#ABOUT WHOSE WORK I HAVE ENDLESS FEELINGS AND THOUGHTS AND PRAISE FOR THEIR SKILL

[luminousnotmatter]

Listen, as someone who uses the tags both for organization and to talk/yell/ramble/rant/rave/thirst/yearn/gush/etc, etc, etc into the void I gotta say: the 30-tag limit can suck rocks. 😑🙄😠

[teyvattherapist]

Once you write for Baal, I'll request her with Mona and Kazuha with the god of fate.

Like the usual

I also added Thoma per your other inquiry!

tags: m!reader/Baal, m!reader/Mona, m!reader/Kazuha, m!reader/Thoma, God!Reader, Khaenri'ah spoilers, Inazuma archon quest spoilers, just spoilers in general.

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Khaenri’ah wouldn’t have had any survivors if it hadn’t been for a particular man that seemed unfazed by the battlefield the once prosperous nation of humanity became. Neither Khaenri’ahn nor from Celestia, simply an outlander. Despite showing great fighting prowess and strategic skill, Khaenri’ah had still fallen under the watchful gaze of the man. Of course, this was just a legend, a small rumour only known by the most curious of historians or academics. And even then, it’s debated. With the legacy of Khaenri’ah long gone, all that was left was anecdotal evidence.

Baal

-Divinity, humanity, both pale in comparison to eternity. You were nothing more than something in her way. Much like the rest of Khaenri’ah as a whole. To her you were nothing more than inferior. And she didn’t stop to take the time to investigate like Morax had nor did she take the time to recognise the marks of stars like Barbatos.

-Her ideals quickly shattered when she realised Divine Punishment means nothing when faced by another of her status. A divine being capable of braving the lightning’s glow. Too prideful to admit her defeat she proved to be quite a thorn in your side during the war. But even one whose ideal is closest unto Heaven cannot compete with the one who controlled Fate.

-Baal has all but forgotten the faraway God, too focused on her own ideals, too focused on herself in the present day to remember such an aimless point in time. In a closed off nation tucked away on the sea, talk of your presence in Teyvat went unheard by the Raiden Shogun.

The 100th vision hunt decree ceremony was commemorative. The Goddess turned to face the crowd of onlookers, violet eyes narrowing at an almost familiar face standing towards the back. You lifted your head to her, flashing the Shogun a smile before pulling the notebook from the black and gold cloak. Almost too quickly her attention turned back to the man kneeling at the foot of the statue. Her 100th vision.

Baal lifted her hand, summoning the pyro vision to her and despite the blond’s attempts at keeping his vision they were futile as it soared through the air towards the Goddess. You almost dropped your pen when Aether pushed by you, using his newfound electro abilities as a boost to snatch the vision. An interesting but not surprising turn of events that was scrawled into the notebook.

You watched as she brought her blade up to strike an unconscious Aether. The taller blond managed to get his binds off, throwing the polearm that she then deflected. The blowback caused Aether and Paimon to go flying backwards into the blond. As they ran off she gave the order to seize them under the decree, turning back to look up at the statue. That was your cue to leave, the work had been done for now.

When Baal turned to look back at the crowd she got the glimpse of that cloak that seemed to come back to haunt her departing from the crowd.

Mona

-Ah the great astrologist Mona. One who believes fate cannot be changed nor reversed, merely accepted. How funny an outlook. Though you’d never tell her that, she is for all that she’s worth, a wonderful astrologist. But that was the thing with mortal magicians, even they could get things such as fate wrong.

-She tried only once to glimpse into the mysterious stranger’s destiny. But when one has no destiny, what does she see? The threads of fate themselves have barred her vision into him. To her he is an uncertain piece in what should be absolute certainty.

-This however just makes her curious to know more. She thinks she’s being sneaky as she follows you around to try and garner more information. But Mondstadt isn’t all that big and her hat is very telling.

You narrowed your eyes at the telltale sign of somebody watching you, you lifted your head to look around but there were no more stares than the usual ones that came with being a stranger in a small nation. You did notice, however, a very familiar witch occupying herself with the fruit stand. Could she even afford that? Probably not. You bowed your head to Flora, tucking the windwheel aster behind your ear as you made off.

Mona put the apple back, waiting a few moments before she followed you down the cobblestone path. This was the problem with magicians in every world, always far too curious for their own good. You turned a corner to try and get her off your tail, you had far too much work to do to deal with her nosing around. She was smart, though. You had to give her that as you pressed your back against the wall of the alleyway, waiting for her to go by.

