#[once he got past being stabbed and having his men and himself made fools of]

[cxldtyrant]

Send ✨ and my Muse will state one thing they think is aesthetically attractive about your Muse - Open!

@synthetixviola​ asked: clearly a mistake but ✨

         “We really must stop meeting like this. Otherwise, I’ll have to assume you intentionally seek out my company,” Cooler commented towards Lila with a mocking inflection, his obsidian lips curling into a smirk as he regarded her with haughty amusement. Considering her inquiry, he allowed himself to glance over her appearance for merely moments to contemplate, though his decision had already been decided the moment she had asked, before he vocalized his assessment. “There is plenty to say about your appearance, but if I have to choose a particular feature that catches my attention… it would be your eyes. Such a shocking green tone with the barest hints of scarlet. I do like the color green, but the way that scarlet overtook them during our fight as you grew more violent… well, it had certainly been exciting. Bloodlust suits you well.”

[kaitoujokerscans]

The Night the Silver Cape is Set Ablaze CH6

<6> The Lady Spy and Phantom Thief Girl

At the same time as when Spade was talking to Noir, a minor commotion was taking place aboard a luxury sleeper train coursing through a European ravine.

 "Stop! Don't let her get away!"

The train shook with a clunking noise, and stern-faced men in dark uniforms trampled through the carriage. They were chasing after a tiny silhouette dashing ahead. The silhouette opened the door connecting to the next carriage and ran into the hallway. Although the hallway floor was made of old wood, the silhouette's footsteps were completely silent.

There came a loud bang from behind her. A pistol bullet streaked past the side of the silhouette.

"Tsk!" The silhouette clicked her tongue, then opened the door to the next carriage and jumped in. This was the first class carriage — a passenger car with numerous private cabins. Through the earpiece she wore, she heard an order to the uniformed men — "The target's headed towards the front! Cut her off on both sides!". She was listening in to their radio comm.

They'll be coming from the front too, soon enough...

The tiny silhouette came to a stop in the middle of the carriage. Right next to her was the door to a guest cabin.

The silhouette was a little old lady in black tights. She would have been at least seventy years old. Yet her hair was a glistening white, and her skin had a healthy sheen. Least suggestive of her age was the look in her eyes. She was keeping watch for enemies in front of her and staying cautious of enemies approaching from behind at the same time.

Her name was Agent Purple. She was a veteran spy of a country to remain unnamed and was still an active intelligence agent. Purple had just stolen a top-secret file from an influential person in a certain country. She had received intel that it was being moved on this train and, putting her petite stature to good use, had skillfully swiped the file without alerting anyone. It was an easy job for Purple.

But it so happened that a newbie spy allied with her country had been caught elsewhere and let slip that Purple was on board.

Good heavens... Young'uns these days have no backbone... Purple sighed and, focusing her attention to the front, reached for the small firearm lashed around her leg.

Anxiety bubbled within Purple. The round of enemy fire had grazed Purple's arm. It was only a scratch, but still, moving it even slightly made pain course through her arm. Usually she would have no issue with firing at this range, but if enough enemies stormed her from both front and back, she wasn't sure she'd be able to make every shot.

Though it doesn't look like I have a choice... Purple steeled herself. She heard bellows come from both in front and behind her. Just as Purple's hand hovered over her firearm... the guest cabin door swung open, and someone grabbed Purple's arm.

"...!" With her opposite hand, Purple immediately reached for the knife at her hip. But she didn't stab anything. Because the person grabbing her said this to her:

"Come with me, Grandma."

When the uniformed men stepped out of the linked cars into the first class carriage, the target they had been pursuing wasn't in the hallway. The train was chugging along at high speed. She couldn't escape out the windows. Which meant that she had to have entered one of the cabins along the hallway.

The boss gave the order to his men to search the cabins. The men didn't know anything about the spy who was their target, other than that she was short. They entered the rooms one by one and inspected who was inside. Because this was the first class carriage, the occupants all had posh appearances. None of the passengers looked like they could be a spy. But it was possible that she was disguised.

Politely and carefully, the uniformed men examined each individual guest. Eventually, they stood in front of the cabin at the very middle.

One of the men knocked on the door.

"Yes?" came a young woman's voice from inside.

"This is the railway authority. We've received word that an intruder snuck on board, thus we are presently conducting an inspection of all cabins."

"I understand. Come in," responded the female voice, not suspecting the man was lying.

Two men entered and saw that there was a girl and an old woman inside. They were sitting across from each other on plush emerald green seats. The girl, her blonde hair done up in twintails, turned to the men with a puzzled look. "Has something happened?"

The girl was wearing an aqua-colored dress. She gave off a refined air — probably the daughter of a rich family. Then suddenly, one of the men took a frightening tone and demanded, "Hey, did anyone come in here?"

"N-No..." The girl replied, startled.

"She telling the truth, Grandma!?" The man said menacingly to the old woman sitting across from the girl. But the old woman's eyes were focused outside the window and she wouldn't face him.

"My grandmother is hard of hearing. I can answer your questions!" The girl nearly shrieked.

"Check their luggage."

The other man tried to pick up the large traveling bag next to the old woman. Then the girl stood up, shouting. "Stop! Not that bag!"

"Shut up! You're hiding something, aren't you!"

"Of course not! Please, just don't!"

"You're sounding more and more suspicious to me!" The man took out his gun and pointed it at the girl. The girl gasped, her face paled, and she sat back down.

The other man undid the clasp of the traveling bag and slowly opened it, when...

"BARK BARK BARK!" A white dog bounded out of the bag and jumped at the man's face.

"WAUUUGH!?" The man threw his head back in a panic. The dog wouldn't get off him.

"Aahhh! Stop that, Corn!"

"W-What is up with this mutt!?" The man peeled the dog off his face, and the girl spoke.

"He's my pet. Pets aren't allowed on board, so I hid him in my bag..."

"Huh?"

"But now that the authorities have found out, there's nothing I can do... You can arrest me," said the girl resignedly, looking up at the man.

Then the men tsked, not having found what they were looking for. "Hey, let's go. Onto the next one," one said, and they left the cabin.

"Phew... that went well." A little after the men left, Queen stopped holding her breath and plopped down on the seat. The girl who had talked with the men was Queen.

Then Purple, who had pretended to just be an old woman, looked at Queen and smirked. "That was quite the fib. I'd give you a passing grade."

"Teehee, thank you."

"Queen, what was that 'Corn' name about?" Roko, who had been pretending to be a normal dog, asked from beside Purple.

"Well, I couldn't call you by your real name, Roko. You got your name because you liked toumorokoshi — corn — right? So that's why I called you 'Corn'," Queen explained proudly. Queen, Purple, and Roko had put on a performance so the uniformed men would pass them by. Playing the parts of a granddaughter, her grandmother, and her pet, they successfully fooled the pursuers.

"Still, I was surprised when you appeared out of nowhere." Purple turned her gaze toward Queen and broke out into a happy smile. It was a warm, gentle smile, hardly an expression befitting a cold-hearted spy. She was said to have been quite the looker once, and it wasn't impossible to imagine. According to Silver Heart, no man had been immune to her wily charms. Silver Heart himself had acted smitten whenever he recalled Purple, until he met with her again...

"You're Silver's granddaughter, aren't you? You came with us to Jackal's hideout."

Indeed, Queen and Purple, along with Silver Heart and Joker, had previously broken into the organization called Jackal, headed by Doctor Neo. Purple had been introduced then to Queen as Silver Heart's partner during his spy days.

"You remembered me."

"A spy doesn't forget intel. So, since you've come out of your way to see me, I assume you need something?"

"Yes, that's right. There's something I want to ask about..." Queen lowered her voice a little. "I want to know about someone who used to work with Grandpa. Someone called Noir."

"Noir?" Purple's pitch rose. So she was familiar with Noir after all.

"You know him?"

"Yes, he's an old friend. I know him well."

"To tell you the truth, it seems Noir took a treasure from Joker, and I was wondering if it had anything to do with Grandpa..."

"Hmm..." Purple remarked in surprise.

"Did something happen between Noir and Grandpa? If you know anything, could you please tell me?"

"Hm, well..." Purple folded her arms, brooding on something. Suddenly, her eyes glinted mischievously, and she grinned at Queen.

"W-What is it?"

"When you get to be as old as I am, you get awfully tight-fisted. Giving information away for free feels like it would be a wasted opportunity."

"Huh...?"

"It makes me want to tease kids, especially a girl like you."

"O... kay..."

"If you want to hear about Silver and Noir, then do something for me. Something that'll delight me."

"HUH?" Queen drew back in surprise, ruffled.

"Do something to entertain me. Then I'll give you the information you want."

"Ergh..." Queen's gaze veered. She wasn't a veteran spy for nothing. This wasn't going to be that simple. The unreasonable demand made Queen fall silent.

What should I do for her...? I can't tell any funny stories, and I can't do tricks like Joker can... I'm not an encyclopedia like Spade is, so what can I do...?

Queen's mind started to spin in circles. Thinking hard wasn't her forte. But then, Roko cut in from beside her. "Then how about making a funny face like the one you did recently, Queen?"

"Fu... nny... face...?"

"It was hilarious! Purple-san might just like it!"

"N-No! Absolutely not!" Queen stood up to refuse, her face bright read.

"Oh, why not, that sounds fine. Please, show me." Purple bent forward and gave a provoking smile.

"I don't want to! It'll ruin my marriage prospects!"

"Nope, I've decided. That's the only way you'll get information out of me. You can't change my mind!"

"You're kidding me...!" Queen stood at a loss for words.

"..."

"Well, what will you do?"

At Purple's prodding, she gave in. Queen took a breath and faced back towards Purple. Queen was about to forsake her prized feminine sensibilities when...

"Shh...!" Suddenly the look in Purple's eyes changed and she put a finger to her lips, shushing.

"...!" Queen and Roko immediately piped down and listened closely.

Conversing voices were coming from the earpiece Purple was wearing. Apparently she had still been listening to the radio communications while talking to Queen.

"It seems they're coming back this way... My cohort seems to have blabbed that I'm an older woman. If he makes it back alive, he's in for a real reckoning," Purple muttered as she listened, a terrifying look on her face.

"What do you want to do? Do we act our way out again?"

"No, it won't work this time. You two can escape out the window onto the roof. I'll handle the rest on my own."

"With your arm in that state?" Roko asked.

Purple looked over at him in surprise. "You realized?"

"You've been stroking your arm at moments. Probably without even realizing it yourself."

"Then you won't be able to fight those men single-handedly. Let us handle it!" Queen said, getting back up.

She threw off her disguise, revealing her usual white coat underneath. She then took out her diamond sword from where it was hidden underneath the seats. "Purple-san, if I fend off those men, tell me about Noir, okay?" Queen winked sweetly. She was sincerely relieved. Thank God I didn't have to make a funny face!

Just as five black-suited men neared the door of the room where they had seen the young girl and old woman earlier, Queen and Roko sprang out of the guest cabin.

"...!"

Queen glared at the men. The look in her eyes was completely different than the girl who had been in the room earlier. She was wearing different clothes, too, and the biggest difference of all was the great sword she held in her hand.

"She's got the secret file!" shouted one of the men. Indeed, in her other hand, Queen was holding the secret file disc case that she had received from Purple.

"Get her!" Their boss barked, and the men all fell upon Queen. But Queen and Roko deftly dodged them and ran off in the opposite direction. The men rushed after her.

There were no men in the direction they were headed. Purple had found this out by listening to the radio comm. That was why Queen immediately set off in the opposite direction — towards the read end of the train.

Queen sped through the train, passing through one car after another on her way to the end. The men followed after, shoving aside the confused passengers, giving chase to Queen and Roko.

"How long are they going to run for!?"

"Don't lose your head. There's no way they can get off the train when it's going this fast. The girl's trapped like a mouse!"

Just as he said, soon enough Queen and Roko reached the rearmost carriage. It was a coach car, with booth seats on either side. Baffled by Queen bursting in, the seated passengers began to murmur.

"Everyone out! Or else you'll get hurt!" yelled Queen, thrusting her sword up overhead.

Shrieks rang out, and the conductor and passengers all started to rush towards the forward cars. At the same time, the men in black caught up to where Queen was. Wading through the waves of passengers, the men entered the rearmost carriage. Now the only ones inside of it were Queen, Roko, and the men.

Queen stood at the very back of the carriage, standing off against the men.

"Say your prayers, missy." Five suited men stopped in the middle of the carriage and took out their guns. "We're gonna turn you into Swiss cheese!"

"Now, Roko!"

At Queen's signal, Roko stepped forward. Then he unhinged his jaw and let out a prodigious cry of "ARFFFFFFFFFFF!!"

His bark shrilled in the ears of the men. Their faces scrunched up and they clutched their heads in agony. "URRRGHH! W-What was that!?"

This was Roko's ability.

Roko's throat has a special organ that enhances his canine howl. He can use this organ to vibrate ultrasonic waves and assail anyone in front of him.

While the men were gripping their heads from the pain, Queen swung her sword at them. She struck their napes with the back of her sword and mowed them all down. The men were knocked out and collapsed onto the carriage hallway with successive thuds.

"Roko, let's go!"

"Okay!"

Queen and Roko stepped past the unconscious men and ran back towards the front of the carriage. They were just a step away from the next car ahead when...

"Hold it right there!"

The two of them turned around once they heard the voice and saw that one of the felled men was getting back on his feet. The man's gun was pointed at a little girl. She hadn't been able to get away while everyone else was running.

"Wha...!?"

"Throw down your sword, right now! Unless you don't care what happens to her!"

"Bah... you really don't play fair. This is the problem with spies!" Queen bit her lip and glared at the man.

"Hurry it up!"

At his behest, Queen twirled her sword and left it on the floor.

"All right, good. Bring the disc here!"

Queen clutched the disc, vexed. Things had been going according to plan up until she knocked all the men out, but she hadn't foreseen that they would take a hostage. While Queen stood still, seemingly at a loss as what to do next, Roko whispered from beside her.

"...Queen, do that."

"Huh?"

"That thing we were talking about. Your special move! You know!"

"Whaaat?" Then realizing what he meant, Queen rejected it flat out. "Absolutely not!"

"Then do you have any other way of making him drop his guard?"

"No, b-but..."

"What are you two muttering about!? Come here, now!"

"Argh... fine!" Queen shouted in annoyance, and slowly walked toward the man with disc in hand.

"Leave the disc there," the man pointed to a seat, just as Queen spoke.

"Hey, Mister."

"Hm?"

As soon as the man saw Queen's face — he snorted out a hearty "pfft!", followed by a "GYAHAHAHA! What is wrong with your face!? BWAHAHAHA!", laughing uproariously. Queen had demonstrated her famous "funny face" to him.

As the man burst out in laughter, Queen crouched down and delivered a swift kick to the man's shin.

"Ghwaaa!?" The man's guffawing face contorted with pain, and immediately after, Queen grabbed the girl and ran back towards the front of the carriage.

"W-Wait! Bwahahahaha!" The man went after her, but was still snorting from the memory.

Without another word, Queen picked up her sword and swung it. The train's coupling split apart with a clank. The rearmost carriage with the unconscious men and the laughing man aboard lost speed and gradually became more and more distant. The sound of the man's unceasing laughter mingled with the sound of the wheels, and eventually faded away.

Roko grinned and looked up at Queen. "Nice going, Queen! Now that's what I call looks that could kill!"

"I'm not happy about this at all!" Queen puffed up her adorable cheeks and stared at Roko accusingly.

[demivampirew]

Say no to this.

Henry x Reader (wife) x Reader (the other woman)

Triggers: Angst; cheating, breakup, divorce (and crying).

A/N: This was inspired by two songs from the musical Hamilton: Say No to This and Burn, and it’s told from the perspective of the characters (Henry, Reader (Wife), Reader (the other woman)

You can find more of my writings in the Masterlist 

Having the chance to portray one of his favourite characters is an honour for which Henry will forever be thankful. Yet, he must admit that having to spend time apart from his family was not an easy task. 

He sat on the bed in the dark hotel room, only enlightened by the moonlight. On his phone screen, he saw the picture you’ve sent him earlier that day of you and your daughter playing, you dressed as a princess and the six-year-old as a dragon. “Oh, your mighty witcher, come and save me, please,” read the message under the picture. Henry missed dressing up in costumes and running around the house with his little angel, who would laugh uncontrollably every time he caught and started to tickle her.

It’s been over two months since he left for work; 60 plus days without feeling the lovely touch of your hands on his face, too much time without feeling the warmness of your body against his.

He laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling for an hour, unable to sleep when his phone announced that he had a new message.

“Are you awake? I can’t sleep,” y/n wrote. She was a friend he made on the set of the show - she worked as a personal assistant for one of the recurrent directors of the show and she was staying at the same hotel that Henry. “Yes. Can’t sleep either. Come if you want,” he replied, thinking that some company would help him to feel less lonely.

Fifteen minutes later there was a knock on the door. Henry opened the door and invited y/n to come in. Once inside, she faced him and smiled as she showed him the content of her bag: a PS and The Witcher 3 game. “I know you’re more into pc, but l don’t have a gaming pc here, so we will have to play with this, okay,” she said grinning.

“I remember you saying that you were good at this,” y/n while rolling her eyes, teasing him. “I am, but in the pc,” Henry defended himself with a playful smile.

They played the game for two hours before she suggested that it might be time for her to leave. Henry tried to disconnect the console from the tv but she told him to keep it, for now, so he could keep practising.

“Well, good night. I hope you can have a good sleep and tomorrow enjoy your free day,” y/n told him. “Same for you,” he said goodbye, but neither of them moved. They stared at each other for a long minute in silence. Henry’s hands reached for her face bringing it closer to his, culminating in a passionate kiss, while her arms embraced him.

Her naked body, covered only by the bed-sheets rested on the mattress as she slept. Henry looked at her for a moment and then walked towards the bathroom. He washed his face on the sink and then stared at the mirror, finding it hard to recognize the person that was reflected in the mirror. “I promise you that I will be forever faithful to you, my love” he once promised you, his lovely wife, and now the words echoed inside his mind, as stabs on his heart.

How could had he broken the promise he made you? Did he not loved you any more? No, that was sure of that, he loved you more than he had ever done. You no only made him happy and supported him through tough times, but you also gave him the thing that he treasured the most in the world: his daughter. But, he had to be honest with himself, for the first time in a long time and admit that things were not as they used to be. Before the birth of the little girl, you used to be inseparable. You would go with him everywhere in the world, game and laugh and made love every second you could. Now, you were parents; your lives centred on the precious angel and work and were often too tired and since the kid would like to sleep with you, often lacked intimacy.

The worst part of all: he wished that he could say that it was a one time mistake, but it became an affair that lasted for months.

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You hated yourself. In the past, you’d constantly criticized “the other woman” for being malicious women who stole men from others. Now you had become one of them. Well, no completely. Sure, you were carrying an affair with a married man, but you weren’t a fool, you knew that you would never be able to “stole” anyone and he would never leave his wife for you; he never made such a promise and you knew him well enough to know that he loved his family more than anything in the world and he was being vulnerable due to the distance between his true woman and him. Were you a bad woman for being with a taken man knowing that he was in such a delicate emotional position? Maybe, but to be completely honest, so were you. Months before you met Henry, your fiancé cancelled the wedding because he had fallen in love with somebody else. You were feeling lonely and undesired and you had developed a crush on him before that first night. So, you didn’t find the strength to fight the desire and succumb to the temptation.

Every night you’ve spent together, with his strong arms embracing you as his lips caressed your body, felt amazing no matter how wrong it was. And, even if your heart ripped every time you remembered that he wasn’t truly yours - and you were reminded of that constantly, since there was no a single time in which he hadn’t unconsciously said his wife’s name as he reached climax, you couldn’t find it in you to put it a stop.

You knew that this would have a bad end. No matter the outcome, someone would get hurt. 

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That day, your sister offered to take care of your six-year-old so you could have some time to yourself to process things.

Desperate to get some distance and to be alone, you rented a small cabin outside the city.

The sun was coming down when you lifted a bonfire outside the place and sat in front of it with a box that you’ve carried there moments before.

Your fingers caressed every picture - of your first date, your first anniversary as girlfriend and boyfriend; vacations, birthdays and even your wedding. Every photo would get wet with your tears before you threw them into the fire. All objects that reminded of the love you once shared, ended up becoming ashes. Letters, poems, teddy bears, roses that you dried; everything. The only surviving things were the pictures you shared with your daughter, but you would make sure to send them to his mother because you didn’t want to see them any more, the pain was too great.

Finally, you took from your pocket the pictures you printed before to look at them for one last time. They were screenshots from a celebrity news website and the headline read “The Witcher star Henry Cavill is seen kissing a mystery woman”, followed by paparazzi photos of him with someone on the balcony of his hotel room. Angrily, you crashed the prints and let them burn into they became nothing.

With nothing more to do, you watched the flames, as you let your tears fall, feeling completely and utterly broken.

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The production was over. After the news crashed, Henry had to continue filming, pretending that nothing happened, while some people looked at him as if he was a monster. Could he blame them for that?

When the article about his affair was published, his brother Charlie was the one who delivered the bad news - his stepdaughter had seen it and told him about it.

He didn’t know what to do. He called his wife over and over, but she never answered. All-day long he tried to communicate with his love, but every time without luck.

 Y/N tried to call him, too, but this time he was the one who ignored the call. He had nothing against her. Henry knew that she could no be blamed for his mistake, but he couldn’t talk to her right now. His wife was his priority.

Unfortunately, the only response he got from her was from her sister, two days later, letting him know that she was going to file for a divorce and she never wanted to see him or talk to him again. That she would only allow him to contact her, through her or another family member and elusively for things related to their daughter. She was going to share custody with him, but he would have to pick up and leave the girl on her sister or parent’s house.

Now, months later, he driving to his sister-in-law’s house to pick up his daughter and to leave the divorce papers that he had to sing.

There were no words to explain how much it hurt him to lose the woman he loved deeply. The only consolation was that his family continued to show him love and support as they always did. And, his daughter, unaware of the reason why her mommy and daddy decided to go separate ways, still love him enormously and would fill him with joy every minute of every day that he had her.

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It was obvious that there was no going to be a good end to the affair - it never does. You knew someone would get hurt, but you’d never imagined that it would be all three of you.

Terrible didn’t even begin to explain how bad you felt. Of all the three of you, you were the one who got it the “best”, since luckily the pictures only showed your hair in a bun and your back, so only a few close people knew that it was you and they were polite enough to keep the secret to avoid you getting harassed. Although, just in case, you dried your hair and got a new haircut.

Henry’s wife filed for the divorce after she found out about the affair. He let you know via text when he put an end to things and told you he could no longer see you. Even if there was no chance to get back with her, he couldn’t be with you because he loved her too much and you reminded him of the mistake he made. As he suggested, you continued working for a few more weeks there to avoid people finding out that it was you, but later quit.

That was by far the worst mistake that you’ve ever made. So much people got hurt; a girl now has two parents that can’t be in the same room, two people who loved each other who can’t be together because the ghost of you would always be present to remind them of the mistake and a person who’s affection was never truly corresponded and caused the break of a family.

Therapy has been truly beneficial in helping you heal and leaving the past in the past.

Today a new article about Henry was posted online. It consisted of pictures of him and his cute girl buying a Christmas tree and he was laughing at his daughter's funny faces.

[ohayohimawari]

And it was Love at First Brawl

A drabble written for Day 7 of @kakaobiweek Violet | Music | Fantasy

This is another humorous piece appropriate for teen-and-up readers and set in a modern AU.

This drabble is heavily inspired by my good friend @azuzeldraws incredible art series, Metal Konoha, and I dedicate this chapter to her. Thank you, Zu, for letting us use your amazing work to promote this event!

And it was Love at First Brawl

It was one of those Friday nights when Kakashi left the restaurant with a stomach full of his favorite supper and an empty soul after dining alone.

Though the day neared its end, Konoha’s club district was just beginning to wake. The streets were full of jaywalkers, inexperienced parallel-parkers, and the night owl versions of early birds lined up in boisterous queues waiting for the bars to open.

Kakashi felt entirely out of place and maybe almost too old for this scene while he dutifully waited at the corner for the pedestrian crossing light to signal his turn. He stepped into the crosswalk once it was safe, and he saw a man on the opposite side, jogging towards the intersection to cross before the light changed.

Kakashi stopped in his tracks in the middle of the street, entirely entranced.

He watched the individual blades of the other man’s black, unruly hair as they bounced with each step. He wore a t-shirt that fitted him like he was born to wear it and a healthy glow on every inch of exposed skin. His sparkling eyes met Kakashi’s as he trotted past him on the street and offered a greeting through a roguish grin. “Hey.”

And that was all it took.

Being a classic lit teacher, he had a multitude of words at his disposal. That man was vivacity personified, and Kakashi turned on his heel, following him with his eyes. The dark-haired man ran right up to the door of the seediest bar on the street and gleefully skipped up the stairs. He exchanged laughter and a handshake with the bouncer and disappeared inside.

