He raised an eyebrow, mockingly.

I sighed “I guess Grants can’t always get what they want after all.” And I meant it in more than one way.

The next week ran fast. My father and I agreed that I had to keep going to the office as usual, but it wasn’t easy to balance my work and my phone ringing every 5 minutes. More than once I had to ride home in the middle of the day because someone was waiting for me at home.

First, a man with a very peculiar face came to do some kind of interrogation, which was understandable until we got to the most uncomfortable, personal ones. I almost spit my coffee laughing until I realized he had no intention to leave until he got every answer to each one of the questions on his list.

Like him, I received a tailor and a doctor; but it wasn’t until the press started to ask for interviews when I realized my life had made a turn of 360 degrees.

The thing I lamented the most about this odd schedule was that I couldn’t travel to the provinces to interview some of the selected as we had planned, but I did take advantage of every opportunity I had to do deep research about them.

Some of the names or last names could be found on old newspaper editions, there were tragedies, accomplishments, unfortunate events… I smiled to myself, while I made annotations on my journal, fascinated by all the different interesting lives that were about to gather under the same roof. And I guess somehow that included mine.

The farewell party organized by Labrador’s Mayor seemed more like a political campaign than a real party. I might have fallen asleep during his speech if I hadn’t been texting Harris for the 40th time that week.

The last time I knew something about him was the night of the announcement when he sent me a simple “Congratulations, Lady Lea.” Then as the photographer, he had to go with Rea to the half-tour over the country to cover the selected interviews.

“How dare you not be here when you are needed,... you lucky mooncalf.”

I looked up to see the crowd from my place on the big platform set in the middle of the Amberly park. It hadn’t been a very good idea, because there were grey clouds gathering over us and the sun was partially covered by them already.

Someone forgot to check the weather section today.

But the trees surrounding us were decorated with purple and green metallic balloons -the colors of our province- and there were several signs with good wishes so I appreciated the effort.

Everyone was here; The Globe employees that didn’t like me at all, my family on the first row, my college best friend, Liv had made space on her busy schedule to come to the event, even my grandmother had sent his chauffeur with presents. That was her way to show support and I honestly didn’t have any complaints. After the Mayor’s speech, the great boss Maxwell Loyd took the microphone to speak, I rolled my eyes, not caring about the people in front of me. He didn’t waste this opportunity to promote himself and flatter me. I mean, if he really had thought all that about me I would have had a promotion and a raise already, instead I just got ridiculous instructions and a handshake.

When they both finally finished, the rain had started to pour, plus it was almost time for me to leave for the airport. I buttoned my coat before taking my place behind the microphone to start talking, but the eyes of the lady in charge of my schedule forced me to skip until the end of the speech I had prepared the night before. Every time I was going to make it sound deep and sentimental she made a sign for me to hurry.

“I appreciate your support… I will do my best… thank you for coming.”

Were the only complete sentences I managed to say under such pressure. There was clapping and cheering afterwards, but there was after the previous boring speeches as well, so I didn’t get too excited about that.

“Have a good time, my Lea.” My mother said after kissing my brow. I could smell her sweet perfume that I was going to miss. “I will, mom. Take care, I’m only leaving cause I know you are going to be in charge.” I side eyed the two men of the house. Then I kissed my little brother and messed his blond hair. “Bye bye little toad.” He just babbled something and waved his little hand.

“So, Lady Grant. What do you expect from Prince Arin? Do you secretly plan to drink all the coffee from the Angele’s Palace? Rumor has it your father won’t let you marry until you turn 48 years old do you think Your Highness would wait for you that long?” “Wow, Mr. Grant you ask pretty basic questions, I have been asked the same ones all week.” He gave me a big tight hug and I ignored the wool of his coat feeling itchy on my cheek. “I’m very proud of you Leana, and of course I’m not talking about this selection situation… I’m sorry about-” I stopped him not wanting to have our little disagreements as today’s last memory. And I also hoped I could change his mind by the time I returned home. “We can talk about that when I come back, dad.” He nodded. “I’m starting to feel bad for our dear Prince Arin.” I scoffed a laugh.

“Lady Grant, we are past the established hours already.” I heard a lady behind me.

I turned to my friend Liv with an apologetic expression but she just smiled and waved. “I will text you… Bye! The rain started to fall harder but I had read the weather section on the paper this morning so I was properly dressed with boots and a coat over my white shirt and black pants.

I walked towards a guard who was holding an opened umbrella to cover us with it. He opened the door of the car. Then he offered to take my bag for me, but I had packed some of my old journals in there among my personal things. “Thank you… What’s your name?” “Finn Ray, my lady.” He answered confused. “I will keep this here with me, Finn.” I said in what I hoped was a reassuring tone before entering the car. I guessed he was new at guarding selected, because I noticed him turning to look at the woman in charge of the schedule. She nodded once at him and joined me inside the limousine.

By the time we got to the airport I had learned that our chauffeur was called Alan Cobb, he had been working for the palace for 3 years on special occasions. He had three kids and his wife was expecting a baby girl.

The strict lady was Miss Ramirez, she was happily single, obviously tardiness was her biggest pet peeve and she had worked there for 6 years already, but she enjoyed her job and had never thought of doing anything else, although I didn’t quite understand exactly which was her role in the royal offices of Labrador.

She left me at the boarding door after wishing me luck.

The flight to Angeles was long. I shared a plane with 3 others selected, that seemed pretty decent at first sight.

We had a polite introduction conversation before we took off, but then everyone focused on her own thing; Jen Li, -the Yale law student from Waverly- took advantage of the 8 hours flight to sleep. Alana Hansen looked out from the window almost the whole time lost in her thoughts, and based on the green tone on Regina Wright’s face I guessed she was a risky company for the moment.

I remembered I had read about her parents' unfortunate plane accident in an old newspaper, they used to be famous politicians and she was an apple that had fallen close to the tree. Hopefully not too close.

So, considering my options I prefer to write in my journals during the whole trip.

As soon as we arrived we were hurried to a room for makeovers. For me it felt more like a day in the salon, nothing drastic was made, just a few lights on my hair, perfect makeup and a stunning blue dress with matching elegant pump heels shoes.

They did insisted on giving me contact lenses, since I had forgotten to pack mine, so after a long argument with the stylist, Mariel, I decided to wear the contacts and let him enjoy “his creation”.

In the end, despite the little changes, when he showed me my reflection in the mirror, I had to recognize I was content with the upgraded version of me.

ESSENTIAL RESEARCH

The tour around the palace was quite short considering its size. I was almost sure that it was bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside, but the curiosity to see my new room, made me settle with the basic information,

I took a glance down at the little map on my hand. Eloise Hall room 28, second floor. As I headed to the stairs, the decorations and fancy details surrounding me were impossible to ignore. With every step you could find paintings by famous old artists -my mother admired- hanging on the walls, expensive vases and beautiful furniture.

Looking around I spotted one of the selected quickly scribbling some notes in a notebook. As I got closer I noticed she was my plane mate, Regina Wright. Her green tone had disappeared or maybe covered with makeup and she looked much more secure now that we were down here on earth soil.

I laughed a little bit inside walking by her side “Hope whatever you are writing is worth a bump on your head.”

“I hope so too” She said absentmindedly, not looking up from her notebook. After some seconds she took a short look at me, flipped through her notebook and quickly closed it before I could react and lean discreetly to read what she was working on.

Okay, now I’m curious.

“Excuse me, hi. Leana is it?” She gave me a polite smile.

“Yes, feeling better... Regina..? I asked faking ignorance.

She looked at me as she didn’t know why I was asking her that but then just answered, “Splendid. But please, call me Reggie.”

We continue walking up the stairs towards the second floor, while we shook hands,

“I'm Leana Grant but you can call me Lea or Lee” I said touching the arc of my glasses I had put back on as soon as I left the makeover room.

She nodded. “Alright, Lea. Journalist, correct?” She made her pen click as if she was going to start writing again. I frowned, puzzled. “You too?”

She chuckled at the question as if I should already know who she was. And the truth was, I did.

“No,” she finally said, opening her notebook again, adding something, then she continued. “So, what brings you here?”

I was sure Reggie had many qualities but subtlety wasn’t one of them.

I pressed my lips together, thinking about my motives, which one of them should I tell her? I’m here as an inside informant for The Globe; or, I’m here to live and learn about this whole selection phenomenon… I didn’t even know which one was the right answer. “... just figured I couldn't miss this whole thing, you know.”

Half- truths are always safe.

“Are you here for politics?” I added before she could even think about my answer.

She looked pleasantly surprised by my question, clearing her throat. “Yes, that is one of the reasons.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “You did your research.”

I guess it was my turn to feel recognized, but unlike her I didn’t want to be so obvious, so I shrugged. “Your name rang a bell.”

She looked at me suspiciously, lifting her chin, a slight movement I didn’t quite understand. “Is that so? That's good, I suppose. Best to be prepared.”

“Maybe you are right, I guess you actually did your research. What do you have about me?” I asked directly now, pointing at her notebook casually.

She remained serious. “Oh, just the usual. Occupation, caste, age. Name, obviously. There's 35 of us after all. Would be a shame to get anyone mixed up.”

“Well, now most of us are threes and the twos are pretty well known.”

“Yes well, obviously. Was to be expected. It's still an appropriate mix.”

Her statement made me remember her parents somehow, obviously she had their school but I wonder how much she agreed with them. “That’s... a word to describe it, yes.” I answered incredulous, “So where are you staying?” I asked, as I noticed I have already found my room.

We discovered we were room neighbors which I decided was very convenient for me. I liked people who have answers to my questions.

She was concerned about my acoustic guitar hobby and I assured her I hadn’t brought mine with me. “The music room will do.” And she assured me her studying was going to be silent.

The conversation continued but my curiosity was already unbearable, so I opened the door of my room to check it out. I didn’t want to be rude so I invited Reggie inside as we talked.

“What are you working on?” I stepped inside

She followed. “Political Science Major.”

I gave her a glance to let her know that was not the answer I was looking for.

She blinked with realization. “Oh, I see I misunderstood. Well, actually I was just writing a paper on the pros and cons of capitalism and if our country should focus more on it like we did when we were still called the 'United States'” She air quoted the name.

I looked around my room considering her answer. Suddenly my eyes met with three maids standing in line in the middle of the room. When they saw us they made a courtesy and I nodded at them as a greeting, hoping we can have proper introductions later.

“Hmm the lesser of evils... but the United States not exactly an example to be followed.” I said to Reggie.

“Exactly.” She said. I noticed her writing a mark in her notebook.

“A-are you like grading me?” I dared to ask what I had suspected since the beginning, but I didn’t want to believe. It was shocking at first but after the third mark it became amusing.

“Who else do you have in there?” I asked curiously before running next to her to peek at her notebook. She closed it again. When I looked at her she smiled at me awkwardly “No, of course not. Just remembered something.” Her notebook was behind her back, now out of my reach. She straightened her shoulders before adding, “Well, thank you kindly for your invitation, glad to have met you…”

I stayed there confused, Had I gotten it wrong? Or was I right and she didn’t want me to know? Anyway, I should have said nothing. “Alright ... glad to meet you too, see you around.” I said worried that she might be uncomfortable now.

She nodded as she headed to the door. One of the maids hurried to hold the door for her.

I frowned concerned, I couldn’t just lose a source like her. “Wait for me tomorrow, I think we can walk to the dining room together.”

She turned to give me a frown, seemingly confused by my suggestion. “But I already know where it-” then she smiled. “I will.”

As soon as Reggie left I took out the journal from the pocket of my dress and tossed on the pretty desk by a large window where I peered at the view of the Angeles city.