“I just have a question!” Mona popped her head into the alleyway, figures you wouldn’t be able to escape her. Mona looked around before stepping into the alleyway. “You are not from this world and sand clouds my vision every time I try to view your true nature. I am merely intrigued by this turn of events.” She put her hands on her hips, green eyes trying to discern something about you. She was certainly blunt, at least she knew what she wanted at the end of the day.

Her stare was intense as she tried to see through you, but whenever she looked too hard she found herself attempting to shake off invisible strings. You merely offered her a smile, what’s the point in lying to somebody you may not ever see again? “I’m a record keeper of sorts. You have impressive skill, Mona.” The compliment had her smirking, praise would be her undoing. But it at least changed the subject. What a fascinating woman.

Kazuha

-Unsurprisingly or perhaps surprisingly you met him while he fled from the Raiden Shogun’s forces. As in he ran directly into you and nearly dropped the dead vision he was still clutching in his hand. Interesting isn’t it? What a simple change of cloak can do to conceal one’s identity. Always intervening whether or not you should, that seemed to be the staple when it came to Teyvat.

-You did not spend much time with Kazuha beyond that. His path was his to walk and you would not meddle further. Though you knew that he knew, somebody as observant as he would be able to tell, wouldn’t he?

-That was a while ago though. Now you once more found yourself face to face with Kaedehara Kazuha. Or well, less face to face and more in the same area.

“I hope you can afford all these mercs!” Beidou called as she and her crew rushed into battle against the Shogun’s forces. Far enough away to not involve yourself, but close enough to listen to the resulting conversations. You jotted things down, whatever seemed important in the moment, minor details you may forget, a rough draft, if one will.

Kazuha lifted his head after greeting Gorou, eyes scanning the rocks jutting out of the nearby sea on the beach that had become a location of endless bloodshed. And for a moment, he faltered, red eyes widening before narrowing. He should have expected this. You always seemed to be where big things happened. “Kazuha, watch out!” Beidou warned and Kazuha snapped out of it, returning to the battle.

The rain began to start and you safely tucked your notebook away as you watched the rest of the battle. Ultimately Sara called back her forces when Kokomi showed up, the Shogun’s army quickly retreating from the bloody battlefield to rethink their strategy. You held your hand up, rain soaking through your glove. The battlefield cleared itself of most soldiers, Gorou, Beidou, Kazuha, two soldiers, and Aether remained to talk to one another.

Kazuha turned, looking over his shoulder and back at the sea around him. He wondered if you’d come, help like you had helped him back then. He lifted a bandaged hand, no doubt the same hand you had once given him bandages to cover the injury from clasping a dying vision. In turn you gave him a wave. All these people whose lives you have impacted in some way or another. Small things here and there. You wondered how much he knew of your deeds.

Thoma

“State your business here!”

“Oh- he’s a friend! He’s with us.” Aether interrupted the teahouse lady before she could say anything else. The woman huffed but conceded, allowing you to move past her and towards Aether and the taller blond from the ceremony. The teahouse door was opened and you stepped inside with them, pulling your notebook out to take notes. “Thoma, Ayaka this is… Well he doesn’t have a name.” Aether turned his head to look at you and you merely shrugged.

“You may refer to me as the Recordkeeper. Ha, that’s kind of like the Doctor.. I’ll have to write that down.” You make a note in the front of your notebook. Ayaka, Thoma, and Paimon look confused but Aether understood the reference. At least. “I’m merely here to listen. Pretend I’m not here, yes?” And with reassurance from your traveler friend, they did just that. You noted their plans, their ideals, where they’d go. It was all fascinating. A resistance against a God. The last time that happened…

You shook the thoughts, that was then, this is now. You cannot get involved again. Ayaka stood to leave, saying her goodbyes. Aether was gone next, a promise to meet again. That left you with Thoma. “Are you sure you don’t have a name? I feel a job title shouldn’t be a name.” He joked, leaning on his elbows as he watched you write into your notebook. Your pen stopped against the pages, the edge of the D growing thicker. “At least, I think that’s your job, right?”

You looked up from your book, setting the pen down against the pages. He was curious to say the least, despite everything that happened earlier. “I suppose it is my job, yes. I keep records. And I’m known by many names Fate Weaver, the Recordkeeper, God of Fate, I believe I’ve also been referred to as the God of Time once.. That’d be incorrect though.” For a moment something unrecognisable passes through his green eyes before his smile is back on his face.

“How about we call you (Name)? That way you don’t have to admit what and who you really are everywhere you go.”

“(Name)? Hm.. Very well.”