The pedestrian light flashed red, alerting Kakashi that he still stood in the middle of the street. His feet moved of their own accord, and a moment later, his brain agreed with their plan. He retraced his steps, abandoning his intention to go home, knowing he would abandon much more than that for a chance to meet the stranger that charmed him.

As driven as he was, Kakashi hesitated for a moment outside of the club, assessing it. The sidewalk in front of it was littered with empty bottles and cigarette butts, and two people appeared to be doing something he didn’t want to interrupt in the shadows of the alley next to it. Then, he assessed himself.

He was dressed more casually than usual, out for a date with nobody but him, wearing a t-shirt that featured a band called ROOT. He had no idea who they were, or why they used all capital letters, but his students chose it from the trendy store Boiling Subject as a gift for him, and it was comfortable after wearing a tie all day. Deciding that his attire was appropriate for the venue, Kakashi walked up the stairs that led to the door, where he was stopped by the same menacing bouncer that laughed only moments before.

“You sure you wanna do this?” The man growled through scarred lips.

“Pretty sure,” Kakashi replied, though his confidence wavered.

“We don’t want any trouble.” The man’s muscles bulged in a show of strength as he folded his arms across his chest.

“I don’t want to bring any,” Kakashi replied, honestly.

“Let him in, Ibiki.” A pony-tailed bartender wearing a high-cut shirt that showed more cleavage than fabric chastised the bouncer.

“Whatever you say, Anko,” Ibiki moved aside to allow Kakashi into the bar.

As foreboding as the exchange was, it caught the attention of the handsome dark-haired stranger who stood at the bar. Bolstered, Kakashi stood in the space next to him.

“What can I getcha, hon?” Anko tossed a stained cardboard coaster onto the bar in front of him.

“A beer,” Kakashi ordered as if he’d never been to a pub before, too nervous to recall his favorite drink.

Anko retrieved a bottle from the cooler behind her while Kakashi withdrew a few bills from his wallet. Then, he wrapped his hand around the bottle of Lone Ninja Star she offered after opening it with her teeth.

Kakashi ignored how unhygienic it was to take a sip from the bottle as he did it, glancing around the bar, looking everywhere but at the man that led him there. It was half-full of patrons in various stages of sobriety and had a stage all set up and waiting for a band to perform. When he finished noting where all the emergency exits were, the most incredible thing happened.

“Cheers,” Mr. Vivacity said, bringing their beer bottles together in a toast.

“Cheers,” Kakashi replied, then pulled a long swig from the bottle, savoring the moment that the man of his dreams had spoken first.

“So, uh,” the dark-haired man glanced down at Kakashi’s shirt, and a chuckle bubbled out of him, “you like this band too?” He tilted his head in the direction of the stage.

“Um, yeah," Kakashi stammered, "I mean, yes. Yes, I do."

"Cool," Mr. Vivacity replied with a smile that made Kakashi's knees buckle. "Which of their CDs is your favorite?"

Kakashi's quick mind kicked into gear on the spot. If the band had multiple releases, then the safest answer would be, "I think their first one."

"Really?" The dark-haired man appeared pleasantly surprised. "So, you're an old-school fan, huh?"

“Yep, I guess I am,” Kakashi laughed a little awkwardly and brought his beer back to his lips.

“I think my favorite track on that one is, Kill Me With Your Kekkei Genkai,” Mr. Vivacity nodded, thinking aloud, and Kakashi felt his eyes bulge, worried that he might not be able to keep up the facade. But then he was spared when the other man suddenly changed the subject. “By the way, my name is—”

“Crybaby Tobi, you finally made it!” A man with slicked blonde hair and wearing a shirt with religious cult symbols literally crashed into their conversation, spilling his beer on Kakashi’s shirt.

The unwelcome interruption glanced at him. “My bad,” he drawled unapologetically, looking down at the soiled shirt. Then, his eyes shot up to meet Kakashi’s.

“WHOA! You’ve got balls, man!”

“Thank you,” Kakashi decided to take it as a compliment, turning towards the bar to grab a few napkins. He blotted at his shirt when Anko shouted to him that there was a hot air dryer in the men’s room, and, as much as Kakashi didn’t want to walk away from Mr. Crybaby before he could learn his real name, he didn’t want to stand there like an idiot in a wet ROOT t-shirt.

By the time he exited the bathroom, a makeshift merchandise table had appeared near it, so he bee-lined to it to learn more about the band to contribute to a conversation about them. At least, now he knew the band’s name was ANBU, and he wondered what was up with bands using all capital letters.

He had barely begun to browse the tracklist on the back of one of the CDs when the purple-haired, facial-pierced woman at the table asked, “You gonna buy that?”

Something about her tone made Kakashi feel obligated to pull out his wallet, and he handed over a twenty-dollar bill.

“I don’t have change for that,” she deadpanned, bored, and sarcastic.

Suddenly, the bar erupted with shouting, so Kakashi quickly grabbed a second CD to even out the exchange and hurried back to the bar and Mr. Vivacity, or Crybaby, or whoever he was.

Then, his heart sank when he saw that the other man wasn’t there anymore.

Kakashi stood in front of the stage feeling like the biggest fish out of water when the club’s sound system screamed into life with the ear-splitting sound of feedback through the amps. Kakashi covered his ears and spun around in time to catch the band taking their positions onstage.

The singer set down a six-pack next to his mic and yanked one can of beer free from it. He held it sideways in his hand, pulled out a kunai, and stabbed it in the middle before bringing the punctured hole to his mouth.

“Tenzō! Tenzō! Tenzō!” The crowd chanted while he shotgunned the beer and cheered when he crushed the empty can against his head. He grabbed the microphone in front of him when his large, almond eyes made bigger by copious amounts of black eyeliner landed on Kakashi.

“What the fu —” He roared, launching himself off the stage, tackling Kakashi to the ground.

Even though he was a classic lit teacher, Kakashi held his own for a long time in a fight against a bar full of punks until he took one bottle to the head too many and woke up in the alley next to the bar.

“Hey,” Kakashi winced as he turned his head to see who spoke to him, already recognizing that voice and feeling a little happier than concussed. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Kakashi muttered, “thanks, Mr. Crybaby.”

“It’s Obito,” the other man laughed, “and you’re welcome, Mr. Metalhead.”

“I didn’t fool you for a second, did I?” Kakashi licked at his fattened, split bottom lip, hoping he looked like he deserved sympathy. “I’m Kakashi, by the way.”

Obito snickered and pressed a bag of ice against Kakashi’s head. “I figured you didn’t quite know what you walked into, wearing a ROOT t-shirt to an ANBU gig.”

“What was that all about?”

“Tenzō used to be the drummer for that band, but he had a big blow-up with their manager, Danzō, so he quit and formed his own band. There’s a lot of bad blood there.”

Kakashi looked down, embarrassed, not knowing what to say and feeling like a total idiot.

“Why did you come to the bar?” Obito asked quietly.

Kakashi sighed through his nose. If he learned anything that night, it was that honesty probably came with less violence. “You.”

“Me?” Obito asked, even more timidly.

“Yeah,” Kakashi glanced up at him. “You passed me on the street, and, I… I just had to meet you,” he felt a little like a weirdo admitting it out loud, but he was past the point of stopping now. “I dunno, I, I just had a feeling, and I didn’t want to let you slip away.”

“Me too,” Obito confided, lowering the bag of ice, and Kakashi peered at him through the eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “I was just about to run back out when you showed up at the door. I uh, I’m the sound guy here,” he tilted his head towards the bar, “and I was running late; otherwise, I would’ve stopped right there in the crosswalk. But when I saw the band was running late, I was about to go after you,” he ended with a shy smirk.

“You’re the sound guy?” Kakashi’s brain was turning to mush and it had nothing to do with how many blows he took to the face.

“Yeah, I, uh,” Obito brought the ice back up to Kakashi’s head, “I messed with their levels hoping the feedback would distract Tenzō long enough for you to get out of his line of sight, but,” he grimaced.

“You wanna go for a drink with me?” Kakashi mumbled, knowing he couldn’t embarrass himself anymore that night.

Obito chuckled at him and held up his hand. “How many fingers do you see?”

Kakashi focused on the fingers in front of his face. “Three?”

Obito laughed louder and stood up, “Wrong.” He helped Kakashi to his feet, “Looks like Konoha ER is our first date.”

[felidaefighter]

Keeping Promises To His Reflection

Sequel to Love You To The Point Of Violence; AKA Sapnap keeps his promise to Quackity and, by proxy, Dream

[cw: angst, character death]

It had been a long time since Sapnap had properly hunted anyone. It was invigorating, in a way, and almost reminded him of the good old days he’d spent sparring with Dream and George. Almost. Now, though, the fire that had initially fueled his passion and love burned with rage and resentment and spread into his sword, which sparked and flickered with heat and Flame. He was burning from the inside out in every way, and he intended to share this feeling with the unlucky person he was hunting via his blade.

Sapnap walked with the heavy, certain footsteps of the soldier he once was-- and in all honesty, still was-- forward, deliberate, and imbued with intent. He had never been known for mercy-- didn’t have any sort of track record for it in any of his wars-- but that didn’t mean he couldn’t love. Just meant he was careful with his love and loyal to his core. That loyalty came with the toll he was here to collect. The flames from his sword cast deep shadows from the spruce around him, and his eyes flickered through the trees, hoping to catch someone moving with the shadows.

“There’s no use in hiding,” Sapnap called in a sing-song voice that did little to mask his feelings, “And you can’t outrun me. If you have a horse I’ll just bow it down. I mean, you know me.” With a steadying exhale that immediately had Sapnap turning towards him, Quackity stepped out of the shadows. “Can we talk about this? I just want to talk. We can just talk, right?” Sapnap sighed, stepping towards his ex-fiance. “I mean... I don’t want to lie to you, Quackity.” Two strong-willed individuals staring eachother down. It would’ve been quite a sight, in any other circumstance. But only one of them was wearing netherite.

Standing less than a hair’s length away from one another, the two men could argue that the tension between them was solely a face-off of powerful people; but it would be a lie if they never acknowledged just how much of it came from their history. They could pretend, if they wanted, that their skin didn’t itch with the memory of embrace that would only burn with bitterness if they acted on nostalgia. Instead, Sapnap’s eyes bored into Quackity’s own, a relentless gaze that wouldn’t yield no matter the silver of Quackity’s tongue.

Sapnap still ached, in no small part, to run his rough and calloused warrior’s hand over the scar on Quackity’s face as he discussed it, but he couldn’t, not anymore. “I talked to Tubbo about the butcher army he ran,” Sapnap explained-- Quackity looked quizzical, having not yet figured out where he was leading. “Or rather, the butcher army you ran. It was your idea, your ‘hitlist’. And Dream was on there too.” Now Quackity knew. Despite the space between them, Sapnap could still feel Quackity’s breath hitch and heart race just a little faster. Creating a defense that both of them knew Sapnap wouldn’t buy.

“Sapnap, Tubbo was the president. He really said that to you? He’s just trying to absolve himself of any guilt so you don’t attack him! That should be obvious to you.” The resentment Sapnap felt that was still burning within him. Mostly, towards himself. “Is it really second nature for you to lie like that now? What happened to you Quackity?” He thought that having his brother be the prime example of where it all went wrong would make it easier to spot in anyone else, but apparently, it just made him less willing to acknowledge it in someone he loved. Fool me once type beat. More than anything, he felt used. He had been a soldier for Quackity and Dream both. He had been loyal to Quackity and Dream both.

Coals still burn white-hot and deadly long after the flames are gone, and that was more akin to what Sapnap was feeling than a heartache. He thought he had known Dream, until it became apparent that they had drifted so much farther apart than he’d realized, and it was no longer the truth. He had thought he’d known Quackity, too. But now, it was safe to say he had never known Quackity at all. That didn’t stop the embers of his love. Didn’t stop his loyalty. Didn’t-- Sapnap’s resolve and gaze hardened-- stop him from intending to keep his promise.

And Quackity, ever so smart, was beginning to realize the situation he had put himself in. Here in front of him stood a renowned warrior, an ex-lover, and someone whom he had betrayed the trust of-- with a fire in his heart, a sword in his hand, and little more than Quackity to lose. The open woods didn’t stop him from feeling cornered. The light coming from Sapnap did not quell his fears, as his ease nowadays came from the silence and lack of witness that was offered by the dark. Sapnap spoke, and Quackity bit his tongue to keep quiet, feeling blood like liquid silver from his mouth and run like poison down his throat.

“Y’know, I was angry at Dream for betraying George and I back when we were trying to get El Rapids up and running. I wanted to kill him. But I thought about it, and I realized something.” Quackity took a step back. Sapnap took a step forward. “You didn’t actually care. You saw George and I as an opportunity for you. Despite it all, Quackity, I still love Dream. And the only thing that hurts more than his betrayal right now is the fact that you used that for your own means.” There was too much irony in it all, and Sapnap was sick of it.

Quackity wanted to ask Sapnap why he still loved Dream. Wanted to blame Dream for everything, call him a monster, tell Sapnap he did it all for him. But they were well past that. They’d had that conversation and Quackity would spare them the indignity of having it again. So instead, he took a good and proper look at Sapnap’s face. He expected Sapnap to look angry. Or disgusted. Hell, he’d even take “contempt”. What he got instead was so much worse, and apprehension rocketed through his core. Something buried in the shards of his heart shook loose, and after running ice through his veins it gave him wide eyes, terror, and the tiny, desperate flame of love that he hadn’t quite managed to snuff out.

‘I love you, I have always loved you, I still love you, I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,’ written all over Sapnap’s face. A man who kept his promises to those he loved. The silver had bled out of Quackity’s words, and instead he was left with a quiet, desperate whisper, reminiscent of the man he used to be. “Sapnap, you’re not gonna kill me,” Quackity begged, and the man known being ruthless gently grabbed Quackity’s arm and stared into his eyes.

“You’ve hurt so many people,” Sapnap said, pained, his grip tightening slightly as Quackity attempted to shift away. “You’ve crossed too many lines. You’re worse than Dream ever was, and that’s saying something.” Quackity could feel the heat from the man’s skin, and it almost rivaled the temperature of the blade that was still radiating flames and forming something of a gate at the opposite side. “Sapnap, you know I’d never want to hurt you.” He tried appealing to the man’s romantic senses, tried pretending there was nothing left of his own. “All of this was only ever about what you wanted. You hurt Karl and I. You betrayed our trust.”

So close now, Quackity could almost forget he was afraid. There was no point in backing up. The silver had been drained from his tongue; his only true claim to power. He had no horses in the race anymore. No more cards to put on the table and no ace up his sleeve. Just the love of the man who was keeping him from running away. “You’re not gonna kill me,” he tried again, and Sapnap looked sorry for him. Not in a way that meant pity, though. That was good. Pity was something Quackity loathed.

“Quackity, you can still trust me. I made you a promise.” And it hurts,  for Quackity, that he shares a promise with Dream. He feels regret stab through his heart, feels the heat of his true emotions and the blood soak into his shirt and the burn of his feelings and the blade that slides through him like he was no more than fragile glass. Quackity is burning. Anger and resentment, love and passion, regret for the things he couldn’t do. Regret for the things he did-- maybe. Not really, if he’s being honest. He coughs up blood as Sapnap holds him, steady as always.

He pulls his sword out of Quackity’s chest and smoke pours out of the wound as freely as blood. It smells terrible, of course, but neither of them have the mind to point that out. Quackity’s lungs feel charred and wet at the same time. He speaks in a broken voice. “I’m pissed about this,” he confesses, “But I’m glad that after everything, I can still trust you. You never let me down when you make a promise.” They crouch down, though for Quackity it’s more like collapsing. Sapnap is still holding onto him, keeping him upright, and Quackity finds himself holding onto Sapnap right back. He tells himself he has no attachments. He’s too good at lying now; he can even do it to himself.

The ashes of their relationship make no phoenix. There is no rebirth in this, no reconciliation. There on the needle bedding of pine there is only a man who went too far and a man who keeps his promises. Neither is free of sin, but neither do they feel regret. Do what has to be done, and love enough to see it through. It’s too hot on the smoldering earth for tears to stay, if there were any at all. Quackity exhales smoke and doesn’t inhale again after that. Sapnap sees two faces in the lifeless eyes, neither of which he could save-- except for this one, only in death.

Karl won’t understand. He doesn’t have to. He only needs to accept and move on. The man he thought he loved-- the man they both thought they loved-- should have been mourned when he truly died, long before their engagement. Sapnap absently touches his ring finger, before letting out a furious scream of anguish and burying his sword in the earth in an act more primal than he would let himself feel earlier. Flames eat at the forest bedding and flicker around him and the body he holds, but Sapnap knows fire and if he’s honest, he doesn’t care about anything else right now. Let the forest burn-- he’s done worse. The man born from fire takes his former lover home.

[a-la-la-llama]

Officially a twenty-one-year-old today, Damian was being dragged out to a run-down bar by the many annoyances that he was forced to call brothers. “Baby bird’s finally able to have a drink legally! It feels like yesterday when you threatened to stab me.”, he clapped his hand on Damian’s shoulder who immediately shrugged it off, with a far off look Dick sighed. “He did threaten to stab you yesterday.”, Tim corrected. “Tt, not my fault he decided a happy birthday was needed at midnight.” Damian crossed his arms as the group walked in. Jason had frequented the place enough to know the bartenders, who were now giving him crap because of the last time he came and started a bar fight. “Come on Larry, it’s Demon Spawn’s birthday! You can’t kick me out yet?”, trying to persuade the bartender into serving him, Jason threw an arm over Damian’s shoulder. “The infamous Demon Spawn is old enough to join the big boys, eh?”, the bartender asked, cleaning a mug before filling it up with a yellow substance. “Would you believe me if I said I was brought here against my will?”, staring at Larry with a deadpan expression he was handed a cup of beer. “First one’s on the house. It’s gonna taste bad but you’ll get used to it after a couple of rounds.” As if Damian hadn’t tasted alcohol before, it wasn’t hard to go to the middle of Jason’s stashes and fill them with water. After the second bottle of vodka, he was usually too drunk to even notice the difference. Taking a gulp, Damian could hear the cheers from Dick as Tim poured a suspicious amount of whiskey into his coffee mug.

Damian couldn’t be more content that he could now drink, or he would have already been annoyed at how loud and noisy the place was. Or the fact that a group of men were desperately trying to convince a group of girls to join them on the dance floor that was severely crowded and failing pitifully by not taking the hints. Don’t even get him started on those who were on the edge of blacking out and were making a fool of themselves on the dance floor. Tim and Dick had been the first to catch a buzz, one being a light-weight and the other having terrible health choices. Jason had grabbed the two on a mission to see what crazy plans he could pull while they were under the influence. This had not been Damian’s plan, he was spending his birthday sitting alone on a barstool when he would much rather be at home with his beloved fur family members than the human ones. But, he soon found himself on his own personal mission.

She had caught his eye first. He was scanning the crowd trying to locate his brothers in an attempt to convince them it was time to head home. Damian had to do a double-take when he saw her midnight sky hair in the faint yellow glow of the bar. She sat directly across the room from him on a tall table with her head down in what seemed to be a book. He didn’t register how long he had been staring but was pulled back to reality when a drink was placed on the counter. “She’s your age. Real sweet and has been coming here alone for the past two months.” It was none other than Larry the bartender that gave him an all-knowing smile that eerily reminded him of Alfred’s. “Tt. This is going to Drake’s tab, correct?”, jeering his head to the drink. Larry shook his head at the topic change, “I’m just saying you should go talk to her, that’s all.” Damian grumbled, he was an Al Ghul and Wayne, he would never succumb to the embarrassment of pinning after a girl in a bar like some others did around him. Then again, she didn’t have to know that, did she? He doubted he would ever see her again, what harm could come out of it? Damian, no last name, mused about the next following steps he would take.

She felt the presence of a pair of eyes on her. Keeping her head low she hoped the lack of interest in the setting was enough to throw them off. It was a common occurrence actually, what did she expect to happen coming into a place like this by herself. But this felt different somehow, the aura coming with the gaze made her distracted. She fiddled with Plagg’s ring, located on her right hand’s pointing finger, spinning it around. She adorned the leather as it was much more suited for the dark city of Gotham than her spots. The night vision was an added bonus that came in handy when traveling around at night and the sassy talks she had with Plagg. She had felt the eyes travel off her for a moment before they were right back on her. Now she couldn’t even focus enough to remember what she was just about to write. Frustrated, she tapped her foot impatiently on the chairs stepping stool. That she hated to admit she used to get up and her foot barely reached it. To her wit's end, she snapped her head up only to meet the most beautiful emerald green eyes she had ever seen. With newfound inspiration, she drowned herself back into her book.

Damian hadn’t expected her to snap her head up so quickly as she did, nor did he expect her to stare right at him when she did. Though, he couldn’t have been happier that she did, especially taking into account the lovely pair of doe eyes he was able to stare into at the moment. Her eyes were similar to a clear sky’s baby blue color but not as dull. It was almost like they had a certain electrifying touch to them because they seemed to glow in the dimly lit area. As if on the verge of catching fire at any given moment, holding a world of secrets and passions that he desperately wanted to uncover. Her eyes left him as quickly as they came leaving a void in his vision. The strange girl that captivated all of his attention in a blink of an eye without even knowing it, dove her head back down. He gave himself a sly grin.

Step One: Catch her Eye. Check

“I’d like-“, before he can even turn and ask Larry he already pulled two drinks out of nowhere and they were resting on the counter. “Good luck! Don’t make me regret this.”, lectured Larry. Mustering up his courage, Damian took a drink in each hand before making his way across the bar. Thankfully, his brothers were nowhere in sight and couldn’t possibly ruin this for him, yet that is. He set the drinks down with two little clinks, drawing her attention from her book to him. “Mind if I sit here with you?”, implored Damian gesturing to the open stool next to her. “I assume you brought me offerings to bargain with?” Damian almost short-circuited with how cute her voice sounded. “O-of course!” He mentally cursed himself at the small stutter but covered it up by handing her a drink. Damian noticed how one cup held a pink bendy straw and gave that one to her. She didn’t take a drink until she got a nod from Larry behind the bar. It wasn’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last time someone offered a drugged drink, but Larry always kept an eye out for her and said it was safe. “I’m Damian.” She nodded, “Marinette.” He felt a smile creep onto his face,” Nice to meet you, Marinette.” The name gracefully rolled off his tongue.

Step Two: Catch her name. Check.

Once out of his stupor he realized she had once again returned into the book. Peering over her shoulder (out of curiosity not to get closer to her, never!) , he noticed it was filled with intricate drawings with French notes written in the margins. “Isn’t that French?”, he questioned, “Are you not from Gotham.” She scribbled something down before looking up and answering. “It is and nope! I lived in Paris all my life until four years ago.” He pondered for a moment, “Any reason why?” The girl squirmed in her seat, ‘Dammit Damian! Now you made her uncomfortable, she hates you!’ She twirled her ring a couple of times, “I needed a change of pace and couldn't take living there anymore. So I packed up and left.” Damian could tell it wasn’t something she shared with most people and wondered what made him different. Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, he relished in the fact he was able to catch some of her secrets though it wasn’t what he was after at the moment. Taking another glance at what she was doing he realized that she was drawing in a sketchbook that seemed to be filled with countless articles of clothing. “Is this a hobby of yours?”, he asked pointing at a model sketch. She looked up at him and seemed to beam, “I’m an up and coming fashion designer! I come here every day to find inspiration! You won’t believe how many different styles you can see here!” Damian had found what caused the spark in her eyes and listened to her ramble about it happily.

Step Three: Start a Flame. Check!

She excitedly explained all the little details in her most recent designs and provided reasons and meanings behind each one. He hadn’t meant to read the margin notes of the dark green peacoat that was drawn with intricate gold embroidery. “Is this one from me?”, he questioned with a sly grin and side glance. Damian noticed how the color of her cheeks and the tips of her ears, that were now exposed as she tucked her hair behind them, turned a dark pink compared to her pale skin. The contrast helped him realize how her face was dotted with freckles that resembled constellations in his mind. A smile crept upon his face again, “I had already drawn the jacket but couldn’t decide on a color scheme. When I looked at you earlier, I concluded that you had really pretty eyes.”, she admitted mumbling the last sentence. Marinette was tense now and caused Damian to be determined to lighten the mood. “You know what they call a jacket on fire, right?” The random question threw her off as she furrowed her eyebrows together before raising one. “A blazer.” Nonchalantly as possible, he grabbed his drink and took a swig as the joke settled in. He admitted it wasn’t the best but was still rewarded greatly. A smile graced her lips before she burst into a fit of giggles, hiding her blush behind her hand. He was left catching his breath at the sweet sound of her laughs tinkled like bells in his ears. Completing his final step.

Step Four: Catch a Smile. Check!