FOR THE RECORD.

After introductions my maids brought me dinner up to my room. So while I was eating the best creamy mustard chicken I ever had, we had a little chat.

Among other things we talked about I expressed my surprise when I didn’t see any Royals when we arrived. Liberty, Camila and confirmed the Schreaves didn’t plan to meet any selected tonight, we would have to wait until morning. Queen Anjeli and Princess Ayesha had to leave the palace to attend important matters and Wylan Caldwell in spite of not being a selected was currently living in the Palace. Back in Labrador, I managed between college, work and extra work to fill my schedule, my mother never liked me being out of the house so late at night or sometimes not being able to have a complete breakfast in the morning, I enjoyed being busy and drive my Vespa from one place to another, but it was hard for me to admit that one of the reasons I liked my life that way was that besides when I was concentrated writing notes on my iTypewriter; I was not good at being alone with my thoughts. That’s why when I was a child my mother bought me a ukulele to play when I was feeling anxious, which gave excellent results. Later when I entered college I took a short guitar course with the same purpose.

Therefore, later that afternoon, when my maids went back to their chores, leaving me alone I decided to leave my room to check out the music room, as I promised Reggie I would do.

It took me some minutes to find the right door downstairs but my memory had never failed me and it wasn’t going to start now.

I opened the third door in the west hall and peeked inside. I felt relieved when I saw the big piano in the last corner and dared to walk inside. Besides the piano, there were several instruments resting on their stands spread around the room, most of them to play classical music, but luckily, an acoustic guitar was among them. I was going to pick it up to test it when I spotted shelves full of old vinyl records.

I walked towards the vinyl record player, it had a beautiful vintage look, it’s big horn imitated the ancient gramophones used during the Victorian years, but I suspected to be a more recent model.

I noticed someone had left a classic record on, I wonder which one of the Royals had been listening to it as I moved the tonearm onto the outer edge of the disk, the little diamond tip to touch the groove.

I guess I still remember how to use one of this.

I stretched my arm and pulled one of the discs from the upper shelf, the others came down with it and << "KNEEE-KNEEE!!" >>

The blaring sound of violins vibrated around the room making me wince for the annoying sound filling my ears.

“Damn!” I covered my ears while trying to find a way to turn the bloody record player off before my head exploded. Overwhelmed by the sound I went on my knees and stretched my hand behind the furniture looking desperately for the plug, but before I could find any the music stopped.

I stood up still touching my ears

Have I gone deaf?

“I take you didn’t mean to do that.” I heard someone say behind me.

Okay, I haven’t

I turned around to find a guy eyeing me warily, from the corner of my eye I noticed a laptop and a couple of heavy leather books that weren't on the table before.

“I was considering turning it on but it made the decision for me,” I said without explaining.

At that moment, a couple of guards came into the room alarmed. They scanned the room quickly before looking at us puzzled.

Wylan followed my gaze and turned to them, slightly. “Just a mishap. We’re fine.” He acknowledged with a wave of his hand. I let out a sigh of relief as they left the room to return to their posts.

“First time using a record player?” He asked to continue teasing

I gave him a deadpan look. “Ha-ha I take that the last person who played it had some hearing problems.” Before I crouched to pick up the rest of the vinyl records still scattered on the carpeted floor, I noticed a smile tugging at his lips that didn’t last.

In a minute he was bending in front of me to help. “You picked some good ones.”

Suddenly we looked at each other for a second, I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at his for a second trying to figure any sign of sarcasm in them, and he just had the word “awkward” written all over his face. Obviously I was making him feel uncomfortable.

I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so busy trying to read him.

“I like classics- acoustic to be precise.” I finally said with a shrug. “Do you own any of these?”

“This John Mayer one is mine. I have some other ones too. They’re over there.” He gestured to the rack behind me, then stood up with the vinyls he helped pick up.

I raised my eyebrow and nodded approvingly. “You have some taste, I will give you that.” I looked up at him, waiting for him to offer his hand for me to help me stand, but apparently living in a castle was no guarantee of anything, so I just stood up slowly, brushing my dress.

“Some were gifts I grew to love.” He acknowledged, holding the vinyls out for me. “I’d recommend keeping the volume down before you turn it on next time.”

I took the discs to put them back in its place on the shelves “Well, you should put a sign somewhere,” I joked, a bit annoyed by his recommendation.

I adjusted my glasses and stayed standing there, admiring the vinyl records once more. My curious mind wondered about the Prince. “Which ones are Arin’s?”

“I’m not sure. He might not own any.” I caught him glancing at his things he had left on the table before back to me. “Might be a good question to ask him yourself.”

Or you’re just evading the question. But fortunately, one of the things my job had teached me was to have thick skin so I wasn’t going to let him get away so easily.

“You really don’t know or you don’t want to tell me?” I asked with an amusing tone.

He let out a small sigh, relenting a bit. “He likes The Killers. There’s probably a vinyl or two of those in here if you really need a good conversation starter.”

I faked a grimace “ugh! that piece of information should’ve hurt…” I said mockingly before adding. “I guess some advice for tomorrow’s interview is completely out of the table.”

“Depends on what advice you’re looking for,” he let out, surprising me.

I started to walk around the room still looking at him, considering my answer. “I don’t know, you are his friend... knowing a little bit about his personality would help,” I said casually, as if I didn’t already have thousands of questions listed in my head.

But somehow he knew I did. “I’ll answer one question you have. Just one.”

“So generous …” I said more to myself than to him. My hand went unconsciously inside the pocket on my dress and my fingers touched my journal inside of it, purely out of habit. Of course, I wasn’t going to take it out so I crossed my hands in front of me as I resumed my walking around the room.

“Okay…” In my mind I was looking for a single question that could indirectly tell me things about Arins personality … and why not about Mr. Uncomfortable himself too.

“How do you start getting along back in college, like how did you become friends?”

Suddenly he let out a laugh, startling me. I frowned at first, but then I decided it wasn’t so bad, it picked my curiousness further.

I looked at him genuinely amused and he begined, “We were both going for runs and without knowing, I drifted a little too close. I was listening to music and not paying attention. His bodyguard sort of…” He paused to bring his fist to his neck simulating a punch. “And took me down.” I could see he was amused, for real.

I laughed picturing the scene on my mind, considering all his previous teasing and had to admit it was a little bit entertaining to do so. “Ouch! His bodyguard does look ... fierce.” I commented remembering the man’s complexion I had seen several times on TV.

I wait for him to continue before asking, “what happened next? What did Arin say?”

His smile was more like a ghost on his face now, not physically there but somehow still present. “He apologized. After that we found out we shared a couple classes together and I offered to help him study for exams.”

“That’s an epic story… I bet it left you marked for some days.” I made a grimace, touching my neck, imagining the pain.

“Swallowing hurt, to say the least,” he said, remembering. After a minute, he combed a hand through his hair. “ Did that satisfy your question?”

“Hmm yeah, it was good, for now” I answered scoffing a laugh. The truth was I didn’t expect to enjoy his story that much, but I just couldn’t settle with only one question, but it wasn’t convenient to push more questions on him now.

Fortunately he didn’t refuse, he just rolled his eyes at me, amused. “Alright, well I have to get back to work. At least try to not deafen the entire palace again.”

“I can’t promise anything.” I let out, finally taking the acoustic guitar from its stand, while he turned to gather his things.

“Reassuring.” He gave me a side glance and started walking out the room, he offered a two fingered salute before disappearing behind the opened door.

After a second, while looking down at the guitar already in place on my lap, I compelled, “Wylan... thanks!”

“You're welcome.”

I heard him say from the hallway just before I started strumming the guitar strings, hoping its sound was enough to help me survive the first night.

#OC 6 #PC part 2 #Reggie Wright #Wylan Caldwell #((thanks again to Cassey for reading and giving me some perspective ))

8 notes · View notes

xillveart · 6 years ago

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Master List

A list of everything that I have written that is Bakugou related, including xKoge, xReader and xSO scenarios. Some link back to the original blog post, while others link to my ao3.

Finished: 221 In Progress: 3 Updated: 07/07/2020

Bakugou Katsuki

xKoge

The Dragon Kings Treasure - Finished | Explicit | Romance / Angst

Sea Legs - Finished | Explicit | Romance / Fluff / Humor

Return To Me - Unfinished | Explicit | Romance / Angst

Christmas Specials - 8 different stories ranging from Teen to Mature | Romance / Angst / Fluff

Memories - Explicit | Romance / Angst / Fluff

Love Of My Life - Teen | Fluff

Halloween Stories - 3 stories, ranging from Teen to Explicit | Romance / Fluff / Humor

Dear Teacher, You’re Insane - Teen | Humor / Fluff

Hollow - Teen | Humor / Fluff

Home - Teen | Humor / Fluff / Romance

All Of Me - Teen | Fluff / Romance

Sickeningly Sweet - Explicit | Romance / Fluff

Emotion - Teen | Romance / Fluff / Angst

Truth - Teen | Fluff / Romance

Stronger, For You -Teen | Romance / Fluff

‘Cute’-suki - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Christmas Mystery - Teen | Family / Humor / Fluff

Family - Teen | Family / Humor

Shameful - Teen | Romance / Humor

Gimme That Soup - Explicit | Romance / Humor

Scandalous - Explicit | Romance / Humor / Drama

SODA-pressing - Teen | Humor / Fluff

Valentine’s Day Stalker - Teen | Humor / Fluff

Pop pt 1 and Pop pt 2 - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Dizzy - Teen | Family / Drama

Three - Mature | Romance / Angst / Humor

A Sleepy Love - Teen | Romance / Fluff

Bird Brains - Teen | Romance / Humor

The Ring - Teen | Romance / Humor

Are You Mad? - Explicit | Humor

Pads and Candy, Please - Teen | Humor / Domestic / Fluff

Accidental Proposal - Explicit | Romance / Fluff

Wet Dream - Explicit | Romance

Unapologetically - Teen | Fluff / Family

Blanket - Teen | Fluff / Family / Romance

I don’t... What?! - Mature | Humor / Romance

Cuties and Chips - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Coffee Shop Au - Cont. - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Doubts and Pouts - Teen | Romance / Fluff

Me-Wow - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Those Words - Teen | Fluff / Romance

Matsuki - Mature | Family / Fluff / Romance

Birthday - Mature | Family / Fluff / Humor

Surprise Girlfriend - Explicit | Romance / Humor / Fluff

Adopt a Pumpkin - Teen | Family / Fluff / Humor

Christmas Promises - Teen | Romance / Fluff / Humor

Key of Love - Mature | Romance / Angst

Pushover - Teen | Family / Fluff

Candy Hoard - Teen | Family / Humor

Possessed - Explicit | Suspense

Hoodie - Explicit | Fluff / Humor

Hoodie pt. 2 | Explicit | Fluff / Humor

Chocolate Comfort - Teen | Comfort / Humor

The Jeans - Teen | Fluff / Humor

The Talk - Teen | Family / Humor / Fluff

Family Nap - Everyone | Family / Humor / Fluff

Grandbabies - Teen | Family / Humor / Fluff

Happy Birthday, Dumbass - Teen | Fluff / Romance

It’s War - Teen | Humor / Fluff

Sleepy and Toasty - Teen | Fluff / Family

Shitheads - Teen | Fluff / Romance / Angst / Comfort

Always - Fluff / Hurt / Comofrt / Romance / Domestic

Always, I’m Alone - Teen

Always, I’m Here - Mature

Always, I’ll Love You - Explicit

My Dream - Mature | Fluff / Romance / Domestic / Fantasy AU

Present - Explicit | Fluff / Romance / Domestic

Switched - Explicit | Fluff / Romance / Domestic / Humor

Midnight Whispers - Explicit | Fluff / Angst / Comfort / Domestic

XO - Explicit | Fluff / Romance / Domestic

xReader

Ancient Soul - Unfinished | Explicit | Angst / Romance

Don’t Forget Me - Unfinished | Explicit | Angst / Romance

Cherry Boy - Explicit | Confession / Romance / Humor

Lavender - Explicit | Romance / Fluff

Sir - Explicit | Confession / Humor / Romance

Massage - Explicit | Romance / Fluff

Hands - Teen | Romance / Fluff

Relax, Love - Teen | Romance / Fluff / Comfort

Best Medicine Is Cuddles - Teen | Romance / Fluff / Comfort

Don’t Gag - Explicit | Romance / Comfort

Practice - Explicit | Romance / Comfort

Big Feet pt 1 and pt 2 - Pt 1 Teen, Pt 2 Explicit | Humor / Fluff / Romance

PDA - Explicit | Humor / Romance

Wild - Explicit | Romance / Dominance

Let’s Go Plz - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Tent Creep - Teen | Romance / Humor