[patchworkpuzzle]

authors note: this is my submission to Emme’s Mental Health Awareness Collab and like most submissions to this collab this came from a very personal place for me, how I struggle with the aspects within it though nothing graphic or severe. I know that @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten created a wonderful mental health resource list which I encourage you all to take a look.

wordcount: 1.9k

paring: Sero x F!Reader (there is only two mentions of female pronouns, as its from a deep place in my heart but I did try to keep it a gender nutral as I could)

warnings: self doubt, self deprecation. Though it is pretty tame, and has fluff, again please be careful when reading this. 

Also, just a reminder to please not interact with my blog if you are under 18 years oh age.

You didn’t know why.

You didn’t know why Sero Hanta, the hero Cellophane, would ever be interested in you. Someone who wasn’t a hero, or anyone of real importance.  You just worked a normal office job at the Hero Agency he also worked out, that’s how you met after all.

You weren’t an up and coming fresh faced new hero or side kick, you were just someone who filed paperwork and arranged meetings. The sidekick, to the sidekick, of the sidekicks, as it were. Nothing extraordinary about you, in fact you found yourself as nothing but ordinary.

Extraordinarily average, as you like to put it.

And yet, he still saw something.

It was hard to notice at first, a top hero just stopping by to ask you to file something for him to then ask if you were new. But then it got more noticeable, with them continuing to stop by to ask questions and have you file things that weren’t even in your department, trying to find any excuse to see you. To finally just coming out with the truth and asking you on a date.

To say you were shocked when he asked was an understatement. You could feel your face get so red as you stuttered out a jumble of words that ended up meaning yes. Hiding your face in your hands when he left with a smile and a wink, telling you he’ll ‘pick you up at eight.’

The date was almost too awkward, having you try and come up with interesting facts and stories about yourself and your life, trying to compete with a Pro Hero and all the accomplishments he had. But apparently it wasn’t so awful, cause the next Monday at work he stopped by your desk with some flowers and another proposed date.

Date after date you went with him. After a few months he wanted to become official, proclaiming not long after you agreed on a live television interview that he was a ‘happily taken man now’. Though it filled you heart with warmth being so doted on, it made you feel guilty. Made you think that these kinds of affections should be placed on someone more worthy.

Someone who had a more outgoing personality, who didn’t get shy and flustered easily. Or have a short fuse in their social battery, making them want to go home earlier than he may want to. Someone that could match up with him and keep up, not slow him down.

Someone who was more physically attractive, who didn’t look in the mirror and see barely there muscles that were always covered in some way. And who could turn the heads of people when walking by as easily as he could. Someone who could be just as beautiful as the Pro Hero looked all the time, with his perfect smile and dazzling eyes, who could take their shirt off without having to worry if their partner would still find them attractive.

Someone who could do all sorts of amazing things, all sorts of cool hobbies and talents to share and teach. Not being the boring person who started and stopped things all the time, who had no real interests in something for long; whose most notable skill was knowing a bunch of useless facts. Good for a trivia night, but not exactly a good comparison to that of your boyfriend. A man who was filled with many abilities and talents he garnered over the years; both physical and crafty.

He seemed to be able to do so much, and you paled in comparison ever single time.

~

Sero Hanta didn’t know what he did to deserve you.

He was never the strongest person, or the smartest, or had the coolest and flashiest quirk. To him, he was nothing more than just your average guy trying to become a hero and help people. The underdog constantly punching up, and somehow managed to break through.

He was a decent hero; he would never say otherwise. He always worked so hard and tirelessly to help people, sacrificing so much to get the job done. From sleepless nights, to his body breaking, and his mind almost following suit at times, that he felt he more than deserved the spot he got on the hero rankings.

But at times he couldn’t help but compare himself to his friends. People who more than deserved their spots and fame but always proving that he was lacking in some way or form, though it was always unintentionally. They always celebrated his success and praised him for his hard work, but Sero always felt less than when standing next to his friends.

They were always able to get the press to notice their hard work, even if Sero did just as much. Always able to get fans to interact with them, having them compliment them constantly over this, that, and the other while Sero found that a dedicated Cellophane fan was few and far between. And when they did come up to him, they easily turned their attentions to his friends once they showed up.

He never minded. He did this job because he wanted to help people, and he was good at it. There was nothing more he could ask for. But he couldn’t help but admit he got a little envious at times, or that his smile tended to be forced for the cameras.

He just wanted to be seen.

And then he met you. A cute little office worker whose eyes sparkled so brightly as they excitedly exclaimed that they were so happy to meet him, and that they’ll do there best to make sure everything was done right for him; before blushing and apologizing. It made Sero’s heart skip a beat, to be seen the way you saw him then.