Damian had not expected to get this far based on his track record. No matter how much the press gossiped about his looks and mysterious charm, he was never good at the social and relationship points in life. Damian would admit that the main problem was his inability to adjust to the variety of people’s personalities. Yet, this small slip of a girl who was an incarnation of pure sunshine made it feel so easy. His usually cold, harsh, and stoic demeanor vanished once in her presence. Damian felt like an entirely different person but found himself liking the new one better. His mind raced a million miles a minute on what else he could possibly do as they continued to talk. ‘Would it be weird if he tried to hold her hand? Maybe he could get a dance with her? What was a good way to catch her number? It’s dark he should definitely offer to walk her home. Getting a date didn’t sound bad either.’

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

Damian realized the girl sitting next to him was already five steps ahead of him on her own mission. She had already caught all of his feelings and his heart in the hour they spent together. He knew she knew it too as she gave him a pleased smirk. Damian Al Ghul Wayne had his heart stolen from him right under his nose.

And he had no intention of taking it back.      Next!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Aged up Daminette that I wrote about at 12 am....Enjoy?

[whiteasy]

Part 3 to my story 'Coward'

Part 1

Part 2

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

Today

“Here’s the report files you wanted, vice captain.”

“Thank you.”

As Reiner extended his arm to grab the aforementioned files, their fingers grazed. The other soldier retracted his hand as if scalded, letting the stack of papers scatter on the floor.

Reiner groaned inwardly.

“Sorry.” The other murmured, cheeks ablaze before bending down.

“It’s fine, leave it.” Reiner reassured him with a forceful smile. The shorter man nodded before he excused himself, gaze glued to the floor still.

“Somebody’s got a crush on you.” Pieck sing-sung from behind him, a lazy grin quirking her lips.

“Somebody thinks you’re me.” Porco supplied in a mocking tone. Reiner rolled his eyes before leaving the two behind him, ignoring his fellow comrades’ demands for the salacious details.

Reiner wasn’t in the mood to brag about any bed conquests— it wasn’t in his nature to, to begin with. If anything he was feeling grim that he had to let go someone he quite liked being with.

The soldier had raven hair that shone beautifully under strokes of moonlight, and hazel eyes that bore nothing but kindness for him (infatuation as he’d just realized from their earlier incident) even though he was a Marleyan. Reiner liked him— enjoyed his company beyond that being of a bed-warmer. But Reiner now needed to be more careful about who he chooses for company during the late hours of the night.

He needed to like them but for them not to like him enough that they’d think there was more.

He hated the part where he had to let them down gently like he knew he had to do with Nick later.

He knew first-hand how such simple words, even if spoken kindly could tear your heart apart. Leave you a broken shell while to try to process what had transpired and what you did wrong to end up on your own.

Reiner had tried to stop— more than once for the last three years. But he never could bring himself to, for he hated to be alone. Being alone left him ample time to think.

He didn’t like spending time up-there; in his head. It could get hectic, so much, that he’d end up clutching at his hair and sobbing into his comforter, pleading for the voices to quiet down.

I would go back in time and take us home instead if I could.

I wouldn’t have let your mother get eaten while you watched.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

Please shut up. Please, let me die.

It wasn’t like he was alone; he had the kids and Gabi. He had the other warriors.

And strangely enough, he still had him. Even if they were growing further and further a part each minute, each day.

But at night, he was on his own. He always needed someone to get him through the nightmares.

He didn’t care who they were; men, women, neither.

Eldian. Marleyan.

As long as they stayed the night, and didn’t let him thrash alone in his bed.

He tries not to be picky because his dire need for companionship always wins over his specific preferences.

Reiner didn’t really choose them. If anything, they chose him. And he welcomed them with open arms.

The sex was good. He liked the way it made him feel; light, warm, drowsy. But most of all, he liked that he didn’t have to think. For a few moments, the voices inside his head cease, and only then Reiner can breathe.

Nothing ever equates the serenity he feels in those moments. In those scarce hours, he forgets he was the monster who killed thousands of people and stabbed his own comrades in the back for a few words of praise and a meal more on the table.

He doesn’t particularly feel loved when he’s buried deep in unfamiliar flesh but, he doesn’t feel judged.

He just feels like himself— Reiner, a man alive in a cruel world, but alive and breathing and at times, sinless.

He craved that feeling but, it came at a price. They all left in the end. They had to, because he didn’t want to let anyone in when they asked. Didn’t let himself be loved because he felt guilty.

He knew that the other reason Reiner let those people into his bed— the one reason that often shied away from— was none other than a meagre, vain attempt to get over the one man he could only ever love.

He never could though.

Reiner likes to think that if he had been given enough time and space, he would’ve been able to move on. But he was barely processing the sting of rejection, before he had to see him again the follow day. Forced to sit next him— as to not rouse their peers suspicions— and work with him as if nothing happened between them, as if he hadn’t spent the previous night fucking his brains out before he told him it was a meaningless escapade.

He couldn’t escape him because they worked greatly together. An impeccable duo. The Armoured and The Colossal.

Reiner had wanted to scream.

Instead, he trekked down the nearby town that night to drink himself into oblivion, then woke up with a throbbing head that threatened to split his skull and a stranger’s arms around his waist.

The walk of shame to the morning staff reunion, where he was still in his last day’s outfit, unshaven and his breath reeking of booze— he woke up in a hurry, and didn’t even look at the person he left in his bed— and the mortification of having Colt point out to him bashfully in a hushed voice the hickey he had missed, and that was barely covered by the collar of his shirt couldn’t have made him regret the prior night even if the details had been hazy to him after he sobered up.

So, it happened again, and again. And before he knew it, he depended on it, fuelled through his days for those stolen moments where he felt like himself.

But when the high comes, it’s fast gone before he’d realize it. And then, even if gentle arms held him tightly, even if a kind someone played with his hair and kissed his forehead, all he would think of was how he was endlessly chasing something— and the ghost of someone— he could never have.

As Reiner now sees Bertholdt’s silhouette walking towards him, a warm smile that doesn’t reach his eyes etched on his face as he mutters a soft, weak ‘hello to him’ before walking (running?) past him, he wonders if this— whatever one would call his and Bertholdt’s friendship— could have been avoided.

How things would’ve been now, had he not fooled himself into thinking for one second that he was worthy of someone’s— much less Bertholdt’s— love.

[tokyoghoose]

is it hot in here, or is it just me?

pairing: daisuke kambe x reader

playlist: dirty dirty - charlotte cardin, so hot you're hurting my feelings - caroline polachek*, i touch myself - borns ( cover )

warnings: mentions of sex and dirty thoughts, fighting/violence, mentions of murder, the word slut ( towards reader ), daisuke being hot af ig

summary: while on an undercover mission you reunite with an old partner before things get 'frisky' and not in a good way.

announcements!

first full length balance unlimited fic! im actually quite proud of it even if the anime is postponed. I will continue to write for them 😌

feedback is welcome and appreciated! requests are open!

—————

The bar is more like a club, except for the fact there's no one so extremely intoxicated that they're acting a fool. No, it's actually quite prestigious for being underground. White and gold outline outline the area and it smells like expensive cigars and leather. Live jazz music plays in the background, setting the mood for the couples huddled together in love booths. It's nice, beyond nice— whose daddy paid for this?

In a red dress, you stir your gibson cocktail, awaiting the signal from your boss over the earpiece. It's already been an hour and there's been no sign of the suspect. Maybe you've been played. As time passes that seems more and more likely. At this point you were ready to turn in and call it a night. Places like this were no fun unless you had someone with you. And honestly, being alone in a place like this wasn't the most comfortable. There were eyes looking your way from singles and couples a like. Who knew there would be so many swingers.

There's a patterned knock at the door that makes you perk up and glance through your peripheral. The body guard looks through the slit in the door, moving to mention something about the password. The club was always tight on security, afterall. To get in you needed to prove you were coming with a member or waiting for someone who was one. The whole process is quite time consuming when you're faking your identity.

Finally, the door opens and you can see a tall man in a dark grey suit walk in. Curiously you turn your face to place your chin in the palm of your hand. Eyes travel up the figure before finally reaching the face of the mystery man. Not the suspect, but he's even better. A fond smile comes to your face at the realization of Daisuke Kambe. The name has a familiar taste on your tongue and it's honestly quite uplifting seeing such a 'friendly' face. He looks the same after three years and you wonder briefly if he's undercover too or if he has paid his way in. Daisuke was never frugal when it came to getting what he wants. Where he was lacking in words, he made up for it with expensive charm.

Oh how you had missed him.

Meeting his eyes, you raise both brows in question before turning away to down your drink. You push the glass to the bartender, holding a finger up before glancing over at daisuke, who sits in one of the booths across the room. He narrows his eyes at you in question, jutting his chin over to the bar before nodding to the door.

So he's on a mission afterall.

Your eyes shift to the door as well with a nod. He seems to understand well, but it's not a surprise after the time you worked together. It was a brief two years, but during it you learned to communicate in silence. His eyes told you much more than his mouth ever could. Now thinking of it, all the Kambes were better with actions than words.

—————

A few conversations have picked up after twenty more minutes of waiting. Perhaps if there wasn't another man in the area, the other's advances would have moved you. You weren't picky with your men, but you weren't one to settle for second place when first is still an option. Still, it kept you distracted for the time being. Besides, Daisuke looked was busy with a man himself.

You lean in, placing a hand on the chest of some patron with a giggle before the door opens once again. This time you're quick to look, seeing another man trail in. The static in your earpiece comes alive, the voice on the other side stating that it is in fact your target. The patron you were with turns his head as well and smiles before pardoning himself to shake the hand of the man. You briefly recall the suspects name: Vince Aiko.

Now the party was getting started. You wave them over, batting your eyes with a small smile. You don't miss the woman that walks in behind them, but she doesnt stop at the bar anyway. Instead, she heads over to the raven haired across the way. You resist the urge to follow her figure, instead keeping eyes on the two men and starting conversation.

—————

The goal was simple. Get the target alone and eliminate him. Usually you weren't one for death, but the police weren't helping in this case. The company you worked for took it into their own hands, given the okay. Even if it wasn't your task to kill him, someone else would. No jail time would follow as apart of the deal, so there were no repercussions against you for killing the scum. It's a win win.

The other man had gone to the restroom by now, leaving you alone with Vince. He smells lavish as well. It was clear he belonged here by the way his hair was combed back and how whitened his teeth were. He has money and it's not ruining out anytime soon.

It took you until he ordered a drink and didn't have to pay to realize he was the owner. The assumption that it was daddy's money grew stronger. He was outwardly trying to flex wealth he didn't even own. He wasn't trying to be subtle when he asked for the most expensive bottle or paid the band to play his favorite song. It was entertaining, yet disappointing. At least Daisuke spent the money without mentioning anything about it. At this point you just kinda wished the guy would shut up.

Placing a lingering touch on his shoulder, you lean in again. He smells like a new car. He places a hand on your upper thigh, quickly catching on to your advances.

"Why dont we go to the back."

It's not a question, it's a demand and it's exactly what you wanted. Right in the palm of your hands. With a giggle, you take his hand and stand while plucking the toothpick out of your glass and pulling the olive between your teeth smoothly. Walking past Daisuke and the woman at his booth, you wink.

The backroom looks like how it sounds. Behind another door and a pink curtains, you enter a red room. It has a single loveseat in the shape of a heart and there's champagne and wine on a side table. There's a dark blue light overhead that contrasts the rest of the room like a spotlight. There's no music except for the quiet hum behind the doors, but the further you go away from them the quieter they get. He takes your hand and pulls you to the loveseat.

"I'm can't say I'm surprised. My friend out there thought you were in to him, yet here we are... Is it the money that gets you going?"

His eyes trail over your figure and you understand what this room is for exclusively. You resist the urge to roll your eyes or push him off as his fingertips skim your arms and you play along.

"What can I say? Rich men are the sexiest."

You play with the collar of his suit, looking up at him through your lashes and parting your red lips. He stands up taller to glance down at you, trying to assert his dominance. It's sad knowing that's how he got off. He wants control and he wants you on your knees, the only other thing he could ask for at that point is for you to lick his dress shoes. It makes you sick.

His fingers stop at the thin strap on your dress, fiddling with it before starting to slide it down. You push him away and into the seat behind him. Taking a hold of his tie, you lean down to his ear to kiss underneath it.

"Why rush when I can give you a show."

He chuckles when you turn around and you roll your eyes. What an idiot. I almost want to laugh. You move your arms up, brushing your hair off your shoulders before reaching for the top of the zipper. Glancing at him with a smirk, you shake a finger and turn to face him. His fingers rake up his thighs, reaching out to touch you but you smack his hand away with a tsk.

"Lookie, no touchy."

You start to make a round behind the chair, fingers grazing his shoulders and pulling at the fabric. Once behind him and forcing his head forward you take out the earpiece and reach for your thigh. There's a gun there in the holster and a knife beside it, hidden by the red drapes. Thank god the for the slit. When rounding his other side you pull the firearm out and aim it at his temple, stabbing the knife into his thigh before he can jump up.

"Sit down, sicko. Don't try anything or I'll put a bullet through your skull."

You stick the earpiece into his ear, waiting for the receiving in to chime in.

"Who let you think a soundproof room was smart? It's like one of those double sided mirrors in here. Honestly, you're such an easy target."

His eyes glower at you like his expression alone will make you back down.

"You slut! I'm gonna kill yo-" He's cut off by the earpiece. They ask for information, stating that if he complys his life will be spared.

"I'm not stupid-"

"Beg to differ."

"-I know you'll just kill me anyway. I'm not telling you shit!"

The earpiece goes back off and you take it from his ear to listen to the other side. Two words is all you need to finish the assignment. Kill him.

"This could've been so much easier for you if you just listened. " You feign a pout, clicking the safety off. He struggles against the metal, rambling on about killing you and the company, finding you and blah blah blah. Having enough of his whines, you silence him with a quick pull of the trigger. You look down at the body on the floor and then at yourself, cleaning up quickly before leaving the room, making sure to step on his back in the process.

—————

There was maybe ten minutes before his bodyguards would notice he hasn't left the room. You go to make your leave, but not before stopping by Daisuke's booth. You stand a bit aways, watching him try to get information out of the girl before his eyes glance over to meet yours. A one-sided smirk creeps onto your face. He was never very shameless when it came to things he did and the way his eyes did a slow once over of your body was deliberate.

How you missed that look. It's the same bedroom eyes from the nights you spent together in the sheets. You start to wonder if the body under his shit looks the same and if his fingers still produced magic without even trying. Were his lips still as soft?

Now isn't the time for that. You narrows your eyes and go to slide into the booth beside the girl after you notice the disgusted look she gave you. Shame is her freshly manicured nails were to get messed up in a fight. Not that she was trying to pick one, but-

"Long time no see, Kambe."

Daisuke quirks a brow and gives you a warning look when the girl glances at him. You shrug, placing your head in your hand.

"You know her?"

"Of course he does! I miss the sex we shared every night."

He chokes on his drink, shaking his head. What has gotten into you? You're lucky he had finally gotten the break they needed in the case before you came over. Still, you were way out of line with that one.

"Y/N, this is Lily. Y/N was just kidding, we used to work together. "

When he scowls at you, it actually scares you because he means it. He could take you down with him if need be. He adjusts his suit jacket and clears his throat before continuing, "Thank you for your time, but I suppose i should get go-"

"Aiko's dead! Code red!"

Daisuke looks over with his tongue to his cheek as if to say you fucked up and you're not ever hearing the end of this if we get out alive. Honestly, he might just leave you behind if in sacrifice fkr the case. You shrug in innocence, already calling in help for an escape. Until then you'd have to fight them off. Apparently these dummies were smart enough to notice who Vince went in with and they are quick to lock eyes with you. And so did the rest of the club goers.

You make a move to get up, sliding out of the leather seat with hands in the air in surrender.

"Would you believe me if I said he did that himself?"

It starts with someone attempting to grab you before people go ducking under tables. All those grueling hours of training for really coming in handy now. You just barely miss the grabbing hands, taking the bottle of wine on the table and breaking it. Lily gasps at the shards, going to hide under the table as well and tugging on Daisuke to follow. You gesture the broken bottle about, thrusting it forward.

The men simply laugh and go for the kill. The bottle doesn't last long and you move away from the table for the fight.

Hell is broken loose and it isn't long before Daisuke resorts to joining the fight. It shouldn't surprise you, but it does. He punches one of the guys with a right hook, grabbing the collad of his shirt and throwinf him into another. For someone so weak looking, he sure was strong. It makws you swoon.

"I really do miss us, Daisuke. Just like old times."

He scoffs, continuing to fight beside you. He hates fighting and always has. He finds it undignified and perfers to just dodge and have them attack each other if he can't pay it off. But right now there was no room for negotiations.

"Now isn't the time to relive the past, y/n."

It stings, but you know it's true. Daisuke was the kind to get straight to the point. It's part of the reason he was so easy to work with. Suddenly, it makes you upset to realize that this was in the past.

You hear a car screech outside, trying to land one more punch on some bald guy before looking at the door. You tug at Daisuke's suit, practically dragging him towards the door before pulling out your gun and pointing it at the rest of the men standing. The hesitate. As much as they want to go after you, none of them want to die for it.

You push him to there door and nudge him to open it. There's a revved engine outside waiting for you, and apparently now another guest. He takes the hint, pushing the door open and taking the gun from your hands as you flee. There's one shot fired, but you know the victim won't die. He may seem heartless, but he wouldn't kill someone unlwss he had to. He knows when someone will save someone else and he knows what's in people's conscious. He had always been good at reading people when he cared enough to.

The night has turned from blue to black and you aren't sure when. It's suddenly too cold to wear the dress and it's starting to rain. This has really been one hellish night. The passenger waves you over from down the block in a hurry. There are sirens in the distance—they must've called the police to arrest everyone else involved. That's always how it went. They gave the company the ok to take the case and then come in to finish the job and take the credit because of the unsavory ways you deal with the suspects. If you weren't always in such a hurry and you didn't want to be arrested, you'd be pissed. With a huff you kick off your heels and run down the pavement with Daisuke hot on your trail. He didn't usually flee scenes like this, not anymore at least. He'd be lying if he didn't miss the rush of it. He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss the past life he lived.

When you get to the care, it starts to pour and Daisuke puts his suit jacket over your head and shoulders before pushing you into the backseat. Caring, yet impatient. His attitude makes you roll your eyes and shove him when he gets in.

The car pulls away just before the police arrive and it's quiet except for the low hum of some tape playing. The radio didn't work and the volume knob was stuck, so you'd have to strain your ears to actually listen. But it seems no one minds.

You take off the jacket, handing it back of to him and he puts a hand up to say you can keep it. He says something along the lines of, "It'll still be raining when you get out. Give it back later." Is he insinuating you'll meet again?

"Or I can give it back tomorrow morning, if you feel like staying over. "

The sudden bravery shocks you and apparently it takes him aback as well by the look on his face. His face drops back to deadpan almost as fast as it lifted and he scoffs, looking away and out the window.

"I really do miss you, Daisuke. In more ways than one," you say quietly, looking down at the jacket and running the fabric between your thumb and forefinger. He glances back over at you before dropping his gaze to your hand and with a sigh he places his over your own and squeezes. It's a conformation, a returned feeling, but of what exactly —you aren't sure.

It'd be enough for tonight.

[barafishu]

Glorified Jail: Part 1

Here it is, I finally posted something! I’ve had this in my drafts for so long that it feels good to finally put it out there for someone to read. Now, this is going to have parts to it (which I’m still polishing). But I’d like to thank everyone for being so kind and patient with me. So, without further ado, here you go! Enjoy!

◈◈◈ 

Male Reader x Deer Minotaur (Nyx)

I was walking to my job, it just being another of work for me. I walked up some old, metal stairs to where all the workers go. When I walked in, I saw the costume designer with pins in his mouth. "Early as always, Jiàn," He spoke through clenched teeth. "Of course, gotta set an example for the other performers," I replied. "That's my boy!" I turned to see my boss, Catherine Valdez. "It's almost time for everybody else to start showing up, so go get ready." She said as she lovingly patted my shoulder. I hummed and left to go ready in the makeup room. I made a beeline for the clothesline and pulled out my outfit. I grinned in excitement as I began to strip.

After I was "suited" up, the next thing to do was apply makeup. I hardly need any because I have a wonderful complexion, but I do put on some concealer for some blemishes, do my brows, eyes, and put lip gloss on. When I'm ready to go on, Catherine came in to see if I was ready. I turned around to look at her. "You look sexy, as usual," She said and I smiled softly. "Thanks." I stood up and walked to stand in front of her. "Let's get going, hot stuff." She teased and I chuckled as I followed her out into the den. The place was bathed in red, as usual. Patrons were seated in their seats, drinking to their heart's content. Alistair's voice huskily spoke throughout the room through a speaker. 

"Hey everyone, and welcome to Red Horizons! Don't forget, tonight is guys night, so drinks for the men are all half price. And now, our next dancer is ready to come out for you! Someone better call a priest, cause it's gettin' sinful in here with this demon, Incubus!" I heard cheers and whistles from the crowd. "It's showtime Jiàn, give 'em a good show," Catherine said as she gave me a wink before she walked away. A promiscuous smile graced my features as I stepped out from behind the curtain and approached the pole in the middle of the room. The crowd erupted with cheers and whistles when I grabbed the pole, swinging myself skillfully around on it.

I moved with grace on the stage, gripping the pole as I spun myself around it. After a few minutes, I started unbuttoning my billowy, white shirt with my back to the pole. I slipped my shirt off as I moved down the pole to my knees before jumped back up and using my shirt now to swing around on the pole before tossing it aside. More whistling erupted from the crowd, and a handful of bills landed on the stage. I continued to tease the crowd, making sure to really show off my figure. "Let's hear it for Incubus! He'll be back later tonight to put on another show for you guys, so stick around! For now, sit back, grab a cool drink and relax. We'll have another show for you guys starting in just a bit!"

With another spin on the pole, I crouched down to father the bills on the stage. With my back to everyone. Several hands reached out to cop a feel of my butt, and when I wagged it around, those same hands slipped more bills under my strap. After collecting all my money, I disappeared into the back to put it away and touch up my makeup and to drink some water. It's my break now, but I wanted to check in with Louis at the bar. The rest of the night was filled with taking drink orders, dancing, and doing a couple of private shows. Soon it was 1am, ending my shift. After a long night of work, I was excited to be going home.

I changed into my day clothes and closed my locker, not forgetting to put on my combination lock. I got outside into the back alley that leads to the employee parking lot. I sigh, staring up at the sky and seeing that the moon is full. "Hello, excuse me?" A rumbling voice shakes me from my poetic thoughts. I jump, staring straight ahead at a broad figure. I reach into my pocket for my keys, which are adorned with pepper spray and a little keychain that looks like a cat, but can be used for stabbing. "Sorry. I, uh-" he holds his hand up defensively. His eyes looked almost empty, as if only filled with regret. His face is contorted into some form of distress, lips quivering as his eyes dart to and fro.

He puts a hand over each of his pockets, face still looking in fear, until his right hands falls over his breast pocket. He breathes a sigh of relief and looks at me. He starts talking, but not in a language I understand. But eventually he finds a thread I can follow. "I was a fool. I had settled down and yet I squandered my one chance at a proper life. Felt the road would always take me in." My brows knitted together, still being suspicious of this man. He took a hesitant breath as he released his clenched fist. "I ended up throwing away the one place I could call a home. It's been rotting for who knows how long and now I'm old. Always wondered if someone would ever take over and treat it right. Now, you do remind me of myself, but I wasn't a good man. Hopefully you don't have the mean streak I had."

He waits for me to confirm or deny if my character matched his own when he was my age. "Well... I'm far from perfect, but I do try my best," I reply casually. "Is that so? I suppose that's as good as it gets. At least nowadays you can try." He stops suddenly but continues nonetheless. "Back in my day my father treated me like dirt and no one batted an eye. I saw that happen a lot, too — I wasn't the only one. It made beasts out of my siblings and I, having a father like that. But don't you think i"m blaming him. You can only point the finger at your dad for so long, eh? At least eventually I found a way to make a living." The man rambles in the same language from before.

I've realized that it's Italian and perhaps I couldn't recognize it in the beginning was because of his drunken state slaughtered it. Sometimes he'll stop and stare at me, as if expecting a response. A nod or a grunt is enough to get him going again. His voice becomes graver and deeper as the night goes on. It is soothing, in a way, even if at times he'll again allude to having a rough, sorrowful past. Eventually, he stops and his gaze seems to shine with lucidity once more. "I must say I am terribly sorry. I'm afraid I never asked for your name." I immediately tell him that it's Jiàn. I don't mind telling him my actual name, since he's so out of it right now. "I'm glad I got to see you again, Jiàn."