Sleepy Kisses - Teen | Romance / Fluff

You Sneezed In My Soup - Teen | Fluff / Comfort

Bored - Teen | Romance / Humor

Big Babies - Teen | Humor / Fantasy AU

Romance? - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Dance - Explicit | Romance / Comfort

The Warmth - Teen | Romance / Fluff / Humor

Cheer The Fuck Up… Please - Teen | Fluff / Romance / Comfort

Kiss Attack - Teen | Fluff / Romance / Comfort

Night Terrors - Teen | Fluff / Comfort

Calm Me - Teen | Fluff / Comfort

Baking for Dummies - Teen | Humor / Fluff

Cheeky - Mature | Romance / Humor / Confession

Worth It - Teen | Romance / Comfort / Wounds

Exhaustion - Teen | Romance / Fluff / Comfort

Flawless - Teen | Romance / Fluff / Comfort / Angst

Cake - Teen | Romance / Fluff / Comfort

Bomb - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Tickle King - Explicit | Romance / Domination

Sleep - Teen | Fluff / Comfort

Melt - Teen | Fluff / Humor / Romance

The Pants - Teen | Fluff / Humor / Romance

Offended - Teen | Humor / Fluff / Confession

More Beautiful - Teen | Fluff / Romance

Assistance - Teen | Humor / Fluff

Fru-Fru Dog - Teen | Fluff / Humor / Romance

Scary Movie - Teen | Humor / Fluff

Breaking My Heart - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Get Out Of The Way - Teen | Romance / Humor / Fluff / Violence

Shells - Teen | Romance / Fluff

Sneaky Cuddles - Teen | Romance / Humor / Fluff

Chilled - Teen | Humor / Fluff

Cutie Booty - Teen | Humor / Fluff

Sleepover - Teen | Fluff / Romance

Cuddle Starved - Teen | Fluff / Romance

He Really Likes... Pizza - Teen | Fluff / Humor

You’re Swell - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Too Affectionate? - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Get A Room! - Explicit | Romance / Fluff / Humor

Lost Bikini - Teen | Humor / Fluff

Lazy Beach Bum - Teen | Fluff / Humor

A Silent Love - Explicit | Humor / Romance / Fluff

Yummy Outfit - Mature | Romance / Humor

Scare Tactics - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Rattled - Teen | Fluff / Comfort

Huddle Cuddle - Teen | Fluff / Comfort

Times Two - Explicit | Romance / Humor / Fluff

Anything - Explicit | Kinky / Intense

Anything, For You - Explicit | Kinky / Intense

More Babies? - Teen | Fluff / Romance / Domestic

Can’t Resist - Explicit | Fluff / Domestic

Boy Like a Bubble Bath - Teen | Fluff / Comfort

Frigid - Explicit | Fluff / Angst / Romance / Comfort

Spawn - Explicit | Kinky / Intense / Monster

Steamy - Explicit | Fluff / Romance

Reckless - Explicit | Romance / Kinky / Intense

Sushi for a Fish - Teen | Fluff / Romance

xSO

All Bark, No Bite - Explicit | Confession / Romance / Humor

Purr - Teen | Humor / Fluff

Adorable Belly - Teen | Romance / Fluff

Voice - Teen | Humor / Fluff

A Hero - Teen | Romance / Heartwarming

Click - Teen | Romance / Humor / Fluff

Glasses - Teen | Romance / Humor / Fluff

Under Cover - Teen | Romance / Comfort / Humor

Trainer - Mature | Romance / Humor

Cuddle Boi - Teen | Romance / Humor / Fluff

Babysit The Drunk - Teen | Humor / Fluff

#1 Fan - Teen | Humor

Rocker - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Drunken Truth pt 1 and pt 2 - Teen | Romance / Fluff / Comfort / Confession

Ocean Fears - Teen | Romance / Fluff / Comfort

Caught - Explicit | Romance / Humor

Masterpiece - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Bikini Madness - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Perfect Specimen - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Doting - Teen | Romance / Fluff / Comfort

So Lonely - Teen | Fluff / Comfort

Spa Day - Teen | Romance / Comfort

Decoration - Teen | Romance / Fluff

Rotting Brain Cells - Teen | Romance / Humor

Sleepover Disaster - Mature | Humor / Romance

Wounded Lord - Teen | Romance / Humor / Fantasy AU / Blood and Wounds TW

Future - Teen | Fluff / Comfort

Sketched - Teen | Humor / Confession

Piggy Back - Teen | Fluff / Humor / Comfort

Shoes! - Teen | Fluff / Domestic / Family

Teenagers - Teen | Domestic / Family / Humor

Blocked - Teen | Domestic / Fluff / Family / Romance

Warmth - Teen | Fluff / Comfort

Her Honor - Mature | Fluff / Romance / Comfort / TW for blood and wounds

Girl-Fish - Teen | Fluff / Romance / Confession

Ah, Shit - Teen | Domestic / Family / Fluff

New Daddy - Teen | Domestic / Fluff / Family

Debt - Teen | Humor / Confession

Double Katsuki - Teen | Humor / Fluff

The Baby - Teen | Domestic / Fluff

On Purpose - Explicit | Romance / FemDom

Sickly Cuddles Plz - Teen | Fluff / Romance / Comfort

Aachoo! - General Audiences | Fluff / Domestic / Comfort

S-Sorry! - Teen | Domestic / Fluff

Reunion - Teen | Romance / Fluff / Humor

The Best - Explicit | Romance / Humor

Werewolf in Action - Teen | Domestic / Fluff / Humor

Long Distance - Explicit | Romance / Fluff

Married? - Teen | Domestic / Fluff

Water Park - Teen | Fluff / Romance / Humor

Not Boring - General Audiences | Domestic / Humor

Dance - Teen | Fluff / Romance / Comfort

Panic - Teen | Fluff / Romance / Angst / Comfort

For Science - Explicit | Fluff / Humor / Romance

My Girl - Teen | Fluff / Comfort

Useless - Teen | Angst / Comfort

Handsome - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Weakling - Teen | Fluff / Romance / Comfort / Angst

Wounds - Teen | Fluff / Romance / Comfort / Angst

No Puking - Teen | Fluff / Romance / Comfort

Fiddlesticks - Teen | Humor / Fluff

Nightmares - Teen | Romance / Fluff / Angst / Comfort

Sleepy Baby - General Audiences | Fluff / Domestic

Princess’ Little Helper - General Audiences | Domestic / Humor

Late Night Comfort - Teen | Romance / Comfort

Too Much - Explicit | Romance / Humor

Weathered - Teen | Romance / Fluff

Cat-suki - Teen | Humor / Fluff

Spider Problems - Teen | Humor / Fluff

Bookworm - Explicit | Humor / Romance

Undeniable - Teen | Romance / Fluff

Over Worked - Teen | Comfort / Fluff

How To Make Chores Exciting - Explicit | Romance / Fluff

My Secret Princess Lover - Teen | Romance / Fluff

My Queen - Explicit | Romance / Fluff

Brush Your Teeth - Teen | Humor / Fluff

Runaway Lovers Pt. 1 and Pt. 2 - Explicit | Romance / Fluff / Angst

Nothing At All - Teen | Fluff / Romance

Fluff Head - Teen | Fluff / Romance / Humor

Phone Call - Explicit | Romance / Humor

Usagiyama Rumi (Miruko)

xReader

Sweet, Like Daisies - Teen | Fluff / Humor

Please enjoy, and thank you all so much for the requests! I’d never be able to write this much without you. <3

1K notes · View notes

quinnybee-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Title: Fire Meet Gasoline

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Rating: T+

Part: 3/?

Story Summary: A chance encounter between a villain and vigilante leads to an unwise deal made between unlikely allies; an unwise deal made between unlikely allies ends in a final stand neither would have ever dared to take on alone. Together, though, they just might have a fighting chance.

Part 3 Summary: Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, and thrice is just a big headache for everyone involved.

Part 1 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 2 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 3 on AO3

Hizashi gave the IT intern a tight but friendly smile as she waved to him before going to check on the status of the server migration. He hated having to do delicate research like this at work; every time one of his coworkers needed something in the room he shared with the server banks he couldn’t help jumping to attention, his hand poised on the lid of his laptop to snap it shut if they wandered too close. The cover it provided him was mostly worth the anxiety, however. A single IP using a VPN in the middle of an apartment block full of unsecured cable company wifi signals was suspicious; another VPN added to the tangle of secure signals emanating from a tech-heavy operation like a radio station was just another Tuesday. Hizashi waited for the intern to finish her checks before going back to what he’d been looking at before he was interrupted.

As far as he was able to find in the HR filings for Solo-Falcon Deliveries they only had one employee named Aizawa, first name Shouta. The photo that accompanied the digitized CV was younger-looking but the man was recognizable nonetheless; same perpetual look of knowing what a hairbrush was in concept but no evidence of him owning one, same dour, “are we done yet?” expression in his dark eyes. Said CV was as barebones as Hizashi had ever seen: eight years at Solo-Falcon Deliveries preceded by a plethora of short term post-middle school jobs; school transcripts from a dozen different private tutors that came to a sudden stop at the end of middle school. His permanent residence had been the same for as long as Aizawa had been working, cosigned by an adult family member with the stipulation that the lease would pass to Aizawa when he turned eighteen. As far as Hizashi could tell Shouta Aizawa had popped out of nothingness as a poe-faced fifteen-year-old looking for a job.

Trying to get any answers out of social media was equally fruitless. Retracing Aizawa’s online steps revealed a ghost town of abandoned accounts in his wake, all following the same pattern of non-use. He would sign up for a new platform, friend or follow one or two other accounts, make half a dozen posts over the course of about a year, then drop it completely without bothering to deactivate or delete. The posts were all the kind of non-entities one could expect out of someone who wasn’t expecting to stick around for very long. Even on the accounts he’d used the most they mostly consisted of inoffensive comments about the weather or work and slightly blurry cell phone pictures of cats.

Even the government seemed to have no luck in catching ahold of Aizawa longer than the time it took to confirm his address, collect his taxes, and send him back on his way. According to his Quirk registration, Aizawa had been something of an early bloomer, developing his nullification power before he even hit kindergarten and being switched from public schooling to private education soon afterwards for reasons of “health concerns”. Elementary and middle school records matched the near-yearly swapping of home tutors from his CV, but Hizashi noticed with interest that there was one massive omission between the two. Several records back in the Quirk registry’s access history was a request from the registrar of UA High School to confirm Aizawa’s personal and Quirk information. Raising an eyebrow Hizashi flipped back to Aizawa’s schooling history and found a perfunctory footnote at the bottom of the file: UA High School registration Apr 2004-Nov 2004; file sealed per subject request. Nothing else was said, just that short “by the way” on a digital post-it note before going on to document the work history and financial filings Hizashi already knew about.