It was probably why he kept coming back to your desk and asking you favours and questions. He just wanted to see your eyes light up when you saw him, to be seen as someone as amazing as the other top heroes around him. And he couldn’t lie that he found you beautiful, in that soft gentle way that would make him want to gaze at your face to see all the expressions it could make.

You were magnetic to him, in the delicate sense. You didn’t stand out in the way plenty of others around him would, you almost blended into the crowd. Almost. But you held this kind and sweet aura around you, one that always felt safe and reassuring, and he couldn’t help but be pulled tighter and tighter into it.

Finally, he found the courage to ask you on a date. Overcome with joy when you said yes but trying to play if off cool to not embarrass himself. And the date was wonderful, he loved learning all the little things that made you who you are.

He couldn’t help but ask for another, and another, and another, you were an addiction to him, and he couldn’t get enough. He thought you were so lovely in every single way. He wanted to keep you for himself, for as long as time would allow him.

He just wished he was everything you thought he was.

But Sero Hanta knew he wasn’t. He wasn’t as strong, or capable, or talented, or all the other amazing things you claimed he was. Just an average man trying his best to pull an incredible weight, trying not to be overlooked, to try and be seen.

And you were just a woman, working a thankless 9 to 5 job, trying to keep up with the expectations of those around you. Pulling yourself in so many directions to try and please everyone. Never seeing yourself in the light you should, never realizing all the wonderful things you were.

And yet, without fail, you both would always choose the other.

Like puzzle pieces you fit.

Despite the flaws, the cracks, and the broken pieces you both saw in yourself, the other would see something more. They would see a mosaic, something beautiful and worth wanting to be apart of.

And despite the troubles that popped up, the demons that would tell lies of not being enough, the self doubt of years of not being seen and treated as kindly as one hoped and dreamed for, it all amounted to nothing more than dust that would float away in the wind when you looked at him and he at you.

You both weren’t fixed. Love was something that was strong but fickle if not properly tended, and it could not fix years of trauma and disbelief. But it helped. And the little reminders it gave helped garner a beautiful bud that would someday bloom stunning and bright.

There just needed to be reminders.

And reassurance.

And patience.

You would always tell him, whenever you could, that he was your favourite hero. That his quirk was something to admire, despite the things he and other might say. How all his training made him so strong whenever he would lift something you couldn’t, or open something small like a jar. That whenever he told you he knew some fact you brought up that he was smarter than he gave himself credit for. That all the little things he did, like take you in his arms to gently sway you both whenever he wanted, made you feel so warm and had your heart fill with a soft joy and made you feel wanted; like you had always hoped to be.

And he would always tell you how he loved spending nights curled up with you doing nothing, as he preferred doing that than going out all the time. How soft your body was, how wonderful it was to hold; and how he always felt like a nervous teenager again when he was intimate with you, like it was his first time all over again. He loved that you knew all sorts of little facts, no topic or subject free from your endless knowledge; and how he loved and felt proud calling you ‘his girl’ whenever a trivia game night with friends was won by you, yet again. And most importantly, he loved your gentleness. He loved how you would look at him, and only him, with such love in your eyes it made him feel like the most important man in the world; finally, being seen like he always wanted to be.

Though it wasn’t perfect. There were times where you would hide away from him, cry yourself to sleep some nights when your self doubt got too strong and the demons in your head telling you that you weren’t good enough. And times where he would distance himself from you, to not want to burden your further with his problems, and not wanting to hold you back in any capacity in case someone better than him came along.

But it was enough.

The good days always outnumbered the bad. And when the bad days came it just proved to the other how deeply you cared for the other’s happiness. How much you both truly loved the other, flaws and all.

At the end of the day, you would always choose him, every single time.

And Sero Hanta would always choose you.

[love-geeky-fangirl]

An Abundance of Katherines by John Green Rant Review

I finished this book recently and I have so many thoughts. I remember hearing so much praise about it, so this is a very unpopular opinion, but didn't like it very much.

First of all, the plot didn't make much sense. Like I know Colin lived in a big city but I highly doubt that he'd meet eighteen girls named Katherine over the course of eight years, especially when he was said to be socially awkward. Even more unbelievable is that he'd get every single Katherine he met to date him. I don't know anyone who had dated eighteen different people before the age of eighteen and since Colin was supposed to be the nerdy loser, it's just really unbelievable. Also the fact that he just said:

"I'm going on a road trip" and didn't even say where or for how long and his parents were just like:

"K, have fun" when he was only seventeen?? And that Hassan's parents bought that they were going to get a job?? Doesn't seem realistic at all.