I try to recall if I've met him before, but nothing comes up. Maybe his thoughts are too muddled perhaps due to alcohol that he thinks we've met before. The man's eyes become glazed again and his hand starts shaking. "You seem like an open minded man. Things have changed so much. I think it's the technology, spirits, and the arcane don't mix well with it. Or maybe... it's something in the eyes. The unknown is not as frightful either, so much mystery has been lost. and so the bridge with the fantastical broke down." The old man freezes for a moment, then looks back to me. "Oh, I was rambling again, was I? I'm sorry." I shake my head, offering a kind smile.

"Don't worry about it, that's interesting to hear... The world is a more mysterious place than we like to think. Perhaps fantastical things aren't as common, but they manage to slip by the cracks every once in a while. Or perhaps the supernatural is still out there, speaking in whispers instead of speaking plainly," I share my perspective. "Whispers... You are quite a sensitive young man. There's humility in sensing how much there is out there, yet to be learned. Perhaps... Yes, you seem to have turned out nicely. Special. Hum... perhaps you can do it. Here, I'd like you to have this. I'm sure you'll take better care of it than I did." The man takes an old piece of paper form his breast pocket and extends it to me.

"The deed for the place I told you about. The one I squandered. I'm old, tired. I would like you specifically to have it. I don't quite feel like I have any more time to waste." I stare at the folded piece of paper and he waits a moment before continuing. "Just take it. It's yours. A grandiose place, a palace. Time's taken a toll, but you will love it. Just, please, take care of it, be good. Give him a purpose." I raise an eyebrow at him. Did this old man try to give me a palace just like that? Now who would do that? His wandering gaze betrays his drunken state. At times he seems outright confused, as if he didn't know how he got here in the first place.

I can't take it. It wouldn't be right to take advantage of someone like him. And that's assuming that piece of paper is a deed. It might just be a used napkin with a nice seal. The old man's gaze wanders around. With his hand still extended he squints his eyes at me, then looks down to the paper. He struggles to put his thoughts together... but for a brief moment his expression grows firm and lucid. "You must think I'm crazy. But please understand, this is my last chance to do it right. Just... take the deed." I give in to the old man's pleas. I'm just accepting a piece of paper, after all. It's probably nothing, and if it indeed is something important I can try returning it.

The old piece of parchment looks unimaginably ancient — older than you, that's for sure. But the wax on it seems reasonably new, perhaps even fresh. I break open the seal and examine the paper's contents. It's gibberish, written in an alphabet I've ever seen before. Well, it would seem like this was all for nothing. I stick the paper in my jacket pocket. The corners of his mouth wrinkle, and he shakes ever so slightly. But his joy is short-lived. His gaze wanders once again. When his focus returns to you be furrows his brow, taking in each of my features one at a time. The man mumbles something to himself, takes a sip of his coffee, and smiles. "You are a very kind young man, Jiàn."

He does remember your name, at least. "I'm so sorry... I ran away and after a while, I never looked back at what I ran from. Please, forgive me..." I part my lips in confusion. "What do I have to forgive you for? Who are you?" I see the man hesitate and break into a nervous sweat. He then suddenly stops and seems to once again lose all sense. I say my farewell to the old man and thank him for the wonderful company. He subtly bows to me. "No, Jiàn. It is I who ought to be grateful. It was a pleasure meeting you." I leave him and start taking drink orders. The rest of the evening, all I could think about was that weird interaction I had with that old man. "Why talk to me like that? We're strangers... Ugh, I'm too tired for this." 

I now sat in my apartment on my bed. I check the deed again. I couldn't read it at first — maybe I was too tired. But now the once-gibberish characters make some sense to my brain. It's like reading a language that had branched off from my native tongue a few centuries prior. It is just alien enough to be unrecognizable at first. However, when I squint hard enough I find that the characters remind me of my alphabet. And then the words' meaning pops up in my mind. It's unsettling, in a way. It feels as if my brain is shifting from inside out the more I look into it. But try as I might, it's hard to even acknowledge this discomfort — it melts away at the blink of an eye. 

Maybe the old man really had give me something of value after all, not a worthless scrap of paper. I sigh as I settle in my bed, having already stripped myself of my day clothes. It was around noon and while most people would be working or doing another number of things, all I was going to do was sleep. I release a relaxed sigh, happy to just be home and especially, in a bed. However, I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned and was going from one side of my bed to the other. I huffed as I flopped onto my back and stared at my ceiling. In the corner of my eye, I could see the deed. I felt as if the old parchment was making fun of me.

I muttered a string of curse words as I sat up and harshly grabbed the paper. I narrowed my eyes at it. But as I continued to stare intensely at it, I realized that the words were starting to make sense. It hurt my eyes and I could feel a headache coming on, but I persevered. But I felt as if the paper was sucking in and now I didn't even have the choice to look away. It felt like my surroundings were starting to shift and warp, but I couldn't look to be sure. Suddenly, and to my amazement, the old writing began to glow, illuminating my face. "What the..." I breathed as I ultimately became lost in the scribbles. The last thing that I remember was that I felt extremely dizzy and sleepy... then darkness.

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When I wake up, I slowly realize that I'm not being greeted by my bedroom ceiling. Instead, I only see the large leaves of tropical trees. I abruptly sit up and vigorously look around. I'm in a pocket of trees, I think. "What... What the hell is happening?" I breathe as I begin to panic. I stagger as I get up on my feet and continue to look around. It's then that I spot a giant structure to my right and I realize that it's a palace. Breathing hard I look to the infinite horizon behind me. I look back to the palace as I think about all those details. Something catches my eye, however; a porch overlooking the valley beneath the palace. The valley stretches to the cloudless horizon, framed to the right and left by more cliffs.

Looking down to the bottom I can just make out the outline of a flourishing riverbed stretching out. I notice there's a cave opening in the cliff wall, right below the palace. Its exit lined with statues, the details of which I can't make out at this distance. My thoughts are halted as a more pressing matter sneaks up on me: the heat. Regardless of the weirdness around me, there's no escaping the sweltering sun. I walk to the entrance. The doors are unlocked. It's hard to tell for how long this place has been abandoned. The building itself surely is old, the exterior is severely decayed. It wouldn't be surprising if the interior is teeming with wild animals, rotten walls, and fallen pieces of ceiling.

But instead it's just... dusty. Humid and stagnant too — the walls are water damaged and there's a lot of mold. However it's not as bad as one would think. I call out in the hopes someone, anyone, might be there. Maybe some squatters? But just like outside, there's no signs of human life at all in the palace. Up ahead is a tall spiral staircase going both up and down. No matter how many twists and turns I took, the hallway never wrapped back into itself. Backtracking all the way back to the parlor was the only option. The spiral staircase seemed much more inviting than wandering the seemingly endless hallways. The marble handrails were lined with burnt-out lamps.

It was impossible to see much in the darkness down below. The second floor was mostly bedrooms. But here, the outer hallways were lined with sprawling windows showing a courtyard behind the palace, close to the cliff's edge. I took the hallway leading further towards the palace's back, and a single turn to the right brought me to a vast room. Right beside its entrance was a bar and to the left was a medium sized table and two couches. Further left there was a tall window of stained glass, like the ones in a cathedral. And through a glass door beside this window was a garden. Behind the counter, the bottles of fine spirits are still half-filled. They glimmer in exquisite browns, reds, and blues.

I close my eyes, and imagine how this place was decades ago. The whistling wind shifts. It turns into the hum of human life, footsteps and breathing. Chairs being dragged, cutlery and plates clinking. Laughter, whispers, people talking to each other from one side of the room to the other. People dressed so nicely. A barman in front of me, serving the finest drinks I can imagine. He knows my name and how I like it. And eagerly listening to all my rants and complaints. I open my eyes. I'm back in the abandoned palace, majestic and destroyed. One can understand why the old man wished to pass it on to someone who would care for it. It's then that I remember the deed.

I pat all over my body until I feel something in my jacket's breast pocket. I tap my the pocket once more, making sure the crumpled parchment is still there. Even the yellowed, stained paper exudes warmth now. I stand up and walk out. As I do so, I notice a large purple stain on the floor behind the counter, and the glass shards of what used to be a wine bottle. I proceed further into the palace. There's a lot to see still. All the way down the hallway a set of sliding glass doors beckon me. But from afar the difference is clear. The wallpaper is ripped, and one of the doors is cracked. I step on something hard. A revolver bullet. I push the door to the side and am greeted by an even more chaotic sight. It's the palace's lounge.

The tables was overturned, and all the chairs and plates lay broken on the floor. There's a darkened stain in the middle of the room which trails into the kitchen. It leads me past the pantry and to the massive iron door of a cold room, which is locked from the outside and boarded up. All around the kitchen things are strewn about. There's even a pan on the stove with what must be fossilized food, and the sink is filled with dirty dishes. On a nearby counter is a revolver covered in thick dust, and I think back to the bullet in the hallway and the stain on the restaurant floor. The old man wasn't kidding when he said he wasn't a good person. I breathe in, preparing myself for a terrible sight.

The rusted door fights against my will, but stands no chance. Darkness pours out. The stench strikes first. It's the stagnant smell of blood and rot. It clings to my nose and mouth like a bitter oil. Before my eyes can adjust to the darkness a second wave of stench hits. It's like a farm, too — the scent of dusty fury, maybe even hay, but cooped up in a hot, humid room for decades. And, last but not least, stale shit and piss. This place has it all, the stench of a thousand different deaths. The light pouring into the cold room shines on the floor in front of the doorway. Empty cans of soup and glasses of jam are strewn about over the trail of old blood. Whoever was locked in here didn't die quickly.

The cold room extends into absolute darkness, a hallway in and of itself. I proceed, scraping my shoes on the floor so I don't trip over the refuse. The entire floor is covered with discarded glasses and cans. Whatever scraps were left in them has long rotted, dried and crumbled into dust. Both my footsteps and breathing echo. The overbearing humidity drapes across my back, and my breathing becomes agitated. The stench is stronger. My sight finally adapts to the dark. At what must be the cold room's far wall, I notice something. Whatever is it, it's slouched on the floor, motionless. As if it died where it stood after who knows how long locked here. My eyesight is used to the dark now.

The distant pillar of light bleeding from the doorway is enough to avoid tripping on the discarded glass. I crouch in front of the thing. It seems to have the head of a deer, but it's been mixed with other animals that I can quite place. It's covered in fur, aside from the patches of sickly, exposed skin. Instead of paws or hooves, it has taloned toes, along with a sickle claw. Half of its skull is exposed. The bone still has a smattering of blood dust near the remaining flesh. Its left eye socket is empty and I can't help but involuntarily gulp. And while it seems to have long hair that's in a lazy braid, it can't hide how deathly thin this stag was. It died from starvation, not from whatever destroyed its face.

That's enough. I stand up and turn back to leave. As I do so, my rustling clothes and echoing footsteps break the curtain of silence. That's when I heart it. Breathing as faint as a moth's wings flapping. I look back to the corpse. I realize that it's looking at me. Its chest expands and contracts. I take a step forward and it follows my movements. I stand my ground. The thing's eye remain locked on me, squinting slightly when a string of fresh air blows into the cold room. The exit is just five seconds away if I turn back and sprint. If push comes to shove, the gun is still outside. The thing remains on the floor, barely moving. The blinking of its eye is drawn-out and deliberate.

Its head droops down, as if it can barely hold itself awake. Its lips, or whatever remains of them, part. Its breathing becomes easier to hear. "I beg your forgiveness. I'm in such a sorry state." What an understatement. "What are you?" I ask as I continue to study the peculiar creature. I quickly realize that he's completely naked, not that that bothers me at all. "I am the Palace's Keeper and Prisoner of its walls." His voice is raspy, nearly a string of grunts booming through the room in contrast with his disheveled body. "And you're the Master now, which makes me your servant, bound to your will. I cannot disobey your orders." The thing cradles his head between his arms, his voice comes out muffled.

"If you wish to know what thing am I, I am a hybrid monster. About my sorry state, the previous Master did this to me. As your servant, I shall answer the Master's questions." He remains with his face hidden for awhile longer, he does look up, he stares at the exit and not at me. He squints his eye and raises a deathly thin forearm over it. He scuttles an inch to the side, so my shadow covers him. "You are a prisoner, but you are also the Palace's Keeper?" His eye narrows and ear droops. "Yes. I was sentenced by the High Council to spend eternity here. I am an abomination and failed the one task that was given to me. The High Council made this land to house me in my damnation."

I take a step forward, intrigued by this creature. "The Master is meant to be my torturer, and to the end is given control over the land. But there was a past Master, and with at his will I became the Keeper." He closes his eye for a moment, lost in a daydream. "Why were you locked here?" I ask before I looked around the disgusting room once more. What could possess somebody to lock someone up in here? "That is what the last Master saw fit. He shot me then commanded that I stay here, in this room. But as you can see, I am undying. It only hurt, I cannot be killed. He locked the door as well, but his command was enough. I cannot disobey, as I had no way out. I am a prisoner, after all." 

I shifted on my feet, feeling sorry for the broken creature in front of me. "Why did the previous Master do this to you?" The stag recoils, shrinking further into a fetal position. "Being a monster is reason enough for damnation, Master. He chose to return the Prison to its original purpose, I presume." His bony jaw opens and closes, chewing on nothing. "It hardly matters, regardless. I cannot die." His open wounds stand out as he speaks. "How can I help with your injuries?" He exhales sharply at my words. His face sinks again between his legs. "Master need not worry about me. I cannot die, and it stopped hurting a long time ago. A skull feels no pain." I pull the Palace's deed from my breast pocket.

"So it's this that makes me the new Master?" I ask as I hold up the parchment. "Correct. The ownership of Havena was transferred to you. I always know who the current Master is and his name." I've asked all my questions but another comes to mind now. "What's your name?" He hesitates before answering. His burning eye shifts ever so slightly. "The Master holds the right to pick my name. But if it is your wish to know, the one I was given at birth is Nyx." For a split second his remaining eye reflects a strand of light from outside. He realizes then how tired, thirsty, and hungry he is. But it doesn't matter. After all, he cannot die. As a servant his duty takes precedence.

The stag readjusts to a kneeling position. The cracking of his kneecaps bounces off the cold room's walls. He bows his head to me. "The bond between jailer and prisoner is born from the deed, while that between Master and Servant is willfully chosen. Will Master hear my oath of servitude?" I raise an eyebrow at the skeletal stag's gesture. I cannot muster a response. In my silence, the stag glances up to me. He starts shaking, barely able to hold his hands together. His lips tremble in anticipation. "Master, this land was designed to torture me." The stag's voice cracks. For the first time I notice a tail thrashing behind him. 

"The oath of servitude is what keeps it at bay. Please, Master, allow me to recite it and take me into your service." I can only nod in response. With my authorization he is able to proceed, after a minute to bring himself together again. "Prisoner Nyx pledges loyalty and servitude to the Prison's Master. The Prisoner is made Keeper of the Palace above the valley, and is bequeathed the power to realize the Master's will. The Master in turn binds Havena, forbidding it's malicious entities from leaving said valley. The realm was engineered to torture the Prisoner, and indeed its mission shall be accomplished. The Prisoner will carry the burden of servitude, but shall not suffer Havena's wrath within the Palace's territory. The Prisoner, shielded by his Master's will, is made safe as long as his duty is fulfilled."

Nyx dares not look up to me. Once he finishes his oath, his silence is broken only by the drops of sweat dripping from his trembling face. "This is a lot to take in, if I'm being honest. And this oath you were talking about, what does it mean?" I ask as I take in all of his injuries, counting them one by one. "It's what protects me, my lord. There are creatures in the valley, they cannot harm me inside the Palace as long as I am under the Master's service. The previous oath remained for as long as the Palace remained without a Master. With your arrival I am made vulnerable again." He pauses, his breathing becoming even more shaky. "Please, allow me into your service..." I bite my lips slightly, feeling a weight settle on me.

"Very well. Assuming you are speaking the truth... yes, I accept you as my servant." My words bounce off the walls and slither their way out of the cold room. The light dripping from the door behind me falters. My shadow, draped over the deer minotaur, flickers and shifts slightly. The world itself shudders under my words and responds by shifting into a new shape around me. Nyx still looks down, his frame now slouched further forwards and no longer shaking. "My gratefulness knows no bounds. I shall not disappoint. I may be in a sorry state now, but I'll be quick to recuperate. If Master so allows, I will take my leave. I need only take a trip to the infirmary to patch myself up."

He raises his head ever so slightly, glancing at the doorway. "...I am still unable to leave the room, until you command me otherwise." Undying as he may be, the stag's body is atrophied. He won't go far on his own. I kneel down to his level. Despite the darkness, I can make out his scapulae and sagging skin. "Can you walk on your own?" Nyx averts his eye by looking down to his legs. "Master ought not worry about me. I can make it to the infirmary on my own. I've been through worse." He won't look up to me. There's just a hint of pride in his voice. "Very well. You have my permission to leave the room." Without uttering a word the stag bows to me, then puts his hands on the ground to try and rise up.

He struggles, first in snapping his knees from this new position and then in finding his balance. He succeeds after holding on to one of the shelves. One step at a time he ambles towards the door, taking breaks to rest against a wall and adjust his eyesight to the light. It takes a long time, but he leaves the cold room and makes his way to the infirmary. I follow him closely, making sure he doesn't trip and get hurt. His back is covered in bed sores. Against all odds, Nyx can indeed make it on his own. The infirmary has layers upon layers of dust and rust. Squinting his eye, Nyx walks up to the drawers. He examines each on, silent, until one of them reveals shards of green glass and a purple, dried out stain.

The stag slouches forward and sighs. He scrapes a finger on the drawer, trying to gather some of the purple dust, but it's no use. He continues looking around and I do the same. All I find are dusty bandages, long rotted medications. I put it back when I notice Nyx's intense gaze on me. "What are we looking for exactly?" He takes a hesitant breath before cautiously answering my question. "The only thing that can heal me is... the Master's blood." My posture straightened at this and I repeated his words. The stag nods meekly, "The Master's blood heals me." This is a turn of events, which is a complete understatement if you ask me. "Uh, how much blood do you need?"

I'm certainly not out here giving out a whole blood donations worth of blood. "The severity of my wounds determines the amount needed. I estimate that it'd only take.... about a tablespoon. But it is your decision of how much to give me." I can't help but sigh in relief, saying that that's something I can sacrifice. "Past masters chose to make a small cut along the fleshy part of your thumb." I nod and look around for something sharp, preferably a clean scalpel. I soon found one and made sure it was clean before positioning it against the soft flesh at the base of my thumb. I suck in a deep breath and release it simultaneously when I cut. In the corner of my eye, I see Nyx flinch. 

A red line that's about a centimeter long begins to show. "Is that alright?" I ask as I look up at Nyx. "Yes... that's perfect." He looks longingly at my hand, as if he's been waiting for this this whole time. I hold out my hand to him and he licks his dry lips but I can still tell he doesn't trust me. He nears towards my hand similar to a wild animal. I wait patiently and soon, I feel him begin to lick up my blood. He breathes in deeply through his nose before he begins to hungrily suck on my hand. He grabs my hand and pulls it towards him, seemingly impatient at the pace he has been going. It's only been a few minutes, but I can already notice some of his wounds healing. The stag notices me watching.

He pulls back and his lips, or what remains of them, curl into a proud half-smile. "Yes. I can heal quite quickly, provided I have master's blood for it." With one hand, Nyx squeezes out more blood onto his fingers and reaches a hand to his back. His fingers seem to barely graze one of the bed sores. "Let me help you with that. You can't see it." He droops his ear in defeat, knowing full well I'm right. However, he turns his back to me with a speed betraying his eagerness. His tail flicks to and fro behind him. I take the scalpel into my hand once more and deepen the cut. I dab a piece of old gauze on the flowing blood and get to work. The stag's wounds have a black tinge to them.

A dark oil seems to have accumulated on them, oozing down his back in clearly defined rivers. He flinches when the fabric touches his damaged skin, but pushes back against me at the same time. His wounds close quickly — in an almost unsettling speed. ten minutes later my blood has clotted, but it was enough to rid Nyx of his most egregious bed sores. He lays a hand on his skull. "I'll need a lot more blood for this." I ask if I need to cut my other hand. Nyx has a shy curve on his lips when he looks up to me from the bed. His tail flicks to the left, to the right. He swings his taloned feet over the floor. When he speaks his voice is grave, however, rumbles with sobriety.

"You've been too kind already, Master. It would be terribly unfitting of a Keeper to impose a task upon his Master, let alone as many as you've aided me with so far." His one remaining eye is half-closed. "Please, worry not about me." He speaks then with a twinge of relief. "Unless Master has a task for me, I shall take some rest here and then wash myself. I am most unfitting now, for a Keeper of the Palace. Master need not worry." I frown at that. "Shouldn't you have some food first? What if you pass out in the bathroom?" I ask as I subconsciously count every one of his ribs.

"That shall not be an issue. I can obtain sustenance now that you've accepted me into your service. The Master commands Havena, and through the oath you have bequeathed me some of your power. I shall not go hungry again. There is much I can gladly teach you about the land, Master. It shall tend to  your needs, if you know how to lead it. Observe." For half a second it's as if the entire world blinks out around me, and my mind goes blank alongside it. Now Nyx had in his hands an overflowing bunch of grapes. "Do you like grapes? I hope these are to your liking." I hesitate before accepting food from him. Shouldn't he the one eating first?

"The Master eats first, only then may the Keeper feed. Regardless, Master has been kind to me, and I would be happy to share with thee." The stag seems eager to have me taste the grapes. They are impossibly sweet but I only take a few so he may start eating. He flicks his ears and tail at my enjoyments, then starts wolfing down the grapes. He barely looks up to me now. As soon as he's run out of grapes a new bunch appears in his hands, then a cup of water and more fruits still. When he does finally look up to me, he slows down and tried to clean his muzzle of all the juicy bits. His eyes betrays a tinge of self-consciousness.

"I am sorry. I am more a beast than I am man. Sometimes it gets the better of me. I should not be so brutish around Master. Although, in my defense, my table manners are excellent when I have the benefit of not being starved." He cracks a half smile. Even naked, with a disfigured muzzle covered with grape juice, Nyx looks up to me with a noble-like posture: his back is straight and his shoulders shift slightly to a broader stance. There's a tinge of pride in his barely noticeable smile — the small joy of having kept his dignity even in impossibly harsh circumstances. Perhaps this would be a good moment to let the stag have some privacy. But before I speak, I notice the change in his eyes as he stares at me.

He sucks in a quiet gasp as his eye almost pops out of his head. I'm startled by this and quickly ask what's wrong. "You... You have her eyes..." A bitter smile falls on my lips. "Her eyes, huh? Guess I still have girly eyes." Now it was Nyx's turn to be confused. I notice this and say, "Ah, I was born a girl but realized that I'm actually a guy. I started hormone treatment and had surgery to remove my breasts. Now I'm legally Jiàn Talisko." I can see so many questions swirling in his eyes. He opens his mouth but closes it immediately. "I'll let you have your rest. I'll come back to check up on you later." Nyx bows to me — dignified, despite the juices running down his mouth and chest.

"I shall be presentable after washing up, Master. Worry not about me." I smile and give him a nod. "Very well. If you do need help just... Yell, alright? I don't want you getting hurt. Even if you can't die, as you say." Nyx takes a good look at me. His dark eye glimmers softly under the infirmary's light. There's almost a wetness to them. He breaths so slowly as he gazes at me, tail flickering to and fro. He takes in every feature of my face, one at a time. "Thank you for releasing me, Master." His eye betrays his drowsiness. He bows to me and, in doing so, nearly falls asleep. I tell him to go get his rest. "I will." I let him have his privacy. Once Jiàn's gone, Nyx breathes in a shaky breath.

"It can't be... yet he has the same eyes as her and the same last name. It has to be her... but now she's a he. Maybe that would be a problem for others, but he's still has to be the same person I've grown to admire. He has to be..." Nyx thought before he succumbed to sleep. I'm back in the ruined hallway. It stretches into the eating hall and further into the Palace. Up ahead something catches my eye: a leather-bound volume. A cursory look reveals most of its pages have been torn out, but the covers back side contains something written in the same script from the deed. The glyphs shift and twist under my gaze, marching into place the harder I stare.

After a few minutes however it turns uncomfortable, as if my mind was being drilled by the paper. I take a seat at the bar, just a foot away from the green glass shards scattered about over the purple stain. I lose myself in deciphering this script. 

Nyx's Sentence

Hereby the High Council of Mer'elleth sentence the Prisoner Nyx to eternal damnation for his meekness and cowardice in disobeying his task. With this sentence his prison is created, the Land known as Havena, born out of the High Council's will. Havena shall serve as a kingdom to lost souls. Among the mortals of Earth, a Jailer will be picked to command and rewrite the realm. The Jailer and the Havena's mission is to secure the Prisoner's eternal torture. The Jailer shall enjoy power and freedom to rewrite Havena as to better enact his vision. Nyx of Khaen with every drop of his blasphemous blood is hereby sentenced to Havena. 