Either Aizawa was some kind of subterfuge wunderkind or he really was just this disconnected. Hizashi sighed and leaned back in his chair, turning that over in his mind. A sealed UA record was as tantalizing a morsel of intrigue as you could ask for, but he wasn’t arrogant enough to think he could go up against a security system as ironclad as theirs with nothing but a masked IP and an undeniable curiosity. There were favors he could call in, Hizashi supposed, people he could ask. Said people would want something equally backbreaking in return as insurance on their investments but that could be relegated to a date far in the future where he had the information in hand and could gauge its actual worth for himself.

Before he had time to start flipping through his mental address book, however, he was interrupted by a buzzing from his cell phone. The display showed an unlisted number being forwarded through his “business line”, a landline he’d had installed in a condemned fast food restaurant on the far edge of the city. Hizashi glanced at his door to make sure it was fully shut before swiping to accept the call.

“Mmn,” he muttered by way of greeting. There was a click, and an automated voice on the other end began to speak in choppy, text-to-speech sentences.

“Bird. Seguchi. Your backdoor into the Hero Registry failed.” Hizashi rolled his eyes. Of course he was the problem, it couldn’t possibly be that Seguchi's client was incompetant. “You owe me a workable solution, do it right this time. Meet tonight at nine sharp, no later. Directions to follow.” The message barked out the address and Hizashi scribbled it disinterestedly onto the back of an envelope. It looked like his pet project would have to take a backseat for something more pressing but way less interesting, he thought with a disappointed sigh.

Biting back a curse, Shouta stared daggers at the bland error box telling him he didn’t have the proper access clearance for the files he needed. He’d spent most of the morning trying to fake the new set of credentials the police database was requiring to view the updated version of the Mockingbird dossier. The security had never been what you could call lax, but the newest version required both the highest clearance level Shouta had ever seen as well as a password that from what he’d been able to glean was just a long randomly-generated string of characters that maxed out the number of available spaces. He gritted his teeth and decided the building headache at the back of his skull was telling him he needed to switch to something a little less frustrating, though such things felt thin on the ground at the moment.

Trying to reconcile the comings and goings of Hizashi Yamada with the known Mockingbird incidents was proving to be an exercise in futility. Yamada didn’t necessarily have an alibi for every time Mockingbird had been sighted in the act, but there was also no real reason for anyone to suspect him of needing one. Mockingbird was a serial offender with a list of potential charges that took up several single-spaced pages in his police file; Hizashi Yamada was the well-known and well-loved operations manager and late night host for a radio station that while not the biggest or wealthiest was far from needing any kind of criminal boost. The only link between the two was Yamada’s oft-abused Quirk, but even that information was a double-edged sword at best. The police had been smart enough to keep the press away from the more sensitive details of the Mockingbird case to avoid copycats and false reports but no one knowing the connection was possible left Shouta shouting into the void. If he went as a civilian witness to the police, he would have to think of a very good lie for how he knew Mockingbird’s M.O. but hadn’t gone to them before now; if he went to them as an admitted vigilante, they might take his report more seriously but he’d end up in handcuffs right next to Yamada. As with most things he’d have to go into this on his own, something that would be a much simpler undertaking if he wasn’t being actively locked out of the information he needed to do so.

“Computer trouble?” a voice above him asked. Shouta jumped, causing the large ginger cat in his lap to grumble and dig its claws into his thighs in retaliation. He gave the cat an apologetic pat on the head and looked up to see one of the cat cafe’s servers standing next to his table.

“Uh, no. It’s just old. Doesn’t like to load,” Shouta lied, swapping screens as casually as he could. The server nodded with a sympathetic smile.

“I getcha,” she said. “It’s such a pain when they still work but they’re too old to really do the work. Our whole register system is older than I am but we can’t get the old workhorse to give up the ghost and let us replace her.” She chuckled, shrugging. “Did you want a refill on that coffee?” she added, pointing to Shouta’s half-full cup that had gone cold long ago.

“Sure, thanks. One sugar, no milk,” Shouta said. He scratched the cat in his lap behind the ears until the server was safely back behind the counter putting his order in before switching back to his other window.

The page had blacked out, the error message now telling him that his session had expired and would not be renewed. He tried closing his browser and restarting it, but the window instantly dimmed and let him know that his session was well and truly dead for today. Shouta wondered if this was a new protocol being rolled out across the board or if he wasn’t the only one they were having to lock out. If the same gap in the digital fence was being used by someone with less scrupulous intents, Shouta supposed he couldn’t entirely begrudge the police for fixing the fault and adding a less easily manipulated system. Trying to channel his frustration into a more helpful direction, Shouta opened the spreadsheet he’d been using to build a Mockingbird timeline and added what scraps of new information he’d been able to screenshot. He highlighted the long periods of silence and typed each time period and Yamada’s name into individual browser tabs.

Hizashi Yamada was as easy to track as Mockingbird was impossible to pin down. Yamada put a lot of effort into propagating his breezy, unbothered persona, but seemed to put just as much into being a diligent employee; the gaps Shouta had found in Mockingbird’s movements didn’t generate so much as a sick day for Yamada. Shouta supposed if you weren’t actively looking for irregularities the lack of them wouldn’t have sparked interest, but to him it was both unnatural and damning. There had to be a weak spot somewhere, Shouta thought. Absurdly careful was one thing, but perfect was something else entirely. He had a suspicion that there was information in the locked sections of Mockingbird’s dossier that would mean nothing to the police without knowing Yamada’s civilian movements but would be the key to getting the upper hand on him for Shouta. But getting in there for a better look around would take time, and with his afternoon delivery shift fast approaching time was not something he had in excess. Another day with better luck, Shouta thought, saving what little progress he’d made and shutting his laptop.

Hebiko, Seguchi’s second in command and high-ranking candidate for Hizashi’s least favorite person on the planet, was waiting for him under the awning of the burned-out corner shop they were supposed to meet at. Hizashi groaned internally at the sight of her, fighting the urge to turn on his heel and cut his losses. Instead he raised a hand in greeting.

“Nice weather for it,” he said.

Hebiko fixed him with an unblinking stare and an emotionless smile. “It’s been a while, Bird,” she said, extending a hand to him like she expected him to shake it. Vivid memories of falling for the ploy and being subjected to the tetanus-like paralysis of her Snakebite Quirk the first time they’d met made Hizashi’s hands reflexively clench into fists. He meaningfully tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and looked around.

“Is your boss planning on joining us, or did he decide the B-team could handle this one on their own?” he asked.

“He had a more important appointment to keep,” Hebiko replied. Her smile widened without gaining so much as a scrap of good will. Hizashi was tempted to point out that Seguchi had thought this was important enough to call him out in the middle of a weekday evening, but his desire to get this over with before all of the good takeout places closed won out.

“His prerogative,” Hizashi said instead, shrugging. “Shall we, then?”

“After you,” Hebiko said, gesturing down the narrow alley between this building and the next. “We’re parked a street up from here,” Hebiko added when Hizashi didn’t move. “It’ll be easier to just cut through here.”

Hizashi scraped together the waning scraps of his patience, reminding himself that there was a takeaway curry and a quiet night at home with his cat on the other end of this nonsense, and headed up the alley where she was pointing.

“Good work today!” Shouta’s manager called over his shoulder as he left the employee changing room. Shouta’s two remaining coworkers called it back to him over the clang of closing lockers. Shouta muttered a vague reply a little too late, his mind already turning to what he had planned for after work.

With a last-minute change in the schedule he had somehow escaped an early shift tomorrow morning after tonight’s late shift, which meant he had until tomorrow afternoon to sleep and eat and all of the other things he usually had to cram into the few hours between clocking out and clocking back in. His heart ached to get out and stretch his legs on a long patrol, missing the routine in the wake of his recent garbage schedule. His head knew better, though. The late hour would mean fewer personnel working at police central intelligence, which would mean fewer eyes on what files were being accessed and by whom, and his newly-opened timetable would mean plenty of time to figure out what he was supposed to do about the lock on the Mockingbird dossier.

Shouta threw his bag over his shoulders, bidding his coworkers a hasty good night and walking quickly out the door before anything had time to interrupt his plans for the evening.

Hebiko followed at a distance that felt both too close and uncomfortably distant, her footsteps almost purposefully off-beat from his own. Hizashi opened his mouth to invite her to stop being such a stalker and just walk next to him, but instead found himself being slammed sideways into the alley wall by something that exploded out of a garbage bag next to a nearby dumpster. Hizashi staggered, breath catching short and sharp in his throat from the hit. Hebiko’s foot shot out from behind him, dead-legging him into an awkward half-crouch on the pavement. Hizashi looked up to see Takeshiro, one of Hebiko’s favorite minions, hopping out of the dumpster. The garbage bag that had assaulted him rustled and squirmed as a thick tangle of dessicated vegetable cuttings slithered out and stood ready by Takeshiro’s side. Hizashi choked back a gag at the smell of it, working to keep his face unconcerned.

“I feel like you might have taken that B-team comment from earlier a little too personally,” he said, the words coming out in a pained wheeze. For the first time Hebiko’s smile held actual mirth and Hizashi deeply regretted the development.

“You’ve been pissing a lot of people off lately, Bird,” Hebiko said.

“Including your boss, apparently,” Hizashi agreed. He pivoted on his toes and tried to keep his eyes on both of them as he straightened up. “He must be pretty irritated to send his pets to do his wet work without coming along to gloat.”

Takeshiro’s plant weapon struck out at him again, sending Hizashi skittering sideways to avoid it. Hizashi gritted his teeth. Hebiko and Takeshiro were each blocking an open end of the alley, closing ranks around him along with Takeshiro’s plant. The only other potential exit he had was a fire escape above the dumpster Takeshiro had crawled out of. If he could keep them distracted long enough to dart through and scramble up the escape there was a chance he could make it out of this in one fresh-scented fully mobile piece. He thought of the extendable police baton hidden in the holster sewn into the back of his jacket but decided it was better to keep it as a last resort. There was no point in escalating a situation already at the snapping point if he could find another way out of it.

“The boss doesn’t know you’re here,” Hebiko said coolly. “The cops caught him trying to get through the Hero Registry’s security net last week using the instructions he got from you. He’s been in custody ever since.”

“Sounds like user error to me,” Hizashi replied, “since the information wasn’t for him in the first place. Does he go through other people’s mail too?”

“That’s really cute coming from someone who makes a living out of digging in digital garbage looking for things to sell,” Hebiko snapped.

“Ooh, really hitting me where it hurts,” Hizashi said. He put on the biggest, fakest grin he could muster, putting a hand to his chest in mock offense. Hebiko’s eyes narrowed, her hands flexing at her sides like she was trying to resist the urge to throttle him. Takeshiro’s plant weapon was starting to twitch and writhe at Takeshiro’s side, belying the man’s outward straightfaced patience. His strategy was panning out for the moment, and hopefully a moment was all he would need.

“We’re about to find a few more places for it to hurt,” Hebiko said, lips curling back from her teeth in a cold smirk.

“Thanks but no thanks.”

Seizing his chance, Hizashi caught Hebiko hard in the jaw with a surprise right hook. She stumbled back a step before coming towards him with an open-palmed strike of her own, ready to freeze him where he stood. Hizashi managed to avoid it just in time, hooking his foot around the back of her knee and sweeping it out from under her. He felt a hand grab him by the back of the jacket and yank him back several steps, nearly taking him off his feet as well. Hizashi twisted sharply towards Takeshiro, forcing the man to loosen his grip just long enough for Hizashi to duck away. He made it all the way up onto the lip of the dumpster and felt his fingers brush the ladder to the fire escape before something grabbed him around the waist and pulled him hard down onto hands and knees on the pavement. Hizashi yelped as pain crackled through his shins and forearms. Before he had time to recover he felt a hand snatch his sweatshirt’s hood off of his head, followed by Hebiko’s sharp fingers digging into the back of his neck. Instantly his body went rigid, joints locking painfully together against his will.

“This is why I hate birds,” Hebiko said, her voice mockingly conversational in Hizashi’s ear. “Whenever things get a little intense, they try to flit away before you get to have any fun with them.”

Without any warning Hebiko grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head forward, slamming it with all her strength into the steel side of the dumpster. Hizashi went limp, the fading paralysis replaced by a dazed ringing in his ears and an unstrung feeling throughout his limbs. He struggled to keep himself awake as black static overtook his vision. Distantly Hizashi could feel hands turning him over and working to pick him up. He heard a second metallic clang, followed by Hebiko snapping something to Takeshiro at the far end of the sludge his brain was sinking into. Before he could make any sense out of any of it, he’d drifted too deep and everything was dark buzzing silence in his head.

Shouta had been trying his best to keep his head down and his eyes on the goal of getting home, but the instant he’d seen the two of them he knew there was going to be trouble. The street was mostly empty and the few people who were out were in motion, leaving jobs or late-night restaurants and heading to wherever they were going after that. The two under the awning, however, were just standing there, carefully keeping to the little bit of shadow the scraps of ripped canvas still cast over the sidewalk. Shouta slowed, pulling his hood up to make it slightly less obvious that he was watching them. One of the figures was tall and skinny with a sharp silhouette, the other at least a foot shorter with unnaturally stiff posture. They talked for a moment before the shorter one waved the taller into the nearby alleyway. Shouta’s eyes narrowed. Never a good sign. He unsnapped the pocket he’d sewn into the shoulder strap of his bag, pulling out one of the bolases he’d stowed there for emergencies. Tucking it tightly into his palm he approached the mouth of the alley. A quick check of the sidewalk confirmed no one else seemed to have noticed him or the two he was following, so Shouta edged up on the corner of the building and peered down the alley.

A third, stockier figured had joined the group from somewhere in the time it took him to approach; they and the short one had closed ranks around the tall one to prevent any potential escape. Shouta dropped into a crouch as he rounded the corner, scuffing his feet over the ground to keep his steps quiet. The group was too far away for Shouta to tell what they were saying, but the conversation seemed to turn sour very quickly. Shouta only managed a few steps towards them before whatever was said triggered a short, dirty fight and the attempt at a quick exit by the tall one via a nearby fire escape. Something fast and tentacle-like caught them around the waist before they made it and dragged them back down. A moment later the short one had them by the back of them neck and slammed them head-first into the side of the dumpster with a sickening clang of skull on metal that echoed out in the otherwise muted night. The tall figure lolled sidewise, dropping senseless onto the ground and for a moment Shouta thought the other two were just going to leave them there. Worse plans were being made, it seemed, as instead the two still standing worked together to roll the unconscious third over and the stocky one made to throw them over their shoulder.

As quickly as he could, Shouta spun the bolas in his hand and threw it at the stocky figure as they bent over. Just shy of wrapping around them, however, the tentacle thing reared up again and slapped the bolas aside. It wrapped uselessly around the bottom of the fire escape ladder with a metallic snap and both of the standing figures turned to see Shouta where he had broken his cover. He pulled another spare bolas out and started it spinning as he rushed them.

“Forget it, get to the car!” the shorter figure commanded the stocky one as they made a move to grab the unconscious figure again. Sprinting away, they made a cursory attempt at tripping Shouta with the tentacle thing, but the swipe swung wide and the tentacle melted into a glob of rotting vegetables as he darted past. The second bolas flew straight, but the two of them had a big enough head start on their side that it dropped and skidded along the ground at their heels without making contact. They had already ducked into a nondescript black sedan and were pulling into traffic by the time Shouta reached the other end of the alley. Shouta pulled his phone out of his pocket and just managed to get a photo of the back of their car. He realized too late that the car didn’t have any plates. Muttering a sharp curse under his breath, Shouta turned and walked back to where they had abandoned the body.

A cold, dawning recognition began to spread in the pit of his stomach as he approached. The figure lay face-down on the concrete where it had been dropped, a spill of long blond hair falling over the collar of a familiar feathered leather jacket. Gently turning the body over confirmed his worst suspicion. Mockingbird’s mask now sported a jagged crack along the top and was streaked with blood from where it had cut into his forehead when his head slammed into the dumpster. Under the blood he looked unpleasantly pale in the dim alley light. His eyelids flickered and he let out a small moaning breath as Shouta put two fingers to his neck to confirm there was a pulse. Not dead, Shouta confirmed with a tight grimace, just knocked out.

Shouta sat back on his heels, brain speeding off in opposite directions at the same time. He knew he was duty-bound to find the nearest patrolling officer or hero and turn Mockingbird in; it was the only good ending for the situation, even if his accomplices had managed to get away. Then again, those “accomplices” had knocked Mockingbird out and for all intents and purposes left him for dead. Whatever had gone south between them, Mockingbird had ended up a victim of it in the end. It seemed unfair somehow for him to get turned over to law enforcement when what he needed was help, like adding insult to injury. A police siren rang out on the street Shouta had followed Mockingbird and the others off of, making Shouta jump. He didn’t have time to debate it. Before better instincts could kick in, he shuffled off his bag and opened the farthest-back compression pocket.

“Sorry about this,” Shouta muttered. Working quickly, he stripped off Mockingbird’s mask and jacket, stuffing them into his bag. Mockingbird was wearing a piece of homemade gear around his neck, partially hidden by the neckline of his hoodie. It looked like a series of spare audio parts wired into a tight collar; long wires stretched down under his sleeves to controls strapped to the palms of his hands under his gloves. The sirens were getting uncomfortably close as Shouta tried to find a way to get it off of him. Finally he just took each side of a join in one hand and yanked, pulling all of the wires free and and shoving the whole contraption in his bag as well. He managed to get everything strapped flat and his bag back over his shoulders as blue and red lights announced the approach of the police. Taking a deep breath and turning his gut-level panic into an expression of concern, Shouta half-jogged out of the alley to meet them.

“Hey! Hey over here, I think he needs help!” Shouta shouted, waving his arms to flag the car down.

The next hour was a hazy blur of trying to keep his story straight for every cop he had to repeat it to, from the scene to the ambulance to a private conference room at the hospital. He had been on his way home from work, he said in increasing tones of weariness, and he heard what he thought was a fight in the alley as he passed by. He tried to step in after the muggers threw Yamada against the dumpster, but they ran off before he could get a good look at them. No, he didn’t really know Yamada, he just recognized him from a delivery he’d made. No, he wasn’t the one who made the initial call to the police, he had been trying to check if Yamada was dead or just unconscious. No, he didn’t have any additional information, he had honestly just been in the right place at the right time. Each time the police seemed to get a little less interested in him, turning their attention to questioning Yamada when the doctors were done running tests. Finally they thanked him for his time and Shouta was allowed to sit by himself in the waiting room and catch his breath.

Every single part of him felt like it was trying to fistfight every other part, but his head was winning the pain battle by a longshot. Hizashi opened his eyes and immediately shut them again with a sharp grunt of pain as white fluorescent lights burned into his skull. He tried again more slowly, squinting his eyes open in slow shifts to let them adjust. A hospital room came into focus bit by bit.. His jacket and gear were gone and his feet were bare. He could see a doctor and nurse standing a few feet away, talking to a uniformed officer. All of them seemed relatively relaxed, considering where they were. There was an uneasy feeling of Wrongness about the situation, but before he had time to dwell on it, the three of them noticed he was awake and came to stand around his bed.

“‘M I under arrest?” Hizashi mumbled. It wasn’t the best opener, but putting thoughts into words and having them stay in the right order was proving to be a challenge right now.

“Nothing so drastic, Mr. Yamada,” the doctor said, smiling at the perceived joke. “Officer Fujiwara is just here to take a statement about what happened to you tonight after we run a few tests to make sure everything’s shipshape up here,” she added, tapping her own temple with an index finger.

“Okay,” Hizashi said slowly. The time delay between ears and brain was slowly shortening, but somehow that wasn’t helping things make sense. He wasn’t being detained (yet), and they’d called him Yamada, which seemed to imply better things than he had expected. How that better outcome had happened was still up for debate but he was more than willing to let it ride for the moment.

The doctor introduced herself as Dr. Watanabe before going through the usual battery of post-concussion memory and comprehension tests that a childhood spent roughhousing with four siblings had turned into second nature for Hizashi. Slowly but surely as they spoke Hizashi’s brain clicked up through the gears until he was mostly running on all cylinders. He kept the conversation going as they wheeled him out of the room for a quick brain scan and then back in once it was done. Too soon, however, came the moment when he had to explain himself to the police.

“I understand things may be a little bit confused at the moment,” Officer Fujiwara began, cutting off Hizashi’s excuse before he could even make it. “We can fill in the more minor details at a later date as they come back to you. For right now, just tell me what you remember.”

Hizashi hesitated, trying to come up with a story that was both plausible and matched enough of the details that it wouldn’t come back to bite him later. “Uh. I was out walking,” he started, trying to get his feet under himself as he spoke. “There’s a takeout place I like, but it’s on the other side of town from my apartment so I don’t go there much unless I’m working late.”

“Understandable. Where is it that you work, Mr. Yamada?” Officer Fujiwara asked.

“Asahi Radio. I manage operations and fill in when our hosts are out. I had some paperwork to finish up, so I stayed late tonight.” Nice, neat, normal little life, Hizashi thought, willing her to buy the excuse. Officer Fujiwara made no indication that she did or didn’t believe it. Instead she just nodded and scribbled down shorthand on her notepad, motioning for him to go on. “I was trying to get home before it got too late, so I took a shortcut to the restaurant, but…” Hizashi trailed off, stiffly shaking his head. “I don’t know. It gets kind of jumbled after that.”

“I see. Do you remember seeing or hearing anything out of the ordinary while you were walking? Anyone suspicious, anyone seeming like they were following you?” Officer Fujiwara asked. Hizashi shook his head.

“No, but I wasn’t really looking I guess. Too distracted by my stomach,” Hizashi replied, cracking a smile at his own joke. Officer Fujiwara gave him a thin smile.

“Anything else you can remember?” she asked. Hizashi pretended to think. Trying to remember things in the order that they had happened after Hebiko had hit him with her Snakebite was genuinely difficult and added a touch of realism to his stymied expression.

“Sorry, no,” he said.

“Not a problem, Mr. Yamada. Here’s my card, and one for my immediate superior,” Officer Fujiwara said, handing him a pair of business cards. “If anything comes to mind later, please feel free to give us a call and let us know.”

Hizashi thanked her and accepted the cards, giving her his number at the station in return in case they needed to call him back instead. Officer Fujiwara bid him a good evening and left. Hizashi allowed himself to breathe a long sigh of relief as Dr. Watanabe returned.

“Well, the good news is your scans came back looking clear as can be hoped for,” she said brightly. “We can go ahead and keep you overnight for observation if you would like, but you should be all right to go ahead home if you’d rather do that. I believe your friend’s still out in the waiting room if the two of you need to talk it over.”