By this decree the High Council's will is done.

I'm pulled from my trance by the bang of a door closing down the hallway. The light around me has shifted. I look back to the garden and the sun is already setting. Time passed in a flash, and now the barely registered steps on marble floor reaches my ears. The stag enters the lounge, sees me, and bows. "Hello, Nyx. Did you sleep well?" I greet him. "I did, Master. I must thank you for allowing me rest." I smile and slid off my chair. "That's good to hear. I take it you have no issue with your bath?" I ask warmly, happy to not smell the decades of filth on his fur. "I did not." Nyx stand up and looks at me directly.

"I should ask for your forgiveness. I left you waiting without providing a tour of the Palace. That was awfully unfitting of my position as the Palace's Keeper. I am at your disposal now, however. There are a few questions eating away at me, if you don't mind. But we can leave them for later if you aren't feeling well," I say. "I am well enough to fulfill my duty. What is it Master wishes to know?" I give into his stubbornness, knowing that I've basically been ignoring his role. "Well, to start off... I'll admit I'm a little worried about you. How are you feeling? Was the shower enjoyable?" The stag shifts his gaze, trying to read my expression and tone. Looking for a tinge of irony, or perhaps malice.

"I — I am well. It was quite peculiar showering after all those years. I had forgotten what water felt like. It is fortunate that my — my wounds were closed. It could have been a painful affair otherwise. For quite a while I just stood there, under the water. Thinking and feeling. All of that is to say... Yes, I am doing well. It is kind of you to ask. Is that all you wished to know?" After being reassured that he's alright, I move onto my most wanted answered question. "How did I get here? I kinda just woke up nearby." Nyx averts his eyes before forcing himself to meet my gaze once more. "Well, the powers in the Deed had brought you to this plain of existence."

I tilt my head, silently asking him to elaborate. "You are still on Earth, just in a different dimension. This dimension was created by the High Council, and they are the ones who have granted you the power to bend the laws of this reality." I say that I understand, but this leads me to another question. "This place... it isn't normal. In other words... what kind of place is this?" The stag's gaze goes to the floor. His feet scrape against it. "This realm was created to imprison me, the jailer's mission is to keep watch. And for that purpose the High Council saw it fit that matter could be spontaneously created... So the jailer's job would not be interrupted by 'petty things' such as material limitations,"

He pauses to look up at me and I nod for him to continue. "It is, as well, the Master's compensation. Being able to create whatever your heart desires of thin air... that is quite a reward, wouldn't you say?" I chuckle and agree with him. "That's right. This is no small power, with some creativity anyone could make a fortune off this place." I say, knowing that I'm barely scraping the surface of attaining such wealth, not that that was a goal for me. I'm content with what I have right now, however; no one wants to say no to owning a few nice things.. "Well, there are a few limitations... The realm refuses to make gold and silver in large quantities. As keeper it is my duty to instruct you on this matter."

"I'd appreciate that a lot, but we can leave that for later if it's complicated," I say, to which he nods in understanding. "Does Master have more questions?" He asks. I quickly nod and ask, "Who is the High Council? You've mentioned them before and they're the ones who did all of this." Nyx nods and swallows thickly before answering, "The High Council can be described as Gods. They are a group of beings that have been here since the creation of the universe. All races have come from them and were allowed to choose where to live. Humans chose Earth." I absorb what he's telling me. "So there are others like you?" Nyx's shoulders sag, his eyes filled to the brim with loneliness.

"...No. I am the only one of my kind. I shouldn't even exist; an abomination is what I am." I frown at that and get up from my seat. "Why do you say that about yourself?" Nyx sighs, as if it's supposed to be obvious. "I am the product of a Council member and a lowly creature. My existence is a sick joke, Master..." I release a sigh, not knowing how to comfort him. "Why should it matter that you were an accident? You're still here. I myself wasn't planned to be born. But I guess our situations are polar opposites, so I shouldn't try to compare. I just don't like seeing you hurt like this..." Nyx stares at me with wide eyes, clearly surprised by my response. 

"Thanks for giving me some insight. Don't go overexerting yourself, I suppose this isn't a priority right now. Getting you patched up is more important. " "I think that's all I had in mind for now. This is a lot to take in. That gods and you exist, for starters, and that this place can just create matter out of thin air. Thanks for telling me all that. I'll just need some time to process it all," I say with a soft smile, unknowingly making the stag's heart beat faster. "It is a pleasure to serve. Could I provide Master with a drink? Would that please you?" He looks behind me, to the wall covered by dozens of bottles of liquor. "Well, I don't think those are safe. I checked a few of them, they weren't smelling right."

The corner of my lips upturned in humor. "That will not be an issue. I can muster more for Master," He insists. "Very well, go on." The stag walks behind the counter. The world blinks around me, and when I look again he holds a bottle of whisky. He walks with a spring in his step, but stops once he sees the purple stain on the floor. Whatever smidgeon of chirpiness was on his face is gone. He lowers himself to the floor and runs a hand over the dried-out wine. He tired scraping the dust off the ground, then rubbing his hand on it, to no avail. "What's on your mind?" I softly ask. The stag speaks without looking up to me. 

"He went all the way, the previous Master. Locking me away wasn't enough, he had to go as far as breaking everything." He pauses as he frowns, as if scolding himself. The stag rises and supports himself on the counter. He summons a rag and goes through the motions of dusting. "No matter. Now, what is Master's want? I should tell you upfront, the Palace's liquor is quite impressive." Nyx may be up and walking, but he's still far from being well. He can use the help. The spiral staircase remains as welcoming as before. "Here. This floor is dedicated to the Master and those he allows in. The Palace bends to the Master's will. My power is similar to yours, albeit much weaker. In due time, the Palace shall conform from the ground up to your vision."

We reach my room and Nyx opens the doors for me. The living room ahead of me seems to have resisted the damage of time better than the rest of the Palace. It is dusty, and some chunks of the wall show the beginnings of mold, but that is nothing compared to the devastation I saw in the kitchen. Nyx says nothing at first. His gaze seems to be lost in the distance as he walks around inspecting the room. There are lines of wooden carvings on shelves. During the stag's silence, I take the chance to explore it myself. The living room is a sprawling lounge made to receive guests, both in great number and for an intimate get-togethers.

Under the sunset's light the wooden floor colors the room with a soft, warm hue. There's a master bedroom with a vast closet still filled with clothes. It's a wardrobe pulled straight from a cosplay convention, robes and more robes organized with a tireless devotion. There's also a large office, the kind you'd expect from an important executive. Sitting on the desk is a selection of finely-decorated fountain pens and a stash of documents, for the most part written in delicate calligraphy. Most of the documents are signed by a "Master Bastien", Although a handful bear an illegible scribble for a signature. There's a finely furnished bathroom off in a tight hallway to the side of the living room.

At the end of the corridor, after a sharp turn, there's a cramped, windowless chamber. It has a handful of remnants of the living room's warmth, albeit muted. The wood's color is faded, the ceiling is a meter lower, there is a little to no furniture. There is, however, an austere bed that looks larger than your typical single. Beside it is a tiny chest of drawers, with a handful of dusty poetry books piled on top alongside more wooden carvings. This room affords privacy, but little else. Nyx is going over it when I arrive. He cradles every wooden carving in the room, examining them one-by-one. Many of the carvings depict great deer. He opens one of the books, and a page marker falls from it.

He looks down at it but doesn't bother picking it up. The stag opens a small closet off to the side, and takes out what seems to be a long piece of fabric. He smells it, or perhaps hugs it to his chest. His bony snout leaves a stain of blood dust on it. He sighs and shudders. The stag looks back to me, acknowledging my presence for the first time since arriving here. "I am frightfully sorry, I was lost in thought. This floor is the Master's quarters. It contains your bedroom, office, living room and any other installations you wish to add. This room we are in, this... was my bedroom. I serve the Palace, but above all else I serve the Master." He lays the fabric gently down on his bed.

"It is often considered convenient to have me around, as I can cook and help the Master however he sees fit. There were Masters who had children, for instance. I would assist in tending to them, providing entertainment and play while the Master rested. Master Bastien was a man of culture. He enjoyed having me play my lyre for him at night." The stag's gaze wander away again, his hands starting to caress a wooden carving. It's at this point that I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, to which he tells me where it is. While in there, I have to take a breather. Everything that's been happening shouldn't be happening at all. I sigh and finish up my business, later washing my hands out.

When I walk out, the setting sun's orange tones color the entire apartment. It turns the suspends dust in the air into thousands of sparkling diamonds. The previous Master's carvings stare at me, wide-eyed and beckoning me further into the Quarters. The smell of old dust seems so small compared to how sweetly the room welcomes me. If a place could ever be alive, and if it could ever be naked, this is it. The Palace itself embraces me, its intimacy laid bare. Nothing moves and Nyx is nowhere to be seen. Silence reigns, save for a faint hum of life. I leave the wine bottle on the living room table. I delve deeper into my quarters, and the hum grows louder and sharper.

It's like breathing, ragged and pained. The dust visible under the sunlight shudders. The sound is coming from the office. Nyx is standing over the desk, his back to me, sobbing. My footsteps are not enough to make him aware of my presence. The stag sobs again and again, each one coming from deeper inside of him. They begin meek, hardly more than a snort. But he lays his hands on the desk and curls forward. His vertebrae jut sharply from his deathly thin skin, made more obvious by how he hunches over. He spits out a sob from the depths of his lungs. The dam bursts, he breaks into wave after wave of grunts and half-muffled screams.

He presses his face against the desk and claws at it, leaving his marks in the pristine wood until he falls to the ground, curled up like a child. He sees me then with his tear-drenched eye and ignores my presence. Master or not, I am too small. He curls further into himself, mouth covered by his hands as he lets out another muffled yell. The stag's voice breaks midway through and he goes silent, even if his mouth is still locked in agony. But Nyx looks up to me, aware of my presence, and makes no effort to hide or cower. In fact, he tried to speak, but I can't understand his slurred words, only that his voice has a tone of welcoming. I cross the gap separating the two of us on step at a time.

Nyx's eye does not avert from me. I sit by his side, back to the desk, and only then his gaze drops down to the floor into further sobbing. I drape an arm over his shoulder and pull him to me. The stag doubles down his crying, now muffled by my shirt. His fingers dig into me — his claws digging into my skin and draw a slight amount of blood from his pressure, but I don't mind. I rub the back of his head and let the stag go at his own pace. As the sun sets further, darkening the room, his crying grows quieter and more discreet as well. When all is dark except for the stars shining beyond the window, Nyx's hands relax and he slouches fully onto my chest.

He almost seems to be asleep, but I catch his eye looking up at me. Nyx is pacified, but I give him a few more minutes to make sure. His fingers dig into me one last time right as he sighs. "I beg your forgiveness, Master. I let my emotions control my strength and have punctured your skin with my claws." I shake my head as I caress his head. "Not to steal your line, but I've been through worse, Nyx. I will survive. I'm just happy to be here for you." He breathes in shakily, to which I wrap my arms around him in a hug. I give him a quick squeeze and pat him on the back before I help him up. He says nothing about what just happened, but accepts my hand.

And when I leave the office, he stays close by my side. Back in the living room, I guide Nyx to the sofa. He sits without questioning, but accompanies me with his gaze as I take a seat facing him. Nyx leans back on the sofa, a weak smile painted on his face. "Thank you for being so kind to me, Master." I wave my hand, giving him a kind smile. "Don't mention it, it was nothing." This seems to set the stag on a new train of thought. "Is that so? Master, if it is not impertinent of me, would you answer a few questions?" I give him a big smile, happy that he's finally willing to look past his role. "Sure, I don't see how that could be a problem," I reply as I sit across from him.

"I wish to know about the War. How did it end?" I tilt my head slightly. "War? Which war?" I ask. "The Cold War. The conflict between the Americans and communists. How did it end? Did communism take over the world?" I stop myself from laughing at such an idea, but I know that he had no way of finding out until now. "Yes, the world is doing fine, the Americans won the war. A lot of stuff happened since then." I briefly tell him the world's history after the Cold War, especially the aftermath of the war. "Oh, I'm so relieved to hear that. I've spent all those years locked away thinking about it. Master Bastien talked so many times about America..." His eyes glaze over in recollection.

"The fields of sunflowers, the fragrances, the fields. He found his way to the Palace, a shell-shocked young man fresh off the battlefield. He inherited the deed from the previous Master, and his rule over the Palace was a sight to behold. He was very kind, had a preference for bring in victims of war. It wasn't easy caring for so many amputees and shell-shocked men, but it was worth it. He loved it here, but I suppose he loved America the most. I couldn't dissuade him from returning home, to help in the protests for civil rights. He died in 1962. I felt it right when it happened. Felt the bullet going through my head in the middle of the night. In 1969, the next Master arrived, Master Cassius." 

At the mention of Cassius' name, Nyx's gaze harshened and he became tense. "Cassius wasn't bad at first. He was very eager to please, to be of use to the guests. But there was something in him... A greed, I suppose. To merely be liked wasn't enough, you see. He and Master Bastien differed greatly. Bastien had a vision, to bring comfort to those affected by war. Cassius, on the other hand, didn't want to be liked, but worshipped." I bitter look washes over his features. "He had his eyes on a guest, a woman who held his mind in the palm of her hand. I can only believe it went badly. And so, he... well, you saw what he did to me. The guests are gone, and the Palace has been left to rot... I had glimpsed the beginnings of madness in his eyes. I am no fool. It was clear he was no sane man but I hoped he'd be harmless."

I immediately have the sense that I know said person personally. "I believe I met this Cassius you speak of. He gave me the Palace's deed. Talked a bit about himself, said he squandered his one chance at something good. He's a drunk now. Can barely talk right. He apparently was looking for me but I've never met him before." Thinking back to it, I relay what my past thoughts were. "When I checked the deed it all seemed like gibberish, too. I could only believe he wasn't thinking right and gave me some used napkin. He said he had done bad stuff during his life, but I never imagined it was bad as what I saw here." Nyx's brow is furrowed and his eyes wander.

He twiddles his thumbs while I speak. "He's still alive, then." He closes his eyes, wrinkling his visage in anger. Nyx looks up to the ceiling. His voice is relaxed now, almost soothing, but it carries a spike of sobriety. "Master, if you would once again permit it, may I speak freely? I may overstep my boundaries of being an outsider that has been looking into your life." I give him a curious look but slowly nod. He takes a deep breath before he begins. "If I'm not mistaken, your father left you when you were young, correct?" I narrow my eyes, wondering how he knew that. Even under my stare, Nyx wills himself to continue. "Did you ever learn the name of your father?" I have to hold myself back from scoffing.

"Of course, Mama had told me his name is Cass-" I choke on my words, realization slamming into me like a train. "N-no... no way," I say in shock as my posture dips forward slightly. "Cassius Talisko was my last Master. I remember him talking of his only child, a daughter named Ari..." Nyx gets up and retrieves something from the bookshelf. He looks at it for a moment before he returns to his seat. He slowly hands me the photo and I feel myself having to hold in a sob. It was a picture of me at one of my most memorable dance recitals. I was twelve in the picture. "Cassius had told me a lot about you, Master Jiàn..." I softly run my finger along the picture. "This is why you acted weird before...you had recognized me."

Nyx nods in affirmation. I sit back in my chair with a deep inhalation of air. Nyx silently watches me. "Master, if once again you would accept it, may I ask a question? This one however may be out of place for me as Keeper." I give him permission to tell me. "Havena was created to torture me as punishment for my crime. But over the years, the human Masters chose to impose a different will onto this realm. Each Master had a vision for it. We had a good run, a few good centuries ever since we started. Until, as you saw, Cassius came along. I wish to know your intentions. That is awfully out of place for me, as Prisoner. You are my captor, and I shall obey whatever your will may be." 

Even at his words, he seems to not care anymore. "Nonetheless, I wish to have my impertinent question answered, if it isn't much. I should let you know, before you answer, that I am used to suffering. I've been through a lot worse than what you saw today." He took a shaky breath before continuing, "If your will is to torture me, like Master Cassius did, then you need not pretend. However, you accepted my oath and took me into your service, and now you've treated me with kindness. I would believe, then that you are not like him. Be honest, if you will. My servitude to you remains regardless of your choice, as I have none myself." I feel for the stag sitting in front of me. Such despair and sorrow in his voice... 

I looked away from him, not being able to believe how cruel my father really was. Mama had told me that he wasn't a good man, that's why when she found out she ran away with me to protect me from him. "I didn't know what I was getting into when I accepted this deed. A lot has happened in a single day. Finding out I had met my dad at my work of all places, somehow being transported here, finding this place and meeting you, who knows more about me than most just from a picture. I couldn't have imagined any of this from his ramblings. But... yes. I intend to be a good Master, to the Palace and to you. I know you're feeling me out, trying to see if I am the same as my father. But I'm not trying to trick you. By what you've told me, I'd have no reason to. Maybe it's hard for you to believe me right now, but I mean it."

Nyx does not answer at first. Only his deep breathing cuts the room's silence. "It's been so long. I don't know for how many years I was locked away. I must admit, the mere thought of asking gives me chills. Master, can you... imagine? For centuries, I've been tending to this Palace. It was my mercy, what saved me from torture and gave me purpose. It was hard work, and not all Masters have been kind over the centuries. But it was wonderful nonetheless, I enjoyed every moment of it. And then... Master Bastien died. I could have done more to try and stop him. I should have. The he came, Cassius. I am used to pain, but I had grown accustomed to having a purpose." 

He looks up at me, into my eyes. "Today you freed me, took me into your service, and now you call tell me you wish to be a good Master. Allow me to speak frankly. I am afraid of you. Terribly so. You are my jailer." He lets out a sigh, as if confessing that had taken some weight off of him. "Over the centuries I grew comfortable with enjoying my Masters, but after Cassius it's all come back to me. I am so afraid of what you can do to me. There's no choice but to obey your every command. I am so sorry for saying this. It is profoundly out of place for the Keeper to address the Master in such a way. I suppose that, even if I'm afraid of you I've lost my fear of pain and overstepping boundaries. All of that said... Despite my fear, I find myself... wanting to believe you." Nyx gets up from the sofa and walked up to me.

He's clearly tipsy, stumbling about as he approaches. The stag kneels before me. "I wish dearly for your words to be true. I am not afforded choice on whether or not I shall obey you. I am a Prisoner. But if indeed your words are true, if your heart is truly set on being a good Master... Then I shall follow you. Not out of duty, but out of want — and were I ever allowed true freedom I would remain by your side. I swore to serve you, and now I swear to follow you — for as long as your word holds true." He looks up to me. The room is dark, lit only by moonlight coming through the window, but I can see a glimmer in the stag's eye. I pull him from his kneeling position into a hug.

He is light, barely heavier than a child. In my arms he is stiff and cold, but just as my hands stroke his back he returns the gesture and rests his muzzle on my shoulder. He sniffles once, twice, and presses his face into my neck. "Thank you, Master." He breathes in deeply, as if learning my scent. Night quickly settles. The Palace has no electricity, but I can do with candle. My shadow and Nyx's slither onto the walls, trembling alongside the flickering flames. The Master's quarters are filled with the velvety sounds of life — breathing, footsteps, furniture creaking under me. From outside, a passerby would see this ruined Palace with a single candle-lit window.

If he perchance tried exploring it, he'd only find unending hallways of black and white marble. He could seek out the comfort of this candle-lit room but would never find it, locked away as it is behind a doorless wall. Silence drips back over the two of us. More often than not Nyx is turned towards me, following with his gaze. Just when I realize how hungry I am, he summons a humble feast for me — fruit, cheese, water, even a regular bottle of wine. He turns his back to you to set the table. He stumbles a bit, and a few apples roll off to the ground. I catch him giving me a sideways glance. His nostrils flare under his nervous breathing. Nyx seizes.

His back broadens as he breathes in, and then his shoulders slouch forward with his exhale. He gazes back at me, as if trying to say something, and after a few seconds he returns to setting the table. His tail flicks behind him, perhaps even with some chirpiness. When dinner is ready, he presents it to me with a half-smile on his lips. My candle-lit dinner is simple and uneventful. Any offer to have Nyx eat alongside me is brushed off with a shake of his head. It's a long, deliberate movement. I then ask him if there's any way to restore the Palace's electricity. "There is, yes. We must perform the revival ritual, and for that we must use a special object. It is an obsidian dagger, and it will bring the entire Palace back to life." Shortly after, with nothing else to do for the night, the both of us find rest in our respective rooms.

The deer minotaur dreams. 

After another taxing day of being used and abused, Nyx sought comfort in his Master's quarters. Master Cassius was in the dining hall, holding a party that Nyx would rather not attend. Not that he was wanted, anyway. He planned on just going to his room, but something had caught his eye. He turned towards it and saw that it was the photograph of Ari, Cassius' daughter. He gingerly plucks it from the shelf and scans the image. He remembers what Cassius had said about her. How she was so smart and ambitious. That she was born to dance. Cassius had joked that she was dancing before she started to walk. While Cassius was never part of her life, he had made sure to keep tabs on her.

She's so full of life. Wherever she goes, happiness and kindness follow right behind her. Hearing more and more about the girl, he found himself wanting to know her personally. But what started as wanting to be her friend, slowly turned into a pining for her. He so desperately wanted to love her, give her every part of himself. He closes his eyes and hums but when he opens them, he finds himself in a field of white flowers that seemed to stretch forever.. Everything was glowing, especially a certain person. It's then that he realizes that it's Ari. But as he continues to stare, she morphs into a man. A man he knows is Jiàn... his new master. Jiàn was humming a sweet tune as he braided flowers together.

Jiàn smiled and looked up to meet his eyes. He suddenly jumped up and started laughing as he ran away, looking back at Nyx, beckoning him to chase after him. A playful smile found his lips as he started walking in the direction of where Jiàn was going. Jiàn glanced back, before laughing again and speeding up. The two ran through the field, the summer breeze playing with the Jiàn's hair. However, their little game ended when Nyx reached out and grabbed Jiàn, bringing him into his chest as they fell to the ground. Nyx now laid on his back, staring down at the heap of a man on top of him. Panting softly, Jiàn looked up at Nyx . He hummed softly as he pushed himself up, his face now level with Nyx's.

No words were spoken as the two got lost in each other's eyes. Jiàn smirked before a look of yearning filled his gaze as he leaned forward and captured Nyx's lips. Nyx hummed into the kiss, feeling that all too familiar warm feeling build up in his chest. As they parted, a string of saliva kept them connected before ultimately breaking. "Where are you today? On a distant planet? Or perhaps you're deep in the jungle." Jiàn laughs and pulls back to look into Nyx's eyes. He brings a hand up and lovingly strokes the deer's cheek. "It's such a shame that dreams don't last long, especially the good ones." With a final kiss, the serene field starts to crumble and so does Jiàn.

He jumps from dream to reflection. Master Bastien and Cassius. The cold room. The new Master. Freedom from the darkness. Food — and wine. Nyx grasps the dusty sheets. It's been decades since he slept on a bed. He feels no bedsores on his back. Instead of the cold room's stench there is only the slightly mold smell of his old room. His lips — half deer, half skeletal — threaten to curl into a smile. But doubt eats away at him, churns in his stomach. The stag unceremoniously rises from his bed. No matter what comes next he must work, work and then work some more. While he shuffles through the he mumbles an old poem from memory.

"You came. And you did well to come. I longed for you and you brought fire. To my heart, which burns high for you." A mirror makes it clear how much of a disgrace he is. The gaping, fleshless hole in his skull makes his ichor bubble and threaten to burst from his mouth. But... he's less of a disgrace than he was the day before. And for the last fifty years. There is some mercy in that. He forces a half-smile and goes out. As soon as he steps out, however, his ear flicks. He catches a distant tune — chirpy, once could say even joyous. It is faint but unmistakable.The smile disappears from his face and is replaced with a ghostly grim canvas.

[lightsupinthenorth]

A little coffee with your sugar? part 1/2

Here is a Harringrove Coffee shop AU. I hope you’ll enjoy :)

Read on AO3

As the only baker of the Upside-Down Café, Billy usually kept to the kitchen. And he liked it that way. So, when Heather barged into his sanctuary, interrupting him in the process of frosting a three-layer chocolate cake to let him know she was leaving and he had to replace her behind the counter, Billy was not happy.

“Why in the world are you leaving this early?”

She always stayed until closing.

“Are you serious? I told you last week I have a dentist appointment. You said you’d be okay.”

Had he really said that? Well, that had been a big mistake.

The thing was, he had not been listening properly when Heather had told him about her appointment. He had been in the middle of decorating a batch of sugar cookies with rainbow icing (because he was gay and did what he wanted), which was the kind of delicate work he had to focus extra hard on. He had trouble controlling his strength, sometimes, and that could lead to accidents. So, when he’d registered Heather had finished talking and was waiting for a reply, he had nodded and said “okay” without knowing what he was agreeing to. He could have asked her to repeat, but it got on her nerves when he did that. According to her, he was doing it a bit too often. It wasn’t his fault she always tried to make conversation when he had to focus on a complicated task. Come to think of it, maybe she was doing that on purpose to get whatever she wanted from him. Billy wouldn’t put it past her: she was devious enough to come up with such a tactic.  