A cold jolt sank into the pit of Hizashi’s stomach, but he tried to keep it off his face. “Uh, yeah,” he agreed. “That might be best.”

Dr. Watanabe nodded and left to go get said “friend”. Hizashi sat up, sliding his legs over to sit on the side of the bed. He wasn’t really feeling up to running for his life after the rest of what happened tonight, but if Hebiko had followed him all the way to the hospital it seemed like he wasn’t going to have much choice. Maybe the cops would still be down in the lobby when he got there and he could have a miraculous return of memory that the stringy, suspicious-looking woman who had said she was here to get him was actually here to get him.

The frantic train of thought had a massive derail, however, as Dr. Watanabe returned to the room with a tall, shuffling figure in tow. Hizashi blinked, sure he had to be seeing things as Aizawa awkwardly nodded in greeting.

“Hey,” Aizawa muttered. “Erm. How’re you feeling?”

“A little confused,” Hizashi said. He tried to raise his eyebrow, but relented when the motion pulled too hard at the stitches in his forehead. “But, uh. Okay, I guess. Are you my escort home?”

Aizawa gave him a slightly sour look at the question but nodded. “I guess so,” he said.

In a renewed haze of bewilderment Hizashi reclaimed what of his belongings hadn’t been thrown out as a biohazard and signed himself out of the hospital while Aizawa called them a taxi. A very stiff, silent cab ride followed, neither of them knowing how to break the silence without making this worse than it already was.

“How’d you know where I was?” Hizashi asked finally, eyes locked forward out the front windshield of the taxi. “Decide to follow me?”

“No,” Aizawa replied flatly. “Just bad luck I guess.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Both.”

Hizashi snorted. “For once we agree on something,” he said.

The cab pulled to a stop in front of Hizashi’s building and his door creaked open to let him out. Aizawa cleared his throat as Hizashi shambled up off the seat.

“Do you...want me to come with you?” Aizawa asked, with a note in his voice that sounded like genuine concern. Hizashi paused, amused in spite of himself.

“Not even a little bit,” Hizashi replied with a cheerful, insincere smile. He shut the door and waited until the cab had pulled back into traffic and rounded the corner before going inside.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #villain!mic #vigilante!aizawa #hizashi yamada #shouta aizawa #Fire Meet Gasoline AU #Quinny thinks she's a writer

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gingerpeachtae · 6 years ago

Text

Concentric [2]

masterlist

Words: 7k

Genres: fantasy!AU, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, eventual smut (?)

Warnings: references to/after-effects of being choked

Summary: You had been ready for the end of the semester. You had been ready to spend time away from your best friend, Jimin, and finally move on from the feelings you harbored. Yet, after your friend was forced to reveal a secret, you found yourself in a new world that was chock full of magic, war, and wonder. So, here you were, basically thrown into your own fantasy novel, with your best friend on one side, and six male warriors on the other.

A/N: Here it is! I most likely won’t be able to update as fast as this in the future since my internship starts next week, but I will do my best to not have you guys waiting around for too long. Again, a big thanks to everyone reading Concentric, ya’ll are rockstars! Anyways, I hope you engoy the update 🥰

Neither of you spoke as you walked back to the parking lot. After you made your statement, Jimin had simply hung his head and limply consented. With a regret-filled sigh, he had turned to the Saeni and, you assumed, informed them that you would be joining the trip. Once he was finished speaking, he had quickly ushered you out of the clearing before you could get a glimpse of their reactions.

The two of you were walking side by side, and although you had questions writhing inside of your head, you remained quiet. For the moment, you were content just walking the trail. To hear the crunch of gravel and shift of dirt beneath your sneakers. To listen to the creaking sway of trees in the wind. To feel the sunlight filter through the leaves and onto your face. To absorb that silent, yet alive feeling of the forest. Jimin, on the other hand, did not seem content in the slightest. His eyes remained downcast on the earthy ground, refusing to look your way. You could tell that he was wary about you finally knowing the truth, and even more uneasy at the thought of you coming along with him and the others. He was, understandably, concerned about, so you tried to not take his avoidance to heart.

When the cars became visible through the foliage, you looked to Jimin once more, hoping he would finally return the favor. He just kept walking. Starting to feel a wee bit of rejection, you trailed behind him. With a jolt, you realized that he did not make a sound while making his way along the path. Not a kicking of rocks or snapping of twigs. Just a shift in the air as he marched on.

How many clues had you been blind to?

As you pulled your keys out of your jacket, you stilled as you saw the white glint of the dreamcatcher through his dark windshield. No longer sensing your immediate presence behind him, Jimin paused to turn around. When he saw you looking beyond him, he followed your line of sight and flinched slightly when he realized what you were staring at.

Sharply he said, “Go straight to my house,” but added in a pained whisper, “Please.”

Eyes flicking back to him, you noticed his wrecked expression. You gave him a nod because you still did not trust your voice to withhold the questions building inside of you. You unlocked your car and waited for him to leave, not wanting to arrive at his house before him. Usually, you wouldn’t have given it a second thought since you had a key to his place. However, this was a tricky situation and you wanted to tread carefully.

Noting that Jimin began backing out of his space, you turned on the ignition and put it in reverse, not bothering to plug your phone into the aux cord. Your mind was still reeling a little too much to consider listening to music. Instead, you lowered your windows and continued to listen to the forest, the sounds comforting you as you started to drive.

You gently knocked on his weathered, white door to alert him that you were there as you softly opened it and stepped through the threshold. Entering the living room, you saw Jimin sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. Your heart ached, never having seen him appear so lost before. Sitting down beside him, you waited silently until he was ready.

He cursed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Wherever you’re comfortable with.” You reached out to grab his hand and he clung back tightly.

“Okay, um, I guess I’ll start with Illain first…

It’s a world that doesn’t exist in our universe, but it is connected to Earth. Think of it like a parallel universe without having replicated people. What happens to one doesn’t directly affect the other, but they are still linked. Does that make sense?”

You nodded even though it didn’t, at least not completely. You let it go, though, because you weren’t concerned about those specifics.

“It’s named after the mother goddess, Illai, and it’s not as… industrialized as Earth is. Most of it is still covered in forests and natural landscapes. Saeni are the people who inhabit it. They are similar to humans, but, as you saw, have elongated ears, as well as a few other, ah, differences.”

You pulled your hand back as you blurted, “Oh god. Don’t tell me they have tentacles!? Holy shit, do they? Wait, do you!?”

“What the fuck? No. There’re no tentacles. You seriously need to stop reading weird smut online.”

“Yes, because it’s the tentacles that would’ve made this whole situation completely ridiculous.”

After seeing Jimin’s stressed-out expression, you let out a small apology and allowed him to continue.

“There’s differences like heightened senses and reflexes, as well as some other stuff.”

“The ‘other stuff’ sure sounds like some tentacles,” you mumbled to yourself before shutting up.

“A handful of Saeni are able to tap into an energy that flows through Illain and they get certain abilities from harnessing it. It’s basically magic. The petal I gave you was a form of that energy; it allows the recipients to see and hear the Saeni when they are glamoured. Which is why it seemed like we were alone until you took it. There’s another petal, a yellow one, that offers the ability to understand the Saeni language and speak it. You’ll have to take both petals every day when we cross over to Illain.”

“So, is one of the Saeni from the park able to manipulate the energy into magic?”

“Yeah, Yoongi. You’ll get to know each of them. They’re… very special to me. They’re my brothers.”

Your eyes widened, wondering how they were his siblings when they looked nothing alike. Maybe genetics worked differently for Saeni?

Seeing your reaction, Jimin said, “Not my actual brothers! We’re not related, but they’re brothers to me in every sense of the word except biologically.”

“I get it.” You grabbed his hand again and gave it a squeeze. “Family isn’t always blood.”

It was quiet for a few heartbeats.

“So… how do you fit into everything?”

You were exhausted by the time you unlocked your front door. You were hungry, dirty, and sore. You briefly wondered whether the entire thing had actually even occurred. But it did. The two hours you spent talking with Jimin was evidence enough.

He had told you how his mother somehow ended up crossing over to Illain one day, and there she met his father and they fell in love. Though, shortly after Jimin was born, his father died, and his mom returned to Earth with a half-human, half-Saeni baby.

Knowing it would be wrong to keep his true heritage a secret, his mom told him what he really was when he was young. One of his dad’s friends would come to check on them every year until he was seven. After that, Jimin started going with him to Illain for a few months out of the year to train as a warrior, as many Saeni did at that age. It was during this training that he met the other Saeni from the park. The seven of them stuck together throughout the years and eventually formed their own kiela, which Jimin explained was the Saeni word for seven, and it was considered a sacred number. When seven warriors become indescribably close, they take a vow to stick with one another and form a permanent group, a kiela. You weren’t sure how it worked with Jimin being gone most of the time, but you didn’t bring that up since it seemed like a sensitive topic.

You sighed as you made your way through your apartment, clutching the list of items Jimin had written down that he suggested you bring on the trip. Reading through it, you noted that you had all the materials, hence, you decided that packing could wait until post-shower and food. You yanked off your shoes and clothes before dragging your tired body to the bathroom. Promptly after flipping on the light, you looked into the mirror and flinched at your reflection. You looked like shit.

Hair tangled, skin scraped, and dirt underneath your nails. The worst part was your neck, though. Red marks and purple bruises lined your throat in a vague shape of a hand. You sharply inhaled as you gingerly prodded at the tender area, and you grimaced at the thought of leaving it unconcealed to heal. You weren’t bringing make up with you, therefore, there would be nothing to hide the brutal marks. It was a done deal and there was nothing to be done about, so with one last look at your disheveled appearance, you turned on the hot water and stepped into the shower.

Groaning at the sound of your alarm the next morning, you were temporarily confused as to why you were waking up at five in the morning.

Fucking hell, this is worse than accounting.

You caught sight of the backpack you had carefully packed last night when you leaned over to slap off the shrill alarm. The events from the prior day came rushing back to you. Throwing the comforter off of you, you groaned again as cold air hit your body. But you forced yourself up to prepare for your departure. You made the bed, double-checked the contents of the backpack, went to the bathroom, ate the rest of the fruit in your fridge and made sure all the items with an expiration date had been thrown out, and filled up your giant water bottle. Glancing at the clock, you saw that it was 5:38. You needed to meet Jimin at his house at 6, so you only had a few more minutes left before you had to leave. Hurriedly, you grabbed the note you had written that was addressed to your parents, and gently placed it on your bed along with your cell phone. No point in bringing it when you would have no service. Also, since you were essentially disappearing and couldn’t exactly tell your parents what you were doing or where you were going, you had decided to write them a letter explaining that Jimin had an issue and needed help resolving it. You typically contacted your parents at least once a day, so they immediately would know something was up when you didn’t reply anymore. You just hoped that they would come check your apartment and see the letter. Taking a last look at your home, you took a deep breath before shouldering the backpack and closing the front door behind you.

You reached Jimin’s house with four minutes to spare. Sitting down on the steps leading to his porch, you waited for him to come out. Promptly, at 6 AM you heard him walk out and plop down next to you.

“The Uber will be here in two.”

Both of you agreed that Ubering would be for the best. Neither of you had wanted to leave your car sitting at the park. It would raise suspicion and you didn’t need a manhunt looking for you when you would be nowhere to be found. Also, you were both broke college students and that was not a good combination with parking tickets.