“Okay… well, see you tomorrow then.” He tried to act cool and unaffected, but his dread was hard to hide.

“Oh, don’t be a drama queen. You’ll survive. Have a wonderful afternoon serving our dear customers!”

Billy groaned. She was really laying it on thick.

“I wish you have cavities.” He said meanly.

Heather laughed, showing perfect white teeth that could have starred in a toothpaste commercial. The audacity! Why was she even going to the dentist?

Billy took his time finishing the frosting after Heather’s departure. Tuesday afternoons were slow, anyway. He had to put the last touch in a hurry, though, because the bell above the front door chimed, indicating the arrival of a customer.

Billy exited the kitchen with the cake, so he could put it on display before taking the customer’s order. He had to multitask now that Heather had mercilessly abandoned him. Traitor.

“Hi, welcome to the Upside-Down Café, what can I do for you?” He asked dispassionately, not even looking at the person on the other side on the counter.

He could lay on the charm as well as the next guy, but at the moment his whole attention was on the triple layer cake he was trying to squeeze between the apple pie and the cinnamon rolls displayed behind the glass case.

“Well I do feel properly welcomed, Hargrove. You might even want tone the enthusiasm down a bit. Wouldn’t want you to come off as overeager.”

The sarcasm was nearly palpable. It didn’t surprise Billy, considering who was speaking.

“Buckley, fancy seeing you here.”

She rolled her eyes. It was her default move when she was around Billy. It was all for show, though. he knew she liked him, deep down.

“Heather’s not here?”

“No. Dentist appointment.”

“Oh. She didn’t tell me.” Robin pouted like a five-year old.

Ah! She wasn’t so smug anymore.

Billy would have been amused at Robin’s reaction, but the fact she hadn’t known about Heather’s appointment mainly made him suspicious. She claimed she had told Billy about the appointment the week before, but she hadn’t told her friend, whom she had a big fat crush on? Billy wasn’t buying it. Of course, telling her coworker, who’d have to cover for her, seemed more important than telling her crush she wouldn’t be seeing her, but Billy knew better. Heather was so head-over-heels for Robin it wasn’t even funny anymore. If she didn’t do something about it soon, Billy would go nuts. She was always yapping about Robin, and she was so distracted in her presence that she had once dropped a plate of cupcakes Billy had just worked his ass off to finish before the Saturday afternoon rush. She was a menace.

“Would you like to order something anyway, or?” He asked Robin.

“Yeah, sure, I’m actually waiting for a friend. I’ll take a piece of apple pie and an Earl Grey tea, please.”

Billy had already had an inkling of what she was going to order, because Heather had raved to him about Robin’s favorite food and drinks several times before, but he chose not to disclose that piece of information. He was a good friend like that.

“Coming right up.”

While he was cutting the pie, the bell chimed again.

“Oh, here’s my friend. Hey dingus!”

Billy looked up briefly and did a double take. He had to make a conscious effort to not let his jaw hang open. The man who had just come in was gorgeous, and exactly Billy’s type. He looked so pretty in his preppy knitted sweater, it nearly gave Billy heartburn.

Billy had come out of the kitchen with his dirty apron still on, and he was almost certain there was some chocolate frosting on his left cheekbone. He could feel it itching. He was cursed.

“Hey Rob.” Pretty boy hugged Robin and then turned to Billy.

His warm brown eyes widened, making him resemble a deer caught in the headlights. Billy only then realized he’d been staring at him intensely. You know, like a fucking creep.

Billy looked away and cleared his throat.

“What can I get you?” His voice sounded strained, but it would have to do.

“Er… A Mocha and a piece of chocolate cake, please.”

“Sure thing.”

Billy prepared the order, keeping his gazed fixed on the task at hand. He couldn’t look at Pretty boy, lest he make a bigger fool of himself.

He rang Robin and her friend up, and only then could he bring himself to look up… which ended up being a mistake, considering he had to watch, horrified, as Pretty boy poured a shit ton of sugar in his mocha.

“How about some coffee in your sugar?” Billy asked in a deadpan voice.

He didn’t mean to be rude. Billy was a ‘live and let live’ kind of guy, and he was more amused than offended by Pretty boy’s tastes, even if the mere thought of drinking such a concoction was enough to nauseate him. However, he couldn’t help that his tone was curt when he addressed him. First, Billy had to manage the counter without having had time to mentally prepare beforehand (yes Heather had supposedly given him a whole week to ready himself, but he hadn’t quite caught her warning so it hadn’t been of much use), and second, he was out of sorts because of how hot the guy was. The truth was that, if Billy could usually charm the pants off of anyone, he was absolutely useless when it came to men he really did find attractive. Life was a bitch, sometimes.

“Wh-what?” Pretty boy stammered.

“You’re aware mochas have a fair amount of sugar already blended in them, right?”

Billy feared he’d get diabetes just from watching Pretty boy drink this monstrous beverage. It was basically caffeinated sugar at this point.

“Yeah, and what about it?” He replied, his words sounding like a challenge, before he took a sip and then licked off the whipped cream stuck on his upper lip (‘kill me right now, why don’t you?’ Billy thought).

“Nothing. It’s just… diabetes is a serious issue and healthcare isn’t cheap in this country.”

Billy’s conversation skills had unsurprisingly flown out the window, but it was a new low. Here he was, spewing ominous bullshit and stating political facts. What next? A debate? What the fuck.

“I’m very healthy, thank you very much.”

Billy thankfully restrained from replying “for now”. Pretty boy was scowling a bit, nonetheless. Billy’s chances with him had most probably flown out the window too, right along his aforementioned skills.

Pretty boy took the tray with his and Robin’s order on it and went to one of the tables near the windows, pretty close to the register.

Robin stayed behind and stared at Billy with an arched eyebrow, making him squirm.

“Was there something else you wanted, Buckley?” He asked, just so she’d snap out of it.

“No. I’m all set. Thanks.” She narrowed her eyes before turning away from Billy and joining Pretty boy at the table he had picked.

Billy then proceeded to stalk Pretty boy. He could have gone back to the kitchen, since there was no other customer, but he would have to pass up staring at such beauty, and that wouldn’t do (especially since it was the first and probably last time he got to stare at it). So, he pretended to busy himself with wiping the already immaculate counter clean, like a neat freak, while he threw glances at him.

Pretty boy still looked slightly worked up, somehow managing to make everything he did look aggressive, be it taking a sip of his mocha, putting his cup down, or stabbing the poor piece of chocolate cake with his fork.

Before he could start eating, though, Robin held his hand back. Billy then heard her advise him to cleanse his palate with a sip of her tea so the overly sugary taste of the mocha wouldn’t make the cake taste like nothing in comparison. And bless her for that piece of advice because, after Pretty boy had done as he had been told, when he finally put the first bite in his mouth, his reaction was priceless. His scowl disappeared from his face, his beautiful eyes widened again and he outright moaned.

The sound did things to Billy, and he had to bite his lower lip so he wouldn’t make a noise of his own. That would have been embarrassing, and Billy had embarrassed himself enough with his ineptitude at making conversation like a functional member of society.

When they left, Robin threw a “See ya, Hargrove” above her shoulder, and Pretty boy didn’t say anything, preferring to glare at him. He was still mad, then. Billy pouted. As soon as the door had closed behind them, he fetched a chocolate chip cookie from the display case and took a huge bite out of it. It tasted good (duh, he had baked them), but it didn’t magically dissipate his disappointment as he had hoped it would.

This day really sucked, uh?

*

The next day, Heather came to work in an overly chipper mood, unlike Billy.

“Damn, what crawled up your ass and died?”

Billy growled “nothing” while tying his apron.

“Why the long face, then?”

“I don’t see what you mean.” He mumbled, before changing the subject. “Why are you so cheerful, yourself?”

“I got tickets for this band Robin likes! They weren’t available on the band’s website, so I had to wait in line yesterday to buy them. I’m gonna ask her on a date to their concert the second she passes this door.” Heather said, gesturing to the café’s entrance.

“So, there wasn’t any dentist appointment! I knew it!”

“Yeah, sorry I lied. I didn’t want you to mention it by mistake when Robin was there, so I came up with the appointment thing. I shouldn’t have bothered, though, since you weren’t listening to me anyway. But whatever.”

So, that explained why Robin hadn’t known Heather wouldn’t come to work, even though they were texting almost constantly.

Billy was glad Heather would finally get it together and ask Robin out after months of pining. He was also jealous that she had more game than he did, but he chose to ignore that part.

“Robin will be over the moon, I’m sure. She was here yesterday. Asked for you.” Billy informed, as he was taking the ingredients out for a millionaire shortbread.

“I know, she called me in the evening to ask me how it went at the dentist’s. I felt bad about lying to her, but it was for the greater good.”

“Mmh.”

“What was that with Steve, by the way?”

Billy briefly wondered if he had missed part of the conversation again.  

“Who the hell is Steve?”

“Robin’s friend? The one that was here with her yesterday.”

Oh, so Pretty boy’s name was Steve.

“Right. Steve. What about him?”

“Well, you tell me. Robin said you were acting rude, and now Steve thinks you hate him. Steve is a sweetheart, you can’t hate him. Plus, it’ll make him all sad and miserable, and then Robin will be in a bad mood because of it. So, behave!”

“Okay, so I wasn’t the nicest. I was pissed off that you had abandoned me. But I don’t hate Steve. That’s a gross overstatement. I don’t even know him.” Also, Billy thought Steve was the prettiest thing he had ever seen and was pretty certain he had a crush on him, but he certainly didn’t say THAT to Heather. He would never hear the end of it.

“Yeah well, be nicer next time he comes by. Or stay in your kitchen like the goblin you are.”

“Sure, whatever. Don’t you have some work to do?” Billy asked so she would lay off his case.

When she had finally left the kitchen, Billy thought about Steve, as he had been doing non-stop since he had met him the day before. He couldn’t believe he had already ruined everything. They had said like… four words to each other and now Steve thought Billy hated him. How had he fucked up that quickly? That must have been a record.  

He groaned and poured the flour in the mixing bowl with such aggravation that he spilt about a third of it on the table. He was useless!

Billy kept dropping ingredients and kitchen tools all over the place, and bumping into everything, until Heather interrupted the disaster that was his day, asking him to manage the counter while she talked to Robin.

When he exited his cave, he was surprised to see that Steve had come with Robin again and was the next customer in line.

Billy was silently trying to come up with an apology. It couldn’t be that hard. He’d say: “Pretty Boy…” no, “Steve”… no, he wasn’t supposed to know his name… Er… “Man”. Right, Billy would say. “Man, I’m sorry about yesterday, I was in a bad mood.” And that would be all. Easy.

Billy reached the counter and opened his mouth to apologize, but Steve didn’t let him.

“Hi. I’ll take a snickerdoodle and a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and marshmallows, please and thank you.” He was staring right into Billy’s eyes when he gave his order. His own brown eyes were glinting. His left hip was cocked and his arms were crossed over his chest, his fingers tapping rhythmically on his arms.

Oh, so that was how Pretty boy was going to play it.

“No problemo.” Billy nearly cringed at how lame he was. Why was he saying stuff like that? It wasn’t even correct Spanish. He was nearly fluent in the language, so he knew that perfectly well. He sounded like a lame dad, which was not really the vibe he was going for.

Once he got his order, Steve proceeded to pour an insane amount of sugar in his hot chocolate. Billy was not surprised, but still disgusted. This was indecent.

Billy took care of the next customer, and the one after that, and the one after that. He was starting to wonder what was taking Heather so long with Robin. She was keeping her from Pretty boy, who was all alone at their table. The poor thing.

When there was a lull, Billy went to the break room and found Heather and Robin making out. Of course, they were. Billy rolled his eyes but didn’t interrupt them, choosing instead to go back to the counter. Let it not be said that he was a bad friend, after that.

Steve had chosen the same table as the day before, and was facing Billy, just as he had then. At first, he wasn’t touching his drink or food, certainly waiting for Robin. A good fifteen minutes passed before he called it quits and started eating. He moaned again, not giving a fuck that he was in public (which made the noise that had just come out of Steve very inappropriate). Why was he torturing Billy like this? And he’d said to Robin that Billy hated him? Uh, uh, no sir. It had to be the other way around.

When Steve took his first sip of hot chocolate, the extra whipped cream painted his upper lip white. But, this time, he didn’t wipe it away with his tongue, and Billy so badly wanted to lick it off himself. Pretty boy would be the death of him.  

When Robin and Steve left, this time, the latter wished Billy a nice day. Well, Heather was there too… so maybe it had just been addressed to her. At best, it had been for the both of them. Still, Billy would take it.

While they cleaned the shop after closing, Heather waxed poetic about Robin. That was nothing new, however. She had already been doing plenty of that in the pining stage of their relationship. Billy listened absentmindedly, with his own head full of Steve and his lush hair and his pretty lips and his eyes, which had been full of mischief earlier that day.  

He only regained awareness of his surroundings when he got hit in the chest with Heather’s balled up apron.

“I’m leaving, dumbass. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

*

Steve came to the Upside-Down regularly, after that, with Robin but also on his own. Billy was often in the kitchen when Steve came by, so he always had to find an excuse to get behind the counter, even if only for a brief moment, in order to catch a glimpse of him.

Heather caught up pretty quickly, of course.

“You like him.”

“Uh. What? Who?”

“Steve. You like him.” She whispered.

Billy had just come out of the kitchen, in the pretense of bringing a batch of muffins to the shop. In fact, the batch had been ready for an hour, and Billy had waited for Steve to arrive (he came almost every Wednesday) to bring it out.

And now Heather was saying Billy liked him when he was sitting a few meters away.

Billy shushed her without even trying to deny her claim. He knew not to fight a losing battle.

“Don’t worry. He’s grading his pupils’ papers. He’s like… in another world.”

Steve indeed looked engrossed by the sheets that were in front of him, holding a red pen in his right hand, ready to annotate them. And, oh God, he was wearing thick black-rimmed glasses. Billy couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Jesus. You’ve got it bad!” Heather sounded delighted.

“Shut up”, Billy whined, still not denying it. The truth was what it was.

“Why didn’t you say so sooner? I would have helped you out.”

That was precisely one of the reasons why he had not told her. He didn’t need a wing-woman. Well, he did. But, he wouldn’t be caught dead asking for one.

*

He ended up with one, anyway. Now, every time Steve came by, Heather would make Billy get his order. Thankfully, Steve didn’t seem to notice the stratagem.

He must have been too occupied coming up with more and more outrageous drink choices. One day, he went as far as to ask for a white hot chocolate with extra whipped cream, marshmallows, and caramel drizzle. Billy all but gagged while making it. And Steve had the gall to add sugar. He was deranged! An honest to God maniac!

Billy was surprised Steve’s blood hadn’t yet crystalized with all the sugar he consumed.

“Anything else, pretty boy?” He asked, only noticing his slip-up when he saw Steve’s eyes get wide as saucers.

Billy couldn’t be held accountable for his mistake, alright? Steve really was pretty. Extremely pretty. Also, Billy kept calling him Pretty boy in his head ever since they had met, and he was so appalled by the drink Steve had just ordered that his brain-to-mouth filter was momentarily out of order. Sue him. He was only human.

“I… er… well… I… I’ll try today’s special. Thanks.” Steve stammered.

Everyday, Billy baked something that wasn’t usually on the menu. Today, it was a banana-chocolate cream pie.

As he put the piece of pie on Steve’s tray, Billy added:

“Here you go, sweet thing.” Because he had noticed Steve’s cheeks going beet red when he had called him pretty boy, and therefore he couldn’t help but think he might have a chance, after all.

Steve opened and closed his mouth a few times, apparently at a loss, before he thanked Billy and went to his usual table, nearly tripping on thin air on the way.  

Billy was exulting, until he heard labored breathing and saw Steve struggling. What the hell was going on?

Billy went to him as fast as he could.

“Steve, what’s wrong?”

“I’m allergic to bananas.”

Oh God. Oh God, this was bad. This was so bad.

Billy took his cellphone out of his right back pocket and immediately dialed 911.

***

Thanks a lot for reading!

I’m new to the fandom so I’d be super happy for some Harringrove shippers to come talk to me (I need people to talk about these dumb boys with ^^).

[lowkeyassgard]

DAY 10 OF LOKI VS. EARTH: CONCERTS

Day 10 of Loki vs. Earth series and today Loki is very pissed off by attending a country concert.

One shot summary: After bailing Loki out of some serious trouble, Thor asks Loki to attend a concert with him.

Quarantine series summary:It’s going to be a series of fun and light hearted one shots to help readers and other writers get through this hard time. I made a a03 collection and a tumblr tag. To join just write a fun, soft, and/or light hearted one shot and post it to the collection @Quarantine_Series or tag it on tumblr as #quarantine series.

Word count: 900 words

Loki didn’t care much for music, He never understood why Midgardians would spend their time blasting loud obnoxious noises into their ears. Also, didn’t understand how they enjoyed it. He didn’t like it but since permanently residing on Midgard his brother Thor had found a love for it. He blasted it through their home and would dance around like a psycho. Loki thought Thor a fool for it.

Thor had been pestering Loki to attend a concert for the last few months. Loki had repeatedly said no but knew he would no longer be able to decline the offer. Loki had recently run into some trouble leading Thor to bailing him out. Literally. Loki was arrested for assault. He did nothing of the sort, but the police officer insisted that Loki had come at it. What had actually happened was that one-day Loki was walking down the road flipping his favorite blue knife and a police officer had stopped to question him. Loki was not a fan of this man tone and pointed his knife at the officer. Loki wasn’t going to stab him, but the officer said that he had to jump back to avoid being plunged in the gut. What a liar. Upon Loki’s arrest they confiscated the knives on him and threw him in a dirty dark cell.

He spent two whole days in the jail because the police department had no clue who Loki was and how to contact someone to bail him out, Loki wasn’t from Earth, so he did not have a fingerprint on file or even a social security card. The entire police department was perplexed by his existence because to their computer system Loki simply did not exist. Yet he did and he like all others will have to serve the time for his crime. On the second night of his confinement Loki astray projected to New Asgard and pleaded with his brother to free him. Sure, thing the next morning there Thor was with a big wad of cash to free him and recover his prized knives.

With that situation in mind Loki knew the next time Thor asked he would have to go. He did in fact owe his brother and how horrible could a concert be.

The dreaded ask came two days later. Loki was in his bed reading a book over astronomy. It was a calm and bright day. He was in a pleasant mood. He was until Thor came waltzing into his singing one of those songs he was always blasting.

“Oh brother! Do you recall when I got you out of that sticky situation?

“How could I forget brother. It has only been a week.”

“Oh, how time flies when you are having fun. Speaking of fun how about you and me go to a concert tonight. There will be alcohol.” Thor emphasized the last part. Loki wasn’t fond of Midgardian alcohol, but something was better than nothing. Since Loki didn’t have any form of identification he could not lawfully buy alcohol even he was thousands of years past the required age. The people would just not believe it. So, the only time he received alcohol was when he stole it, much frowned about by Thor and Valkyrie, and when he went to an event that served it to all guests.

“Ah yes brother. I do owe you so just this time I will join you.”

“YES!” Thor practically jumped with joy. Loki knew that Thor loved hanging out with him, but they just didn’t like the same things. Loki liked raves and clubs meanwhile Thor loved campfires and concerts. They were like polar opposites and yet they still loved each other dearly. When Loki had no one, he had Thor. Thor was the only one that gave him chance after chance and saw the good in him. So even though he knew he would hate every minute of it if this concert would make his brother happy he would attend.

“Alright Loki. Be ready by six and where something that isn’t black.”

At a quarter to six Loki walked out of his bedroom in a olive green shirt and grey denim jeans. It was the only thing he owned that wasn’t black or Asgardian custom clothes. He felt like a teenager that was trying to be cool. He wasn’t going to impress anyone, so he swallowed his pride and put on a smile for his brother.

Thor on the other hand was absolutely ecstatic. He was in a plaid button up shirt blue denim jeans and boots. He was grinning ear to ear. The minute Loki came out Thor gave a big holler of excitement and practically dragged Loki out of their home to take a truck into the city.

They arrived at the concert venue within the next forty five minutes and immediately Loki wished he had said no. Just from the look of the people entering the venue he would be miserable. Everyone entering was dressed in cowboy hats and boot. The men and the women were plaid shirts and both were equally acting loud and obnoxious.

As Loki walked with Thor toward the entrance Loki groaned. The person taking the tickets was a blonde chick with a plaid shirt tied at her breast level. She was in cutoff denim shorts that showed the bottom of her undergarments. She was loud. Too loud. Loki wanted to throw his ticket at her and tell her to shut up before she found her mouth bound. Instead he calmly watched as Thor handed the tickets to her.

“HOWDY THERE BOYS. YALL READY FOR SOME FUN”

“No.” Loki simply said. Thor was beside him talking about how excited he was and had been looking forward to this all day.

Loki left his brother at the ticket stand to push his way into the venue. He thought maybe it would be better once inside, but it was not,

Thor had left out the part that this was a hillbilly concert. Loki wasn’t even trying to be offensive. A person that walked by him held a sign promptly stating that it was a hillbilly concert. The sign read “Hillbillies get down too.”

Everyone I mean everyone looked like they should be in the wild west. Loki didn’t usually complain about humans showing off a little skin but now he was. Their attire and the way they presented themselves repulsed Loki.

He pushed himself thought the crowd of sweaty exposed bodies to find the bar. Once there he was even more repulsed. They just had beer. Cheap piss. This was their suck ass excuse for alcohol. The whole reason why he was here. Loki remembering, he was doing for this Thor laid down a few bills and took one of the beers. He took one swig of the beer and spit it out on the ground.

“Real men drink beer.” A woman sitting at the bar scorned at him. He reached for his knives to realize he left them at home.

‘Real women know not to pester a man that could easily destroy them.” Loki spat at her. Pardon his language but fuck her. If he had his knives he would hold them at her throat until she cried out in mercy. He might not want to take over the world anymore, but he would not be disrespected.

Not being able to stand the taste of this piss he threw the half full can on the ground and removed the lighter from his pocket and set it on fire.

“Oh, brother there you are!” Thor said before realizing that Loki had set a can of beer on fire and had attracted a crowd.

“Please excuse my brother. Its not a concert without a little spilt beer am I right?” Thor said before grabbing Loki by the arm and dragging him to the other side of the room.

“Loki, what did I tell you about burning things?”

“Do not belittle me brother. That Midgardian piss made a fool out of me and I smite its existence as punishment.”

“Just stand here and have some fun. The concert is starting soon.” Thor said before taking a swig out of his own can of fermented piss.

The concert did start but Loki did not have fun.

The music was horrendous. It was loud. Obnoxious loud. The people let out yeehaws like they were farm animals. At one point the man beside Loki made the comment that he loved this music which Loki returned by screaming “THIS IS NOT MUSIC.”

Worse than the music was the dancing that followed. The dancing looked like an exorcism ritual. The people shook their bodies and bent them in ways that should mot be normal. They thrashed against each other and yet out shared simultaneous hollers. Loki felt as though he was watching a whole crowd of people possessed by a spirit and this country music was expelling them of their farm demon.

As the night went on the crowd got worse. Even his brother began to thrash around and swing his beer in the air. Later Loki would ask what happened and Thor would just say he was overcome by the music. Overcome by the music? The only thing Loki was overcome by was the urgent need to bleach his eyes and wipe his memories of this event.

When the crowd began to sway, Loki let out a groan. The people around him assumed he was joining them in their pleasure but he was not. Every time their shoulder pressed into his body he had to stop himself from grabbing them and snapping them in half.

At one point the stranger beside him bumped a little too hard into Loki taking him by surprise and knocking him to the concrete floor. That was loki last straw.

“I do not know what kind of hoe down throw down you people think this is hit if you so ever even think about touching my godly skin I will remove your bones from your body one by one.”

The people around him just stopped. They stopped dancing. The must stopped playing. The people all stopped to look at Loki.

“I am a god and I will not be disrespected and touched by you distasteful rowdy animals.”

Thor just watched in disbelief as his dear brother screamed at a venue of people.

“ I did my best to enjoy this time for the sake of my brother but you farm animals sad are just not worthy of my company.” With that Loki felt arms reach around him and he was picked up. A very large human carried him outside the venue and threw him on to the ground.

“Do you know who I am?” Loki screamed at the man.

“No and I do not care. Move another inch and I’m calling the cops.”