An hour and ten minutes had passed since you had gotten into the car that pulled up to Jimin’s house, and you now found yourself entering the same clearing as yesterday. As you emerged from the branches and shrubs, you saw that the Saeni were already waiting for you. Before acknowledging them, you stuck your tongue out at the tree you had the pleasure of being pinned to, noticing that it was a huge, old oak tree. When you moved your gaze back to the Saeni, you saw that they all had thick hoods pulled over their heads. It made it impossible to discern which were the ones you had interacted with. Some of them leaned back against trees casually, one sat cross legged on the ground, and another was curled up underneath a tree napping. Tilting your head, you wondered if it was the mint-haired one who did the same thing yesterday. As you looked curiously at the sleeping lump, you heard a voice directed at you.

“Hi, I’m Namjoon. I’m sort of the leader of the group.”

You turned on your heel to see the tall Saeni with yellow eyes introducing himself while he pulled back his hood. You leaned your head back to take in his face and features. His brown hair was shorter on the sides, and his hoop earrings each had a dark bead hanging from the metal. The heavy head of his mace was visible over his right shoulder. His face lit up with happiness as you looked at him. He raised his hand to his chest, but suddenly jerked and brought his hand to the side in a small wave. Jimin watched him with amusement, while you just smiled at the endearing male and gave him a small wave of your own.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Namjoon. I’m Y/N. Are you the lucky recipient of a yellow petal today?”

“Hmm? Oh, no! This is actually all me,” he said sheepishly. “I really like learning, so I had Jimin teach me when he had spare time.”

“Why are you embarrassed about that? It’s really impressive!” You gawked at him.

We stan an intellectual in this house!

Namjoon let out a shy but grateful, “Thank you.

“So, obviously we aren’t glamoured right now since you can see us, but we will be when we cross over to Illain so here are your daily petals,” he said as he reached into a pocket and pulled out the delicate, magical objects.

“Ah, yes, here we go. Thank you for supplying my drugs,” you sarcastically retorted as you took the petals from his hand.

“Oh, and you’ll be glamoured too! No offense, but if you weren’t, you would be really suspicious and kind of attract unwanted attention…”

You let out a laugh and nodded in agreement.

“Well, please let me know if you need anything or have any questions, okay? I want you to feel as comfortable as we can make you.”

Your heart fluttered at his kind words. You were really touched that he went out of his way to make you feel welcomed and included.

“I will. Thank you Namjoon!” You told him.

As he walked away from you to converse with another Saeni, you popped the pink petal into your mouth. Stars and galaxies once again erupted behind your eyes. You could see an entire universe in front of you, expanding and unfurling with desire. Bright lights were born that kissed the edge of your vision. You could hear the cosmos sing and the moons weep. Sweet as cream on the tip of your tongue. Secretive as lovers under a dark sky. And it was wanting something. It was anxious and coiling with ambition. There was something in those lights that demanded your attention. It grabbed at you, gripped your focus, and then released all at once. The stars dimmed, and the galaxies died. Their blinding music fading to the calm psithurism of the wild forest around you.

You had to blink to get your senses back to normal before you were able to ready yourself for the next petal. You tensed your limbs as you moved the yellow object toward your mouth. But when you finally dropped the delicate thing onto your tongue, it did not expel a grand universe. Rather, it was a cocoon of sensation that was gently draped over you. Slow as honey, and thick and heavy like a winter blanket. It was sitting on a porch during a thunderstorm drinking tea. It was eating cookies fresh out of the oven. It was the feeling of being alone and content and tiny. It was raw happiness and understanding. And then it was just… gone. Like the galaxies were.

You sighed, eliciting a questioning look from your best friend. You shook your head with a small smile to let him know that you were fine. He moved to direct you to the start of the journey, but you held up a hand. There was something to take care of first.

You inhaled deeply and quickly expelled the air, mentally giving yourself a hype session of how your Momma didn’t raise no bitch before turning the Saeni.

“Before we go, I do want to know one thing.” You addressed the group.

A couple nodded in acknowledgement, and the others did object. So, ignoring the urge to rub your sore and bruised neck, you raised your chin, looked directly at them, and said, “I want to know which one of you tried to kill me.”

Jimin stiffly coughed and stared at you like you were going insane.

You head tilted in the direction of that stupid, old oak, in case they had forgotten that wonderful moment from yesterday, and you waited. It wasn’t like you were asking because you were scared or wanted to avoid the person. Jimin had told you that they were cautious around strangers, and the way you had raised your voice had ended up setting them over the edge. A simple, though brutal and unfortunate, misunderstanding. As a result, you were honestly just curious.

The six warriors were quiet for several breaths until one stepped forward. He reached up to the rich brown hood that shadowed his face, his hands hesitating for only a heartbeat before pulling back the thick fabric. His right hand returned to rest on the glittering red stone atop his dagger.

“That would have been me,” the burgundy head claimed with cold eyes.

And why were you not surprised at that? After all, he was the one that had glared at you like you had stolen his favorite toy. Or maybe it was because you kicked him in the balls? Though in your defense, he did choke you, so you had just gotten even.

You rolled your eyes then met his gaze straight on. “May I be privileged enough to know your name?”

Jimin leaned over and inquired what you were doing with a whisper. You held back a shiver at his warm breath on your neck and voice in your ear, and only gave a mere shrug in response. You were on a mission, so you were accepting no distractions.

“It’s only fair that I know the name of my attacker, don’t you think?” You added innocently, cocking your head to side.

“Jungkook,” he spit out through his teeth like the reveal physically pained him.

His hand shifted to grip the handle of the dagger tightly. He had done the same thing yesterday after you started returning his glare, so you suspected it was a habit of his when he got peeved. Yet, from the action, you didn’t miss the scars that adorned the back of his hand. Nor the cautionary look Jimin gave him. You pursed your lips when Jungkook gave the handle one final squeeze before loosening his grip. Whoever your Slim Jim was in this new world, he apparently carried some weight if he was obeyed whenever he threw those looks around. The others were all watching the exchange with intrigue, except for the one still resting under a tree.

Geez, does nothing excite that dude? I mean I like sleep too buddy, so Big Mood, but still.

Moseying your way over to the annoyed male, you gave him a sweet smile. “Well, Jungkook, just know that since I can see, hear, and understand you now, I won’t be as helpless next time.”

You glanced down at the area that had been throttled with your leg not 24 hours ago and converted your smile to a smirk.

“And I won’t need to resort to cheating to win either.”

From behind you, you could hear Jimin swear in an exasperated tone.

Jungkook’s eyes caught sight of your ravaged neck and they momentarily softened. You thought you even saw a flash of guilt, but they quickly turned cold once more. Being right in front of him, you noticed that they were a piercing light green rimmed in a darker shade of emerald. If you weren’t so fed up with the guy’s antics, you would have likened them to peridot. But since you were, you decided to settle on old peas. He, too, had piercings in his ears, just one silver hoop on his right side and three on the left. Your attention was brought back to the matter at hand when he pulled out the short blade from the scabbard at his hip. He closely inspected the cunning dagger. You would have admired the beauty of the weapon, if not for the fact that it was intimidatingly close to your face. Your eyes were stuck on the blade, watching as he slowly turned it in the rising sunlight. While the light was refracting off the polished metal, you could see that there was an inscription on the dagger, but you couldn’t make out what it was.

Not even bothering to look up from his weapon, he challenged with a sharp tone that matched the edge of the blade, “Oh, do you really think so little human?”

You blinked at his serrated voice, wondering how you should respond.

What would Steve Rogers do?

Well, he would never back the fuck down from a fight. So, neither would you.

You accepted his challenge by returning your eyes to his face. His own flickering up when he felt the weight of your unfaltering stare.

When his eyes met yours, you slapped on a cute smirk. “Mmmm before I forget…”

You leaned in as close as you dared with his wicked blade still in front of you while maintaining eye contact with his green orbs. “I may be into choking, but if you’re going to do it, you should really learn the proper technique.”

You trailed your eyes down and back up his physique as you finished. “I’m a simple girl, but I can be hard to please and I expect my partners to know how to handle themselves.”

Pulling back from Jungkook and returning your attention to Jimin, you beamed and clapped your hands together. Not before noting how stiff the burgundy-haired asshat had gone at your words. God this guy. His damn ego couldn’t even take some valid constructive criticism. Well, it wouldn’t be your fault when he killed someone mid-thrust. Unless he was celibate, which would really explain why he was so uptight. Glancing at the rest of the Saeni, they were a mix of complete shock and struggle to withhold their laughter. Their struggle becoming more strained when Jungkook abruptly marched away from you.

“Alrighty! What are we waiting around for? Let’s go!” You called out to the group.

Jimin pushed a hand through his hair and grabbed your wrist, tugging you along while he chuckled and shook his head at you.

“I’m going on an adventure!” You said as you allowed yourself to be led to a new world.

“Really?” You dragged the word out. “I thought we were finally going.”

The beginning of your adventure ended a mere 15 feet away. Right in front of that big, old oak tree you were well acquainted with.

“Stupid tree,” you muttered beneath your breath, “I hope you never grow leaves again so you’re permanently naked.”

You continued the creative curses at the ancient being until they trailed off into silence.

“Uhhh. Hey, Slim Jim? What’re they doing?” You questioned as the six warriors began climbing up the tree’s study branches. “Shouldn’t they be doing an spell or something? Isn’t that how it usually works?”

“Not in real life.” He smiled, giving you a push toward to the tree.

This is so not as cool. Or fun.

You hoisted yourself limb from limb and up and up and up. You were sweating by the time you finally caught up with the Saeni. Jimin climbed right behind you, keeping a hand either on your back or leg to hold you steady during your ascent. He had warned you not to look down when you began pulling your body up through the branches.

It seemed he really enjoyed his warnings nowadays.

But, you couldn’t help yourself and shifted to look downward for a moment. And another moment. And another. You couldn’t look away. You were so high up. And you loved it. The wind thrashed through the leaves and unbound stands of your hair from where you had pulled it back. They danced across your face like they had never felt a true breeze before. You felt your body sway with the thick branch you were crouched on, and you threw a wild smile at the boy beneath you, y/e/c eyes glittering with awe. You heard some of the Saeni give an approving hum at your wonder.

Okay, so maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Your grin grew bigger when you saw the mint-haired Saeni raise his hands and speak low and fast. His palms began emanating a blue, glittering light that matched the strands on his head. He was doing an incantation! Or something. You weren’t sure what was going on, but it made you bounce on your branch in anticipation. Your best friend quickly grabbed your calf firmly, silently telling you to calm the fuck down.

You whispered a sorry to him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hide your excitement. The blue glow faded and was replaced by a rapid snapping sound that was eerily similar to that of a branch breaking. You look to Jimin in panic, hands tightening around the limb you were perched on. He looked back at you coolly, and none of the other members of the party appeared to be disturbed by the noise. Apparently, everything was fine? You cautiously released your clenched muscles and eased the grip of your hands. You looked back up to the Saeni and your draw dropped when you saw Namjoon wink at you before stepping forward and disappearing down the center of the tree.

“There are certain trees whose roots connect between Earth and Illain. This is one of them. Yoongi can use it to form a bridge of sorts that we can travel through. The bridge just happens to be straight down the middle of the tree itself,” Jimin explained beneath you.

“Whoa… Hey, so Yoongi is Mr. Sparkle Hands?”

“Er. Uh. Yes. Yoongi has the sparkle hands.”

“Thank you for the show Mr. Sparkle Hands!” You called up to the Saeni, who shot you a withering look.

As you patiently waited for your turn to travel through the tree bridge, you swung your legs in the air as you watched the other warriors jump down one after the other.

Hell, this is tons better than a muddy rabbit hole. Take that Alice.

After a couple of minutes, it was just you, Jimin, and Yoongi left at the top of the tree. You heaved yourself up the last few limbs until you were next to Yoongi and peered down at the hole he had opened. It looked like someone has taken a giant drill to the oak, as the innards of the bridge still looked like plain, old wood.

Straightening out, you smiled brightly at the mint-haired male. His petal pink eyes gave you a judgmental glance before looking away, so you were left smiling at his bone ear piercings instead of his face. Undeterred, you gave the earrings a good wink as if they had feelings before you let out a tinkling laugh at the Saeni’s actions.

Jimin climbed up behind you and leaned over your shoulder to gaze at the hole.

“Aww Yoongi. You’re always so thoughtful.” Jimin gave him an appreciative look.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Saeni grumbled before leaping down the hole himself.

“What was that about?” You asked Jimin.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” he dismissed, “Look there are some very convenient grooves in the wood on this side, so you can climb down instead of jumping like a maniac.”

“You say maniac as if you’re not about to do the same thing.” You raised a knowing eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, yeah. You know I love a good adrenaline rush. Just get your ass climbing down already.”

While it certainly looked badass, you were in no place to break your leg, or worse, by jumping down to who knows where. Hence, you heeded your friend’s advice and decided on the more practical route. You took a look at the sky and leaves and whispered a goodbye before starting your descent. You made your way down, down, down. Minutes passed, and it became harder to see where to place your hands and feet. The entrance only a small circle far above your head, meaning there was basically zero light at your current position. You began relying on your sense of touch rather than sight, praying that you wouldn’t miss a groove and plummet. It’s an interesting thought: thinking about dying inside of a tree. Which would absolutely blow because the adventure hadn’t even truly begun. Plus, the dying part itself would be a real Debbie Downer on your day.

To whatever higher power is out there, please don’t let me die inside of a damn tree trunk.

“Don’t fret little scorja, you’re not going to die.” A deep, masculine voice echoed up to you.

Shit. Did you say that out loud? You winced with embarrassment, your body briefly locking up before your legs found the next step and kept moving. You couldn’t see anything at this point and you were glad that you did not fear the dark because you don’t think you could have even twitched a muscle if you did. Continuing your descent, you lowered your body until a hand lightly touched your ankle. The unsuspected contact caused you to let out a soft yelp.

“It’s alright. You just have a few more steps to go.” The same deep voice from before comforted you.

A few grooves later, strong hands gripped your waist and eased you onto solid ground.

“Um… thank you, whoever you are,” you said.

“You’re very welcome, little scorja.”

One hand moved from your waist to settle on your shoulder, and you felt the presence of whomever held you lean down to say, “My name is Taehyung.”

Seconds later the seventh and final member of the Kiela had his feet on the ground. The sound of his sudden entrance made you jerk away from Taehyung in surprise. The self-proclaimed adrenaline junkie had jumped after all.

“Fucking maniac,” you joked at your friend, who in turn scooped you into a big hug.

Although you giggled at his affection, you had to internally yell at your heart for getting so excited at his touch. Taking a step out of his embrace to resettle yourself, you wondered how he was able to find you so fast. It was pitch black, the entrance like a small star high above you and you couldn’t see a damned thing. However, everyone else seemed to get around just fine.

“So, do you guys have night vision or something?”

An unknown voice, one that you strongly suspected to be Jungkook’s, replied, “What? The little human can’t see in the dark? What a shame.”

You rolled your eyes, hoping that his “superior” vision allowed him to see it.

“Kookieeee,” Taehyung whined beside you, “why are you being so mean?”

Kookie?

There was a noise that suspiciously sounded like someone had just gotten smacked upside the head. You would bet some money and your next bag french fries (you know when you think you’re all out and huzzah! there’s still more at the bottom of the bag) that one, precious Kookie was on the receiving end.

“Ya! Where are your manners!? I didn’t raise you like this!” A voice shouted.

Jungkook only growled in response.

“Seriously Kook, you need to stop. You’re acting like a child,” another voice said sternly. Namjoon maybe?

With that, his growl turned into a pouty groan. “Hyung!”

Um… why is speaking Korean all of the sudden?

“I teach them a few basic words every summer,” Jimin informed you after sensing your internal question.

“Huh.”

“If you’re all done, can we please get going? The dark is making me tired.” Yet another voice interrupted the situation.

When nobody said anything else, the same voice cursed, “Thank fucking Exia.”

With that, a mint-blue glow lit up the dark and you watched Yoongi crouch down with both hands pointed toward the floor. Several recitations later, another hole was created at your feet. You could see a clear blue sky, thick branches, and fluttering leaves when you curiously tilted up on your tip toes to look through it. You pursed your lips, wondering how the hell you were looking up through the bottom of the floor. You observed as Namjoon got onto his hands and knees and reached out to grab a hold of a tree branch to hoist himself through the hole, or was it down? Or up? You weren’t sure which preposition was correct for the action, but no matter what was right, you were amazed at the process. Once Namjoon was safely settled on a thick branch, the yellow-eyed Saeni reached his hand out to aid the rest of the group in transferring over to the other side.

After you popped out of the hole like a newborn baby, you noticed that you recognized the layout of wooden limbs. You realized that the tree you were on was identical to the one of Earth. The second thing you realized was how sweet and fresh the air smelled. Jimin had mentioned how Illain was more nature than buildings, and you could immediately appreciate the difference that made to the air quality. You continued deeply breathing in the glorious air as you scrambled down the tree to the earthy ground to wait for Jimin to emerge from the tree bridge.

Once everyone had their feet on the dirt, Namjoon gave the order to start moving. Jimin made sure you were doing okay before jogging to catch up and walk with the leader. You mentally cursed your chickpea brain because you still had no idea where you were headed or why the Saeni needed Jimin. You had literally forgotten to ask one of the most important things.

It’s okay chickpea brain, I’m sure you’ll have the chance to ask at some point.

A male came up beside you as you walked. When he reached your side, he flipped off his hood and revealed a bright face with silvery white hair and light brown eyes. He moved with grace, easily evading the natural obstructions in his way. The fluidity of his movements reminded you of something, but you couldn’t put your finger on what. You were trying to rack your chickpea brain for graceful creatures in an effort to pinpoint what it was, when you caught sight of Jimin in front of you. His dancer’s body weaving around trees and fallen logs.

That’s what it is!

The male beside you had the grace of a dancer. You momentarily felt like a walnut since you hadn’t realized it immediately even though you, too, were a dancer, but the thought fled your mind when he spoke.

“You’ve got a pair of gojcha, girl. Going after Jungkook like that.”

You kept your stride but gave him a side glace. His huge smile hit you in the face and caught you off guard, as did his prominent dimples. Although you didn’t know him at all, you go the feeling that he was a very warm and genuine person. That smile would be a damn waste if he weren’t. As the male turned to face forward again, you caught the glint of a single metal earring dangling from his ear. They all liked their piercings, huh? You couldn’t lie and say that it looked bad on him, because good lord, it suited him well. The piercings suited all of them well. Or, you assumed all of them since you had yet to meet the sixth and final full Saeni of the group. Shit… was every Saeni attractive like them? You didn’t know if you could mentally, or physically, handle that.

Peeking another look at him, you saw that he did not carry a sword, but had knives and daggers strapped to almost every accessible inch of his body. Harnesses crossed this way and that to carry them all. In all honesty, it was super hardcore and even borderline NSFW. Basically, it was a fantasy come to life wrapped in one, hot male package for anyone with a knife and BDSM kink. He removed a small, thin blade from its home on his arm and began flipping it around his hand, causing your face to lose color. You didn’t like the thought of pissing this guy off, his nimble movements hinting at his impressive skill with the weapon. But you relaxed when you looked back up to his dimpled smile again.

Damn, his outfit seriously contrasts with his sweet and pretty face. You noted before replying to his comment.

“Well, something’s telling me that his whole show with the dagger is just because he’s, uh, lacking, in other areas.” You let out a laugh. “My leg wasn’t too impressed with Kookie’s lil Biscoff yesterday.”

The male began hacking as he tried to stifle his laughter. Shoulders shaking even harder when the two of you saw Jungkook give you a scowl. You responded with a handsome middle finger, which just riled him up further, causing him to stalk over to you. You were surprised he recognized the gesture and was in the middle of wondering if Jimin taught them the meaning of it when Jungkook stuck his face in yours.

“You don’t get to call me that,” he snarled.

Without a hint of remorse, you replied, “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep my boundaries. I’ll just stick with Coco from here on out.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Coco?”

“Your hair cut makes your head look like a damn coconut, but Coconut Head takes too long to say so… Coco.” You sent out a puff of air to rustle the hair on his forehead to really drive your point home.

The Saeni you had been talking to grabbed Jungkook around the waist as he lunged for you. The scene made the entire group stop and look back at the commotion. Jimin called the furious Jungkook up to him and sent you and apologetic face. Waving it off, you looked back at the Saeni next to you who struggled to maintain a somewhat decent composure.

“Aish. I’m sorry about him. He gets shy around newcomers and forgets how to act properly. Also, I have no clue what a ‘Biscoff’ is, but… I can get what you’re referring to.”

“You call that shy?” You skeptically raised a brow.

He let out a snort before finally gathering himself together. Quieter now, he traced a thumb down the center of his chest toward his stomach, his amber eyes flashing with amusement.

“My name’s Hoseok and well, whatever he may be lacking, it sure isn’t in fighting. He may be our maknae, but he’s our best, and not just out of us,” he indicated to the others, “but in the entire Saeni ranks too. Nobody can beat him.”

“Not for the lack of trying, Hobi.” The grey-headed warrior with the headband from yesterday came over and threw an arm around Hoseok’s shoulders. “Though you did get a good hit in there, little scorja.”

“Taehyung?” You slowly questioned, wondering if it was the same male from inside the tree since he used the same name for you that that male had.

He grinned at you and did the same motion Hoseok had done moments earlier. Thumb traced down the center of his chest. It must be their version of a handshake or wave.

“You can just call me Tae like the rest of the guys do!”

“Tae. Okay. So, you can speak English sometimes?”

“You’re damn right, little scorja. Just like how you’re speaking my language now.”

“Scorja, what does that mean? You keep calling me that.”

It was Hoseok who spoke, “Scorjas are flowers that grow on a vine. Sturdy plants and one of the most beautiful in Illain. They have an innate ability to sense who you are as a person and how pure your intentions are. If your soul pleases the scorja, it will do you no harm. If it does not, then the flower secretes a poison that can cause death if not treated. Not everyone is able to pass the test and safely touch them.”

“Beautiful and gentle until someone tries to mess with it, just like you,” Tae added.

You felt your checks grow warm at his comment and you held your face in your hands to hide any evidence that his words affected you.

“But you don’t know me. I may turn out to be rude and manipulative,” you said with a teasing lilt.

Both males looked at you with fond smiles, like they did, in fact, know you. Which was downright crazy.

“Jimin talks about you a lot when he’s here. What you’re like and how much he misses you. So, in a way, we do know you, little scorja. Beautiful, gentle, and just a tad bit ferocious. The name fits…”

“So, the name stays,” Hoseok finished, dimples emerging again.

Your eyes went wide, and you nearly tripped over the root you were stepping over.

Jimin talks about me?

You and Jimin were obviously great friends, but the fact that he shared you with these people shocked you. These people who he described as his brothers. He shared you with his Kiela, those he considered to be closer than family. Even though you had no idea that they had existed, he still wanted them to know about you. You were that special to him.

Your eyes began to get misty and you quickly blinked to keep the tears at bay. You hummed at the males to acknowledge their words, but you couldn’t look at them. Not when your eyes were locked onto a certain half-human, half-Saeni as he walked ahead of you, oblivious to your soft eyes on his back.

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