Loki was absolutely appalled that he was thrown out. He was even more appalled that Thor did not quickly come out to him. Instead loki spent the next 2 hours on the ground outside of the venue. When Thor finally came out he was completely hammered. . He was smiling and laughing to himself

“Brother. You are such a pain. Kicked out of a concert. If only mother and father could see this. They would laugh so hard they wept.”

Needless to say that Loki never attended a concert after that.

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 59 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 59 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Chapter 22: The Search

Rage, grief and mortification warred in Captain Mord’s heart as he looked at the map-table where he had sent Kurin in such anger.  The worst was that, even if the Grandalor’s sailors were a boarding party, Kurin had been right.  

The law was as clear as his anger was deep.  While it was believed that the Grandalor’s sailors were castaways, the Longin had been required to pick them up, if only to hold them for trial.  At least some of them paid in blood for their treachery!  But they got what they came for.  We may never see her again…  The thought trailed off into unbearable pain.

Bron’s arm was trailing.  He had bruises, one on his back, between the shoulder blades and one on the inside of his elbow.  It was not serious but if his attacker had used a knife instead of that silly, weighted sack of fish-leather, he would have been dead.  

Other crewmen were beginning to tell their tales of the battle and they were slowly realizing the same things.  The assailants had been too few to have any hope of taking a ship like the Longin.  Also, none of their enemies had been armed with anything but a padded leather cosh. It was as if they were trying not to hurt anyone on the ship. Some fools were even trying to tie that Sea Hawk to the attack.  It was just lost in the fog.  

Then they began to hear, Kurin’s gone!  The bastards had kidnaped her! But that made no sense.  They could have simply killed her.  They had already tried to do it once.  It would have been far less risky.

Looking at the map-table clearly, Captain Mord saw what he has missed the first time.  There in the tallow, written in Kurin’s neat handwriting, was a note.

“Captain: The Grandalor’s crew needs justice.  Their rights under the second G. L. have been violated.  I have gone to help them.  Kurin”

First they tried to kill her, now this!  No matter what excuse, they have stolen her!  In anger, partly at himself and partly at Kurin for being so gullible, he wiped out the note before any other should notice it.  Details aren’t important!   Whatever ruse they used, they kidnapped Kurin!  The Grandalor is guilty!

Captain Mord returned forward, where one of the boarders lay propped against the foremast.  The man had been stabbed deeply but still lived. Feebly he extended a hand holding a folded tallow-slate, hinged shut to protect its message.

Weakly he said to the enraged Mord, “Captain, read this. It’s from my Captain.  We were to be your hostages for Kurin’s return…” He slumped lax, dead from his wounds, the tallow-slate falling from his fingers with a small clatter onto the Longin’s deck.

Captain Mord kicked the tallow-slate away unread.  “Toss this Grandalor trash over the side,” he ordered.

His crew looked at him aghast.  Nobody moved.  Mord became angrier and yelled, “Dump him!  That’s an order!”  At last, a few deck-hands took the man’s body and dragged him to the rail.  An Orca began to sing.  They dropped him in fear.  One noticed the tallow-slate and picked it up as he retreated.

Captain Mord realized that nobody would touch the body since the whale had begun to sing and heaved it over the side himself.  The whale’s song went on for another ten minutes.  

When it was done, Captain Mord ordered, “Swab up this blood and straighten up the area.”  His men did do that, though they had begun to whisper among themselves as they worked.

Kurin disentangled herself from the joyous hug that Tanlin was giving her and said, “I need to see your log first, then all of the sickbay documentation.  I want to see all of the Purser’s accounts and look over Master Selked’s shop.  After that, I am going to interview virtually everyone on board.”

Tanlin let her go, becoming brisk, now that there was a task at hand.  “Oi’m glad.  Wen do ye wont t’ begin?”

“If I can eat in here, I’ll begin now,” said Kurin.  “I need to start with the beginning of the indenture trade.  I have to know about that in detail if I am to save your ship from Scattering.”

Tanlin got up and went to the long shelf holding the Logs of the Grandalor. As she was going down the line, absently tapping the spines of the volumes with her left index finger, she said thoughtfully, “T’ere’s somet’in’ t’at ye’ll find wen ye get t’ t’e interviews. Oi didnae mention ‘t before because ‘t wa’nae important in t’e way t’at ye asked about.  ‘T does bear on ‘ow t’is ship wad respond t’ a penalty o’ Scatterin’.  

“Every person on t’is ship’s adopted.  All o’ t’em are now named Grandalor, m’sel’ included.  ‘T happened t’e morning after our flight began.  T’ey knew t’at t’e ship wa’ implicated in murder an’ chose t’is way o’ tellin’ Barad an’ m’sel’ t’at t’ey wad nae abandon us.  

“Oi joined t’em.”  She swallowed past a hard lump in her throat and a tear glistened in the corner of her eye.

“Princamorn wa’ but a name t’ m’ an’ t’e Grandalor’s home.  Oi dinnae wont t’ lose ‘t.”  

Intently, Kurin said, “I see.  That makes a difference — to me at least,” she looked sharply at Tanlin, “if it was a voluntary thing.”

Tanlin was already fishing the necessary volume of the log from its shelf and looked back over her shoulder.  “Twas.  T’ey’d planned t’ do ‘t publicly, in t’e main square o’ t’e Gat’ering, ‘ad reserved ‘t, in fact, wen we ‘ad t’ flee.  T’ey came t’ m’ first.  Twas a total an’ welcome surprise.  T’e only light in some very dark days.”  She found the place that she was looking for in the book and gave it to Kurin.

Kurin settled cross-legged on Tanlin’s bunk with the book in her lap and began turning pages one at a time, glancing at each page and moving on.  Tanlin watched as Kurin leafed through the volume of the log, almost twenty Gatherings old.

There was a scratching noise at the cabin’s window.  Tanlin smiled to herself as it swung inward and Skye’s head poked into the cabin. The Wide Wing looked alertly about and stepped into the room.  The bird turned about on the sill and used her beak to push the window closed and then hop-fluttered to the table in front of Tanlin, who chucked her under the beak and stroked her under a slightly raised wing.

Skye settled on the table and waited quietly.  Kurin looked up with a smile and said, “Who’s trained who, here?”

Tanlin replied lightly but sort of seriously, “T’ey made m’ part o’ t’eir rookery flock an’ welcomed m’ t’ t’eir nest.  Could Oi do less?”

Before there was any answer possible, Tahm returned with food, cups, utensils and trays.  He set out the table, working nonchalantly around the sitting bird.  Kurin put the log aside and came to the table.

“I take it that this happens a lot?” she said with a genuine smile.

It was Tahm who answered, “Every time that the Captain eats in. Sometimes it’s Skye, here.  Sometimes it’s Thunderhead.  I’m told that after the chicks are grown, it’ll be both of ‘em. Better behaved than many of the crew.”

The main course that he laid out was a Strong Skin roast.  The bird looked sideways at Tanlin, who nodded.  The bird promptly dove her beak into the edge of the roast and peeled off a strip.  She began to bite it into bits which she swallowed quickly.

Kurin watched in fascination.  “Better get yers w’ile ye still ‘ave a chance, Skye’s stoking up for ‘er chicks,” said Tanlin.  She reached out, speared the roast with a chopstick and cut off slices with the knife that Kurin remembered from their first meeting.  She piled the slices onto a tray along with a generous serving of red weed bread buns and seaweed salad.  She handed the tray to Kurin and poured water into a cup.

“Sweet, sour or bitter flavor in yer woter?”

“Plain, please.  Flavors for water?  I never heard of any such thing.”

“Tis a Grandalor specialty.  Barad told m’ t’at Kurti showed ‘t to ‘im shortly after she started t’ work as ‘is cabin-girl.”

“Now that puzzles me.  I know what you told me at the Gathering but why would a skilled diver and stores clerk like Kurti stoop to becoming a cabin-girl?” Kurin asked around a mouth full of salad.

Tanlin considered for a moment and fed Skye a few more bits of roast before answering.  “Oi wa’ still in m’ coma then.  According t’ both Barad an’ Doctor Corin, she knew t’at she might die from ‘er lung parasite infection.  Twas gettin’ worse in spite o’ t’e treatments.  Doctor Corin wa’ just about t’ put ‘er on t’e invalid list.  She wa’ in sickbay gettin’ a treatment wen she met Barad.  ‘E’d come by t’ sickbay t’ look in on m’.

“‘E offered ‘er t’e light work job t’at ‘ad just come open, due t’ Chena’s untimely deat’.  Kurti ‘ated bein’ useless.  She jumped at t’e chance t’ avoid t’e invalid list an’ stay useful.  T’ keep t’e seriousness o’ ‘er condition bein’ a matter o’ common gossip, Barad ordered ‘t kept secret.  Barad could be considerate sometimes, even t’en.”

“I think that I see.  The Barad that the fleet saw was something of a fiction?”

Tanlin leaned back nervously in her chair and gripped her right hand with her left.  “Oi truly wish t’at Oi could say t’at but Oi promised ye t’e trut’.  Tis a longish tale.  

“Barad wa’ always a somew’at calculatin’ man.  Once, long ago, Barad an’ Selked were married t’ twins from t’e Muline an’ by all accounts t’ey were ‘appy.  

“An epidemic o’ fire cough swept t’e ship.  Both Teralas, Selked’s wife, an’ Teralat, Barad’s wife, were among t’e nearly forty percent o’ t’e ship’s crew ‘oo died.  Barad almost went mad wit’ grief, an’ dealt wit’ ‘t by calculatin’ almost everything.  T’at’s ‘ow he became t’e Barad t’at you knew.

“Shortly after t’at, t’e Ca’tain died in ‘is sleep.  A Coriolis storm wa’ comin’ an’ t’e crew needed command.  T’ey took Barad’s orders an’ ‘e got t’e Grandalor t’rough safe, even t’ough t’e ship wa’ massively undermanned.

“‘E wa’ elected Ca’tain after t’e storm.  At t’e Gat’ering t’at followed, ‘is election wa’ challenged by yer Ca’tain Mord.  ‘E almost cost Barad both ‘is Ca’taincy an’ ‘is life.  In t’e end, t’e Council up’eld Barad by only two votes.  Even t’ose ‘oo voted in ‘is favor sponsored a resolution t’at t’ey did so only because t’e evidence against ‘im wa’ nae sufficient. T’at wa’ t’e origin o’ t’e grudge t’at ‘e ‘eld against Ca’tain Mord an’ t’e Naral fleet as a ‘ole.

“Barad rebuilt t’e crew by takin’ in t’e scupper sweepin’s o’ t’e fleet.  T’e ones t’at naebody else wanted.  T’e Grandalor became a refuge for t’ose wit’ nae ot’er place t’ go.  Barad took t’em on a case by case basis an’ let t’em swim t’ Iren, if ‘e believed t’at a last chance would nae ‘elp.

TO BE CONTINUED

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[mrsunderhill678]

Hehe, more writing

“Not all darkness equates to tragedy, just look at the night sky. Despite it's darkness, it's still beautiful, and isn't it the same with us?" - Romena Sunfritz

“That's all war is. A twisted blood sport for the powerful to watch, is that all we fucking are, huh? A God damn spectacle? There's thousands dead on either side, soil so stained with blood it ain't ever washing clean of that crimson, but you claim this is for a good cause? To hell with that, to hell with the country, to hell with you, and to hell with me. Damn, us, all.” - William Phoenix

“The world is quiet but even violence goes by softly spoken.” - William Phoenix 

“I was eluded by the dark, wrought with passion and addiction, I danced within the illusion of love, lost within a resplendent delusion. And oh, now, here I stand, my heart aggrandized by the dark, swindled into the illusion that this is my purpose, my destiny.” - Alden Delafontaine

“Am I sick, or am I twisted? For I am starting to believe there is no cure, and I am simply twisted in nature.” - Alden Delafontaine

“This world isn't fucking cold, dude, we're just turning our backs to the flame.” -- Rocky Bellot

“I used to say, I'd light a match, just to feel the fucking flame, that I was Pinocchio, rotting in the shop, but perhaps, now, I'm Jipedo, and I can breathe life into me, and fix this rotting boy of wood.” - Brad Collins

“I've tried so desperately to scrub myself clean, I've spent hours at the stream, rubbing at my hands yet still they remain stained. With tragedy, with pain.... With me. Perhaps I am the stain.” - Turner Kordell

“The scariest thing of all isn't being scared of other people, it's being so terribly frightened by yourself that even if the mirror isn't broken, you are.” - Turner Kordell

“If my past were tangible, it would bleed me dry the moment I ran my hand across it, so wickedly sharp that I never stood a chance, really. I can forgive myself all I like, but at the end of the day, it isn't about me, it never was.” - Turner Kordell

“I have been destroyed down to my very atoms, nothing but the molecular level of what I once was, but here I am, still standing, cause I ain't in this life to back down, I'm here to rise up, and stay strong in the face of my damn fear.” - Kirby Bellot

“When I'm done, I can look the devil in her pretty blue eyes and say, I did good nuff, and she'll embrace me with open arms, cause these days, the devil leans back, admires my work, and bites her damn lip, cause I've sinned so deeply ain't even the most forgiving of beings can forgive me. I am a testament to the fact that even good men, can go rotten, just ask the devil, cause all she ever did, was tell the truth. And I'm proof of that.” - Zafavri Holts 

“We're all playin' a game 'a chess with our demons, mate, we're all in a back and forth battle against our darker fuckin' side, difference between me, and the average man, is my demons said checkmate the day I was bloody born.” - Alfonso O’Sullivan

“I am beauty in the ugliest of ways.” - Micah Romiro

“They say killing a man fundamentally changes a man, and that's true so long as it's yourself you're killing.” - Micah Romiro

“It's me who made this mess, the genocide of my own self, the slaughter of my own sense of being.” - Max Shaya

“I often wonder if God keeps me alive only because she fears what I would do to her.” - Howl Matthews 

“I have danced with such sin that I am the crawling of God's skin.” - Howl Matthews

“I do not fear death, I do not fear life, or the punishment I shall receive for mine.” - Howl Matthews

 “My whole damn life around me burned and now I can just hear the fucking silence of my regret.” - Milos Fellwitz

“I have found peace in who I am, I am prepared to burn for what I've done, for everything I love already fucking did.” - Milos Fellwitz 

“So come on world, come at me, I'll break you down to my level, cause you already broke me.” - Milos Fellwitz

“Stand up to me, we'll see where it gets ya, cause buddy, you can start this fight, but you sure as FUCK, ain't gonna be the one to God damn finish it. You want a grave? Good. Stand up to me and I'll grant your wish.” - Milos Fellwitz

“I am no longer tethered to me, I am nothing more than a conscience in another body, a reflection of someone else. In these many lives I've lived I've forgotten who I was, Preston Wilkins, the walking grave.” - Preston Wilkins

“I have made grand discoveries in this life, beasts do indeed roam this world, and you'll be surprised to learn we aren't the worst of them. There are things darker than the shadows in this world. Things more tenebrous than the pitch black of the nebula.” - Preston Wilkins

“I am dead to me, a grave now to even myself.” - Mikaelson Graves

“The only time I feel truly alive is when I can dance under the torchlight... The flame flickering on my skin, the moonlight dancing on me, it's as if Heilgravold is spinning only for me on those nights... The stars shine, the moon gleams, the world spins, I can't just stand still.” - Jemalina Night

“I have lived a life I fear will end in damnation, but I cannot truthfully look God in the eye and say I had no justification for what I've done.” - Adam Borwick

“We are inclined to believe that everything beautiful is good, but even the damned can look of salvation. The scariest thing about a liar, is they're often indistinguishable from the truth tellers, and often I've found they pretend to be prophets. They speak lies as others breathe, lies fall off their tongue like truth, and just like that, a thousand fools are lured into lies. Great minds think alike, my friend, but fools' minds rarely differ.” - Adam Borwick

“My hands are a fretwork of white laced scars, healed remnants of the pain I've felt, reminders that I've survived, that I'm alive.” - Juliet Borwick

“My brother often thinks himself a hopeless case, afraid of the blood he's spilled... But despite everything he's done, he's still my hero, and I know that if the wolves surrounded me, with their gnashing teeth and claws, he'd come to my rescue, frightening the beasts with poetry singing of clashing steel and red.” - Juliet Borwick

“The sun ain't gon' rise... At least, heh, not for you.” - Defforest Van Patten

“I have watched bullets soar through the air, droppin' soldiers and bloomin' flowers 'a red misery.” - Defforest Van Patten

“I will face this Goliath in my future as if I was David, slinging the fucking stone.” - Lockman Pierce

“ I will drag this dark into the dawn and make it Icarus, only difference is, it burns for a cause more grand than itself.” - Percy Pierce

“I'd rather go up in flames then down the wrong side of history.” - Percy Pierce

 “My hands are stained with blood, and truthfully, I don't know if it's my own or my conscience's... In this dark place my mind rattles, constantly ricocheting between myself and another... My mind speaks from the tongue of my abuser.” - Dylan Robertson

 “I'm just another man riddled with bullets, watching as all the King's horses and all the King's men simply step over me. This was war, but it became tragedy, as all wars do. Bullets flew, prophets spoke, but the blood was never prose, just red.” - Dylan Robertson

“All it takes to be a good man is to love and be loved, to give what you can and help those less fortunate than you. Even a smile can save a life. I reckon our hearts are suns waitin' to rise, and all it takes is a spark, really. Of love, of joy, even of curiosity. I've found when times are hard, ya don't got to look forward to what life may bring, just curious enough to explore the path God has given you.” - Thornton May

 “I am silk, woven from the finest of horrors.” - Dr. Tobias Emory

“I have watched humanity build themselves a grave over these many years, from the days of the lawless West to the stabbing of Julius Caesar, funny, how knives find backs and ours found the world's.” - Dr. Tobias Emory

“I am poetry, a dark entity captured in the paintings of Van Gogh and the prose of Allen Poe.” - Dr. Tobias Emory

 “You hold a secret for long enough, you become one.” - Changreta Alderbright

“My regret is so softly whispered that I imagine I am simply the who shouting only for Horton to hear.” - Changreta Alderbright

“I am lost, my eyelids heavy and bloodshot, projecting the horrors I can't scratch out, and despite how much I've torn, there's no key behind those fuckers.” - Arnaldus Alswith

“In a kingdom where the gifts the gods bestowed upon us is outlawed, punishable by death, what else are we supposed to do but rebel?” - Faylen Osophine

“I'm a shadow, wearing a crown as if it would save me, but instead I am crushed under it's weight, a stain on my engraved tile floor.” - Jalandar Osophine

 “This battle, this revolution of me, was never meant to be easy, I've fought against myself for decades, and I'm proud to say, not a single corpse of me fell, and flowers bloomed from the bullets fired.” - Georgia Graves

“I am a heartless beast washed in the blood of the lamb by force. God spares me, because I've pulled the wool over his eyes. I am Jacob, pulling a coat over my barren arms and telling Issac I am Easu if only to receive a blessing a doth not fucking deserve.” - Abdalla Calico

“This war against myself is too much to bear, how did I manage to become the hunter, the deer, and the bullet piercing my own damn skull?” - Abdalla Calico

“So oh lord, I am washed in the blood of the lamb, but be weary, for that's only because I slit it's throat.” - Abdalla Calico

“I say, it's time the outcasts wrote the fucking history books. The victors write their own version of history, so I say it's time someone told the damn truth.” - Sluzmink Jones

“I ain't askin' to be forgiven, just spared.” - Regan Locke

“On the inside, I am dyin', bullet holes and old wounds etched on the inside, and yet, on the outside, I ain't even bleedin. It's funny how that works, huh? We all die before we ever reach the damn casket, all it takes is a single bad day, so imagine a life of em.” - Regan Locke

“Bleeding from one's soul is the truest form of self.” - Azophine Bane

“My heart sings a battered melody, but even a lute of few strings can play a chord.” - Brilista Shante

 “I often damn myself for others have damned me.” - Brilista Shante

“I fear I am the judgment of others, I fear I am every person I've ever met and every crime I've ever committed. But maybe, that's because in a world that hates you for your birth, I'm scared to exist, when my existence is damned.” - Brilista Shante

“Who said gluttony came in the form of food? We can wolf down sins just as we would a meal on a silver platter, and I'm just as greedy as the rest of ya if not more.” - Harold Stout

“I have fed myself so full that I can hardly walk without the crushin' weight 'a my sacrilege buryin' me six foot undah.” - Harold Stout

“I am starved yet gorged with sin.” - Harold Stout

 “Am I really to stumble through the dark, finding cliff-sides rather than solid ground?” - Gothel Hendricks

 “My tongue is scarred and bleeding from the lies of affection, my lips are burned with the taste of abusive love.” - Gothel Hendricks

“Life can be tough as all hell, it can shove us in the dirt and then some, but all you gotta do to survive, is get back up. The worst thing a man can do, is stay down.” - Salary Holmes

“Mercy, my dearest of friends, is torture after you are broken, so I wouldn't go praising a man for sparing you. He's spared you of death, not the pain he wishes to cause you.” - Cyrus Hollow

[marinaaniseed]

Here comes the rumour mill

Song: Here comes the rumour mill from the album Voices of animals and men by The Young Knives.

Summary: After tormenting you for ages, Loki’s finally forced to admit how he really feels about you.

Pairing: Loki x Neutral reader

Length: 857 words

A/N: Bonus story because I skipped a couple of days. See here for what this is all about.

***

It’s a game of cat and mouse between you and Loki. He wants you, but he doesn’t want to admit it, so he makes life harder for you instead.

He’s spreading rumours. That Steve’s in love with you, that you’re in love with Pepper, that the Valkyrie found you in bed with Thor. Tall tales, cliques and whispers tell of secret kisses.

Anything to distract from the truth, that he’s half in love with a mortal.

“What have I done to spite him?” you ask Thor one afternoon, when it all gets too much. “I know he is a God of Lies, but why must all his lies involve me?”

“Do you really not see?” Thor replies. “It is because he is in love with you.”

“He’s got a funny way of showing it,” you snort derisively.

“Loki believes he is above showing love, that it is a weakness to love. He’s scared to do it, because he fears being rejected, because he knows that the time he will have with you is fleeting in comparison to the long life he will have to live without you. Our lives are much longer than yours, as you know,” Thor tells you.

“It’s like being back at school, this is absurd. Have you seen how he jokes and he smiles? Yet he sleeps like a child. How can he not see that he’s hurting me? If he loves me, like you say, he wouldn’t do this,” you argue back.

“Loki has always had an unusual way of showing that he cares. When we were young, he would transform into my favourite animal, a snake, wait for me to pet him, then transform back and stab me,” Thor says with a shrug. “It was his way of saying he wanted to spend time with me.”

“If he wants to spend time with me, he should do it. He keeps mocking me, I can't tell if he's serious anymore about anything he says,” you explain.

“He’s serious.”

“Then tell him he’s too late. I have a Tinder date this evening,” you say. “Please excuse me, I should go get ready for it.”

In truth, you had no such thing planned, but you were determined to end Loki’s nonsense once and for all. If he actually cared about you, he could stop being an arsehole about it and let you know. And if he didn’t, then you would enjoy your evening out with your best friend anyway.

Nicky arrived as you were running a comb through your hair, spinning around in your chair while they waited for you.

Someone knocked hard on your door, and you had your suspicions as to who it would be. Nicky already knew about your Loki problem, so you made sure they were able to be seen before you opened the door.

“What do you want?” you ask, looking at Loki as he ran a hand through his hair.

“I wanted to apologise for my behaviour, but it would seem I’m already too late,” he says, looking past you to where Nicky was still spinning on your chair.

“It’s never too late to apologise,” you tell Loki.

“I heard you spoke to my brother today… that is to say that he told me what you said to him. I’m sorry for being unkind towards you. It’s no excuse, but I am not as free with my emotions as my brother. When I feel something, I try to discard it, to distract others from seeing it. That was… is wrong of me. I should have been honest with you, with myself, about the feelings and affection I hold for you. This was a stupid game, I have hurt you, and I am too late, for which I only have myself to blame,” Loki mumbles. “I shall leave you to enjoy your evening in peace, and I shall bother you no more.”

He turns to leave but you grab his hand, stilling him.

“This is not a date,” you tell him, gesturing behind you. “I lied to Thor to see if you’d react. He told me you were in love with me, I wanted to test that statement.”

“You countered my lies with one of your own,” he observed. “Well played.”

“I shouldn’t have had to resort to that. I knew you'll be sorry when you came to your senses. But you need to right the wrongs that you’ve caused, apologise to the others and set straight the lies that you’ve spread,” you insist. “I’m not going to entertain the idea of dating you until you learn from this and start behaving better.”

“You tell him, Y/N,” Nicky yells in encouragement. “Now come on, I’m hungry.”

You shrug at Loki, waiting for Nicky to exit your room, before locking it behind you, leaving Loki standing there alone.

You were right, of course. He would have to atone for what he’d done before he stood any chance at courting you. He was a fool, and you deserved better, but he was determined to endeavour to prove himself worthy of your affections, even if it meant trying to wield Mjӧlnir.

[paradise-of-guilty-pleasures]

Shattered Reflections {11}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 10.Tender Touch

A/N: 

Sorry for the late update, life got in the way, I've been busy doing other things, but a bit depressed because of the passing of my friend Rhanda over on the Helsa discord server I can't believe it's been a month already, but I do hope to be posting more often again.

11. Spilling the Tea

It had been almost a fortnight since the attack on Arendelle. There were still a lot of tasks to be done, but things had calmed down significantly. Her injured guard staff was recovering well and recruitment for new soldiers had already begun. Elsa had listened to Hans' sound advice and done as he instructed taking the next step regarding the Duke's treasonous attack. She'd sent the envoy with the letter to the Southern Isles, but had yet to receive word back.

With things being more tranquil around Arendelle, she could take more breaks without feeling guilty and stressing herself out about falling behind on her never-ending workload.

Currently, she was taking her customary tea break in the library, which she hadn't been able to enjoy for quite a while. She was doing some light research as she calmly sipped her tea. She sat near the window overlooking the fjord.

She'd been lost in her reading, when she heard a light knock at the door, which surprised her a bit.

"Come in," Elsa invited.

The door opened and the freckled Princess entered the room, she had not been expecting her.

"Oh, Anna, Come to join me?" Elsa asked, as she beckoned her to join her by the window.

Elsa was surprised to see her sister, because she didn't normally join her for tea. Anna much rather have a picnic outside than be cooped up inside for tea like Elsa. As children Anna had enjoyed having pretend tea parties with her, but Anna had not grown to be a real tea lover like Elsa. Anna had a sweet tooth and would much rather have a cup of cocoa to one of tea. So it was not common for the two sisters to share a cup of tea. Though sometimes they'd share a chat instead.

"Uh, sorta." Anna sighed a bit. These things were always difficult, but she'd been increasingly bothered by all this. Not just with the fact that Hans was in their home, but also because he had now been there after the battle for two weeks and Elsa kept visiting him. She made sure she actually knew where he was, but she didn't want to see him. She was concerned she might get violent, even though she knew he was already injured. Still, she let Olaf tell her about 'Hans the Fool' to see if she could gather anything. A few stories, it seemed, but they tended to get jumbled up when Olaf told them.

"I need to talk to you about Hans. Like, especially, why is he in our home? I mean yeah I get it, he needs medical treatment, but he was in our castle before he got stabbed, and I'm super uncomfortable with my ex-fiancee and your attacker living in our home and also apparently having access to swords. It would have been a nice thing to know sooner, and I'm getting really concerned about how much else I might not know with him walking around? The last time before the battle that I saw him with a sword, it was the last thing I saw."

That came out more frustrated and unrestrained than she planned, like everything she tried to address tactfully. Still, she wasn't wrong. These things had been bothering her for weeks now, and she needed to address it. She wished they could have addressed it sooner, but the castle was kind of in a tizzy with the guards and the cleanup and all that. Anna almost wanted to lock her door at night out of fear, but she hated locked doors more than men with swords.

Elsa's face grimaced as she realized the moment she'd been dreading had finally arrived, it was time to talk about Hans with Anna, and as she'd imagined she was a bit upset about the whole ordeal.

Elsa put down her tea cup and closed the book she'd been reading. She stood up and moved over to the sofa, patting the seat for Anna to join her.

"Let's talk," Elsa agreed.

Anna had remained by the door, but took the seat Elsa offered next to her on the sofa. The Princess plopped down beside both sat slightly turned facing each other, with a cushion in between them.

Elsa let out a heavy sigh.

"Well..." Elsa began. "Hans was sort of already injured when he arrived to Arendelle... and I allowed him to heal within the castle walls, instead of the dungeon," she winced. "He was guarded, of course," she added. "He only picked up a sword to defend Arendelle," she reasoned. "He'd surrendered his sword to me when he arrived," Elsa explained.

She understood why Anna would be wary of Hans wielding a sword once again.

"Yeah, 'guarded'." Anna used air quotes. "Usually when prisoners are in a room, they don't just get out. Wait, how was he injured before he got here? And- wait, you told me he was in the dungeon first so, was he healing in the castle this whole time or not?" There were a lot of questions.

Finally she waved her hands a bit. "Maybe, we should start this from the beginning? Go back, explain it all to me again why he's here and what he's here for and what this whole situation is- and maybe also why you keep visiting him and Olaf thinks he's a 'Fool' like we're medieval? Olaf is really bad at keeping secrets." Plus, since the attack Olaf had a lot more time to socialize with Hans, which... Anna was actually kind of okay with that. Olaf couldn't exactly get hurt and it sounded like they were at least getting along well. Just because she didn't like Hans didn't mean she wanted him to die of boredom, so hey, whatever kept him busy and out of their hair.

Starting from the beginning, that was a long story. Elsa took a deep breath in preparation.

"Okay, so, from the beginning. Well, he came to surrender himself, 'To provide if asked' and tell the truth. He just wanted a chance to atone. And, yes, I did originally send him to the dungeon, but things went awry, and I discovered that hiding the fact that he was...on the verge of death. That's when he started staying in the castle to heal. I was worried about him after seeing... how hurt he was, so I decided to visit him." Elsa involuntarily gulped. "And well...I started talking to him and asking questions. And I started to see that there was more to him than the monster I originally thought." She explained. "Olaf found the room, but I didn't want Olaf to tell you, so that's how Hans ended up becoming the fool. So yeah, the door might have been unlocked, but the guards were stationed outside. He could have gotten out anytime, if he really wanted, but he never tried it, he only left the room to help when we were under attack. He..he really isn't a bad guy. He did come to our aid after all. The only reason I didn't want to tell you all this is because I thought you'd be upset, and I didn't want you two hurting each other if you saw one another again." Elsa rambled non-stop, trying to explain everything and answer all her sister's questions.

Anna, to her credit, listened for once. She wasn't well-known to be a listener, but thankfully Elsa was talking fast and didn't leave room for a word in edgewise until she was done.

"Okay, there's a lot there," She paused to try and organize her thoughts.

"People don't just hide being 'on the verge of death', right? How did you not notice when he first arrived?" she, of course, didn't know that even Hans didn't know about the infection brewing beneath his skin. Likely it had only truly gotten established because he didn't have the wounds re-bandaged after arriving.

"I have a really hard time swallowing the idea that he's 'not a bad guy' after he tried to kill us both. But I think the most upsetting part here is, you're hiding things from me again to 'protect me', but every time you do that I feel like I'm not being trusted with anything. At least when Kristoff protects me from stuff he tells me what he thinks is going to hurt me and how to avoid it, with you it's always something or someone shoved behind a door like I'll forget about it. I can't just forget about these things, I need to know, 'Else. Tell me things so I can know what I'm walking into and not be blindsided when the guy who tried to kill me -my ex fiance- has one of the swords from the trophy room and is way too close to me for me to be happy. I'm still trying to scrub my near-dying out of my memory and to stop feeling like an idiot for trusting him the first time, don't make my mistake." Nope, she was nowhere near trusting Hans. She couldn't. At every turn her memory reminded her about her foolish heart and the way she had trusted him so easily. The warmth of his arms contrasted to the chill in his heart, and she would never be allowed to forget being locked in a room to die cold and alone.

Forgiveness would not come easy when she still remembered moving in front of her sister to stop a sword with her hand, knowing she would die from it. Feeling her heart cool until it stopped and the vibration of a sword against her hand that rattled her even as she lost her sight and feeling everywhere else.

She realized she had wrapped her arms over her chest and shivered without thinking about it. How long had she been out of it? Just a moment, but it felt like she had been thinking for a lot longer, losing herself to that train of thought. Occasionally, she still had nightmares about it. Sometimes she turned to Elsa about them. More often these days, she turned to Kristoff. She didn't tell them all the details, some things were still too hard to talk about. Some things about those dreams, she still didn't understand.

"... He's good at masking his pain."

"Anna... I'm not denying all the bad things he's done in the past, but things aren't as straightforward as they seem. I know how much he hurt you and I haven't forgiven him for that, I could never."

Elsa couldn't forgive him, because he'd deeply hurt her sister by breaking her heart and locked her in a room to die. Elsa thought she understood how much Hans had hurt her Anna, but in reality she didn't not. It did deeply pain her that her young sister got hurt, but she didn't fully understand the implications. Elsa had known heartbreak herself when she thought she lost Anna to a frozen heart, yet that heartbreak was not the same as the one caused by Hans' betrayal. Anna's heart was broken because someone she loved and thought she could trust ended up hurting them instead. In that regard, Anna's heart had been broken twice that day, once by her own sister that had accidentally struck her, and secondly by Hans reflecting that heartbreak onto himself instead. Elsa had never had her heart broken like that so she didn't understand all the hidden damage it had done. Anna could not easily disregard what Hans had done for he had: broken her heart, left her to die and also tried to kill her sister as well (which Elsa herself didn't seem to really hold against him).

It stung Elsa realizing that she might have actually hurt Anna more trying to 'protect her', than if she'd just talked it over. Anna was right. It was inconsiderate to continue concealing stuff behind closed doors, when she promised she'd stop keeping Anna out.

"It wasn't fair for you to find out the way you did, I can only imagine how it felt to see Hans again, wielding a sword, without any warning, when it wa-...A part of me wanted to tell you sooner, but I was just afraid to and really didn't know how. I really should have had more faith in you. I'm a horrible big sister, I keep pushing you out trying to protect you, but only end up hurting you instead. I guess I still haven't learned how to stop falling back on my bad old habits."

Elsa noticed how Anna shivered as she held herself, and felt guilty again for inflicting her with a frozen heart and the great pain it caused on her.

"... I'm sorry, Anna." Elsa softly said as she tried reaching her hand to Anna's shoulder.

Anna leaned into Elsa's touch and moved to curl up next to her. She was still annoyed, but she wanted to be held more than she wanted to be angry.

"I don't know how to explain to you how bad he is, and how awful that event was for me. I know I shouldn't be mad, because he risked his life to save us during the attack, but I can't not be upset. Not while I'm still having nightmares about what he did. They're worse than what really happened, but sometimes I wonder if I'm just remembering it wrong. Maybe I should go visit the trolls, they should know what to do about nightmares, right?" She didn't explain what made them so upsetting, but did she really need to?

"Just don't let him hurt you, too." Maybe she should have been more upset at Elsa for freezing her, but it wasn't the Frozen Heart that upset her. If anything, perhaps it had saved her from him.

Elsa felt slight relief with Anna accepting her touch and curling up closer.

"I know. Anna, you have every right to be upset. Maybe or maybe not, I know my mind paired with fear tends to exaggerate my own nightmares. ...I'd just be careful... if you go use troll magic on yourself, I wouldn't want you to lose your memories...again," Elsa worried. It's not that she didn't trust the trolls, per se, they were Kristoff's family after all, and she loved and trusted Kristoff, but it's just that they had played such a pivotal part in separating her from her sister.

" I promise I won't," she reassured. Elsa trusted Hans' loyalty and unlike Anna, Elsa hadn't granted him control of her heart...or at least that's what she thought.

"No, I don't want to remove anything. Just... talk. I just want to talk with them about it, some more distance, you know?" She shrugged, but didn't explain much about what she meant.

Anna curled up with Elsa, uncertain and uncomfortable with Hans being in the castle, still.

"I kind of want to keep guards close. Or at least to keep Kristoff nearby, but obviously I can't have him nearby when I'm sleeping." They weren't married, after all.

"Okay," Elsa nodded with a sigh of relief.

She didn't see any need for guards anymore, they had only been set up as deterrents, but Hans never tried anything anyway. But if Anna felt unsafe in her own home, she'd gladly grant her some comfort.

" You're welcome to have guards or Kristoff if you wish. Kristoff is always welcome to stay in the castle, if he likes, he's family after all. Of course, he won't be able to stay in your room, but nearby is perfectly acceptable."

Anna nodded. "One or two night shift guards to watch over me when Kristoff has to leave. How long, exactly, were you planning to have Hans live in the castle? I know we can't spare a lot of guards right now since the attack." She really wanted to know when she could stop being paranoid. A shame that the idea of his leaving hadn't really been explored, at least not yet.

Elsa nervously bit her lower lip as she was silence, an agonizingly long moment of silence, before Elsa opened her mouth to speak.

"Um.. indefinitely, at least until he fully heals, that is, and then...and then," Elsa voiced. And then what, exactly? She hadn't planned that far ahead. Hans would not be an invalid forever and where was supposed to have him stay after he healed? The dungeon? Obviously not, that would be unfair, Hans was no longer a prisoner to her. Yet, if Anna didn't feel comfortable in her own home, it wasn't right to hurt her anymore, by keeping him there either. Elsa was truly in a predicament, even if she would like to keep Hans nearby she didn't want her sister to suffer. She needed to think of a place to transfer him to that was the perfect compromise. Perhaps he could stay at the barracks, if he was to help train the guards. "...We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Anna looked up at Elsa with a look of doubt and concern. Not about her, but for her.

"If you say so." She seemed, perhaps, disappointed. Not angry, but disappointed. She knew there was more to this than Elsa wanted to say, but she wasn't sure she understood her own feelings on the subject, let alone how to express them.

"But if you're gonna have him in the Castle this long against my better judgement, you better be nice to Kristoff when he finally gets around to proposing." That was a joke, of course. It was more about how Elsa had explosively reacted the last time a guy asked to marry her.

Elsa looked down at Anna, and saw her disappointment, she wished she wasn't so conflicted.

"Hm?" She said at her joking remark, as she realized Anna was trying to lighten the mood.

"Of course," Elsa answered with a soft chuckle.

"I don't want to end up running into Hans by coincidence again. I don't like him having free roam, so I hope this time the guards keep him in." She had her doubts, now that she had seen how well they had done the first time.

Elsa gave a deep sigh, but nodded.

[arigatouiris]

revenge is a fool’s game // arthur morgan — [08]

pairing: arthur morgan x female!reader

word count: 2195

warnings: strong violence, emotional distress, mentions of gore, torture, rape and sexual abuse, explicit sexual references, a whole lotta angst, cowboy stuff;

notes: i always end up taking too much time updating this, and i am so so sorry. hope ya’ll like this chapter. as for the homophobic bit in the end, i’ve written according to mindsets back in the 1800s. i suppose that’s how people would have thought. i apologize in advance if this hurts you guys.

not following a taglist for this, i can’t seem to keep track of people who ask so just check on my masterlist~

masterlist in bio~

Chapter Eight: I’ll Tell You When You Tell Me

○

She didn’t utter a word. Arthur kept looking at her, but there was nothing. He knew she was pretending to be mute, and maybe because Strauss was with them at that time, Riley was acting like a mute boy again. Arthur kept glancing at her, wanting to let her know he was curious about what had happened, but he got nothing.

“Is something the matter?” A German accent surprised Arthur out of nowhere.

“Nah, just…” He blinked a couple of times at Riley before scoffing and turning away. “Nothing.”

There was nothing Riley could say. She knew she had promised Arthur she would let him know things eventually, but eventually hadn’t come yet and there was still some more time to go. Her heart was begging to release the tears she was holding in, and each time she thought of Dalton’s face, her mind was tempting to shut down. She was glad that the German man hadn’t seen anything, and that it was just Arthur who had witnessed it—but, with him knowing meant more revelations, and that was the bane in her plan.

On finding Strauss, she had noticed a horse that looked way too familiar. She remembered the horse because she had fed him a long time ago, a time when the real Riley was alive. Her eyes widened and saw where it was tethered to, right in front of the saloon. Taking out her notepad, she scribbled on it—Wait near the general store, my companion Arthur Morgan will fetch you—and she rushed to the saloon. Strauss sighed before walking away from the saloon, far enough so that he doesn’t hear anything.

And it was inside, she saw him. Dalton in all his miserable, outlaw glory, sitting in a crowd of eight or nine. Dalton was Horace’s younger brother. The two brothers who had kidnapped her, and her brother, killed her parents, pillaged her small town. Horace and Dalton were the reason Colm found her, Horace and Dalton were the reason she was forced to dress up in a manner she hated, Horace and Dalton had destroyed her life.

And yet, here he was—laughing and smiling with his friends, as if no crime from the past even mattered.

She goes over to the group and sits with them, surprising them with her sudden appearance. Dalton blinks before scoffing, his companions began to laugh at her sudden confidence. To the naked eye, she was just a scrawny looking boy with no muscle.

“What’chu doin’, boy? You lost?” One of Dalton’s mates asked, laughing out loud.

She looked up at Dalton with a cold expression, wondering if he was going to recognize her. No flash of recognition hit his eyes as she continued to give him a cold look.

“Don’t like the way he’s lookin’ at me, boys.” Dalton grumbled before finishing his rum in one sip.

“Cat got yer tongue?” Another companion asked, and she merely glanced at him before looking at Dalton again.

She remembered a cold episode in her mind—something Dalton was responsible for. He was bored one night, when his brother Horace had gone off to find some whore to fuck around with. What left Dalton to entertain himself was her brother and herself. With a face like hers, [Name] was lucky she wasn’t raped as a child, but her brother was the more entertaining one. Dalton’s game was brutal—he forced Riley to spread his fingers out on the table, and handed him a sharp knife.

“Let’s play a game, son.” He said, grinning.

[Name] couldn’t watch, but she was forced to. She knew what was going to happen, she wanted it to stop, she wanted it to be her instead, not her younger brother. Riley looked scared, he had tears leaking out from the side of his eyes, and he was forcefully made to spread his fingers out on the table in front of him.

“Stab the knife in between the gaps,” Dalton said, “If you don’t, I’ll kill your sister.”

Riley’s eyes widened and he started to do what he was asked to, but when he was doing it slowly, so as to not hurt himself by accident, Dalton’s henchman tightened his hold on [Name]. She let out a muffled scream, which caused Dalton to laugh out loud. Riley sped up the process and in the third try, he cut his own finger. The second a scream exited her throat, Dalton slapped her across her face, sending her to the ground.

“A real man don’t scream in the face of danger,” He had said, before kicking [Name] bloody.

Removing two of her guns from her holster, [Name] performed the action in the quickest way possible. She took down eight of these drunk men in a matter of five seconds—and the last one left was Dalton himself. Dalton’s eyes were wide, his lips were quivering, and he broke into a sweat. He was about to scream to the bartender, but a knife pierced itself in the center of his hand, and a gun was placed right at his neck, preventing any sound from coming out of his mouth.

“A real man don’t scream in the face of danger. Remember that, Dalton Newcomb?” [Name] whispered into his ear, causing his eyes to widen a bit.

He recalled the face of a girl, but he had no idea who he was looking at at the moment.

“What do ya want? I-Is it money?”

She sits in front of him and says, “Where’s your brother?”

Dalton’s eyes widened, “M-My brother and I don’t see eye ta eye. We had a feud, ya see… He… He was—”

“I don’t care what happened with ya’ll. Where is he?” [Name]’s voice was cold.

“Boy, I don’t even know who ya are! I gotta know—”

Her eyes widened, “You don’t remember?”

There was no flash of recognition that hit his features. There was nothing that let her know he remembered her or her brother.

“Riley [Surname]. [Name] [Surname]. Houston. Four years ago. You—”

“I remember, I—I remember, you… you were that soldier’s boy, right?”

There was no use. Her resolve was wavering in front of her eyes, no matter what she did, there was no way Dalton would remember who she was. And if Dalton himself didn’t remember, there was no way his brother would remember. She would never know.

Letting a breath out, she pointed the gun to his forehead and said, “Consider this mercy for all the lives you’ve taken.”

And with one shot, she shut her eyes and waited. A moment later, Arthur found her. It wasn’t as if she wanted to keep these things a secret. She wasn’t sure if Arthur would understand, she wasn’t sure if he even had anyone to avenge or had anyone in the past whose lives were stolen. She was scared that he would judge her and maybe after hearing her story, he’d consider it not worthy enough to keep a secret any longer. Killing Dalton gave her nothing but a hole in her heart and her memory—and she felt pain each time she thought of her brother.

When they reached the camp, Dutch was incredibly happy to see them safe. Strauss went over to Dutch to talk about business but it was Arthur who rushed over to Riley as if something was wrong. Pulling her aside, he stared into her eyes and waited.

“Somethin’s happened. Should we tell Dutch? Is it—”

“It’s nothin’ for you to worry yerself about, Mr. Morgan. Don’t sweat it.”

Arthur raged, “Don’t sweat it? A whole group lay dead in that saloon, Riley! Whaddaya mean ‘don’t sweat it’?”

She pulled herself away from his grasp before walking to her tent. She nodded once at Mrs. Grimshaw before heading inside.

“Poor thing must be exhausted. Let ‘im rest.”

Arthur was exasperated. She was making him keep this a secret, she was making him keep a great many things secret and if there was one thing Arthur wasn’t too good at, it was keeping secrets.

○

A day later, Dutch approaches both Riley and Arthur as they were feeding their horses.

“Was there a crossfire that you witnessed when ya’ll were in Peach farms?”

Arthur felt a chill run down his spine. He turned to Riley before noticing how calm she looked despite being caught red-handed.

“Um… Dutch, I—”

She began to scribble and Dutch waited. There were gunshots from the saloon. Arthur and I just made a run for it. We didn’t want to be around there. Draws too much attention.

Dutch laughed heartily before patting Riley on the back.

“Atta boy, Riley! Good thing we ain’t the ones that caused it. The man who was killed was a friend o’ Colm’s. Was thinkin’ you mighta had somethin’ to do with it.” Dutch joked.

Riley smiled before shaking her head. Dutch turned to Arthur before grimacing.

“Why’d you look so shocked, Arthur? What’s the matter with you?”

Arthur sighed. “I ran into Eliza. She’s got a boy. It’s mine.”

He knew he had to say something to let Dutch know his mind was occupied. Dutch’s eyes widened before he had anything to say.

“What… What do ya mean?”

“It’s a lot to process. I’m givin’ it time. I’ll go visit her sometime. Wanna know more ‘bout my boy. Don’t wanna leave them on their own.”

Dutch nodded before turning to Riley’s shocked expression. Whistling, he left them to their own devices. Riley turned to Arthur before grabbing his arm, Arthur pulled his arm away.

“I’ll tell you when yer ready ta talk.” Arthur snapped before walking away from her.

A little while after lunch, Riley headed over to the stream at the back of the camp. She sat there, thinking of her brother, thinking of her mother, thinking of what she had done to Dalton and how bloody her hands had now become. She was following down a path she knew had no going back, and even though she knew revenge was not the best course of action for someone like her, she couldn’t back away. At the distance, she saw John, fishing by himself.

She thought of how if her brother was alive, he’d be as old as John was. John was currently around 14-years of age, with her being just 19. She walked over to the boy who was failing miserably in trying to catch some fish.

“Don’t need yer help.” John snapped even before she offered any help, and she smiled a tad bit.

“Wasn’t offering you none.”

John scoffed before gasping and stepping away, his eyes wide at her sudden reply.

“I knew it… I knew it! Yer a woman—”

“Har, har, you can make out the difference ‘tween a man and a woman. What’chu gon’ do, John? Tell the camp?”

“You bet yer ass I’m gonna… Wait, why’re you telling me? Don’t you care no more?”

[Name] looked at him and ruffled his hair, surprisingly, he didn’t push her away. Just knowing that she was a woman sort of eased his heart, there was no need to fight anymore.

“Is there a reason to why ya became this… why yer actin’ like a boy?”

“Of course there is. There’s always a reason, John.”

John was quiet. He watched her sit down on the ground, by the riverside. He followed her movements and sat beside her, his fishing rod still dipped in the water. He turned to look if a fish had grappled onto the bait, but no luck.

“I had a brother,” John was alerted by the sound of her voice. It was so soft, he understood now why she pretended to be mute. One word from her and anyone would know she was a woman. “He’d be as old as you right now.”

Her voice broke in the end. John just looked at her face, observing as she tried very hard not to cry.

“What happened to ‘im?” He asked, a second later.

“He was killed. I don’t fully know how, but he was.”

John was quiet. There were things he knew he could say, but he wasn’t sure if he could say them to her just yet. He wanted to tell her things would be okay, but for some reason he didn’t want to lie or give her any sort of false hope. Maybe, she didn’t believe it and she wouldn’t believe it despite him telling her. He’s just a kid. What does he even know about loss?

“I really like fishing. Takes my mind off things.”

She chuckled at his sentence, “Takes your mind off what? Why’re you goin’ around talkin’ like some big ol’ man?”

John scoffed, “I don’t need ta be an ol’ man to enjoy fishing. I wanna catch a big one.”

“There’s a trick,” She said, taking the fishing rod from him. Their hands touch briefly, and John chuckled. “What do you know about fishing?”

“Watch me.”

John noticed her smile and smiled to himself. He never told anyone, but there was a reason why he thought she was a woman from the start. John merely did that because he thought she was cute. He was just hoping Riley wasn’t a boy.