And then, on their road trip to nowhere with no plan, they just so happen to meet good people willing to take them in and give them a job that pays 500 dollars a WEEK just for asking one person a day FOUR questions? Yeah, that's how life works, happens all the time.

Now, the characters. They all seemed kind of two-dimentional and stereotypical.

Hassan is the quirky bff whose entire life revolves around Colin, the main character. He doesn't have any interests except from hanging out with Colin, watching Judge Judy and being quirky and random. Also he's a token non-white muslim character, so it feels he's just there to add diversity.

Lindsay is the manic pixie dream girl. She's pretty, popular, cool, funny and convinces Colin to loosen up and live a little. She's dating an asshole that treats her like shit and... that's all. That's literally all her character is. I don't know what else to say about it.

The Other Colin is the other guy (Lindsay's boyfriend). He's written to be pretty much the worst person ever, just so that we'd root for Colin to end up with Lindsay.

Colin: omg where do I even begin with this guy. He's the most unlikable protagonist I have read about for a very long time. He's like Ross Geller and Ted Mosby rolled into one. All he does is bitch and whine and moan and make weird anagrams in his head that don't even make any sense. What does he even have to be complaining about so much?? He's smart and talented, does exceptionally in school, was his school's valedictorian, learns really quickly (he can speak ELEVEN languages fluently for God's sake and remembers everything he reads), has a good friend that's always there for him to listen to his endless whining and bitching whenever he needs, has his own car, got a very well paying job without even having to go on an interview, gets every single girl he likes... Yet he complains that his parents are "overprotective" because they want their seventeen-year-old son that went on an spontaneous adventure across almost the entire United States to call them once in a while?? He keeps going on and on and on about how he's never going to achieve anything because he's not a genius he's "just a gifted child". Like, I swear, if I ever hear the words "gifted child" after reading this book... There's literally NO reason for him not being successful in life. He's a fast learner, he graduated a year earlier as a valedictorian, so colleges must be in a riot over him. Yet he keeps complaining about how he "doesn't have any practical skills". Excuse me, what about the elevem languages that you speak fluently? I wasn't even sorry when Katherine broke up with him. I was actually empathizing with her, not Colin. Would you want to be with someone who's constantly complaining, even when he should be celebrating, and has long tirades over the same thing all the time? Also, his equation has no practical use and sucks.

[honmakurara]

Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru: extensive manga review

Tormented and explicit, sharp and sophisticated: what Mizushiro Setona's masterpiece really is.

Warning: minor spoilers ahead. "I want to read something erotic and violent": this is what Mizushiro Setona's editor asked her, echoing the request of their chief editor when assigning to the mangaka a story for the supplement of the Josei magazine Judy, meant to be read by an adult female target: "I don't expect you to write a nice story. You have other skills you can count on. You can narrate about gay people, for instance, or about sadomasochism."

Starting from the first casual incursion of Mizushiro-sensei into the world of Boys' Love, between the years 2004 and 2006 Kyūso wa Cheese no Yume o Miru (窮鼠はチーズの夢を見 - The cornered mouse dreams of cheese) was born and defined; it is one of the most beautiful and intense stories ever written about such a genre and beyond, which did even receive excellent notes from the well acclaimed Takemiya Keiko-sensei of the renowned Group 24. Starting with these premises, one can already understand how Mizushiro-sensei, who was not a master of Boys' Love back then, has nonetheless been able to offer an excellent tale that transcends the borders of genres and ranges over way beyond what it had been asked her: the story had been initially conceived as a few chapters later compiled in one tankobon, but it eventually came back on the pages of Judy with a new series of chapters. These ones have also been later published, three years later, in a sequel tankobon titled Sōjo no Koi wa Nido Haneru (俎上の鯉は二度跳ねる - The carp on the chopping block jumps twice). After the renewed interest offered to Otomo and to the cunning Imagase's story, that the live action movie announcement awakened, the new manga chapter Hummingbird Rhapsody has been added to the whole franchise, which is included in the recently revised Japanese edition of the manga.

"Imagase... I'm scared of you...!"

"And I'm... scared of you, too."   There's however not only violence and eroticism in this intricate story, and such a definition would actually mean to simplify way too much what it portrays, not to mention it would not fit exactly what the author was actually able to convey into it; other than the most obvious themes and elements, many others way more implicit and elaborate ones can be found there. We can even have a hint of that by peeking at the cover illustration of the volume, where a languid surface does not betray the contradiction of the soul. We can see an elegant portrait of the two main characters, who both hide all but dignified emotions inside them; a very accurate mirror of such a picture, which graphically reminds us of the previous editions of the manga, is the mind of the thirty years old Otomo Kyoichi after his encounter with Imagase. Otomo is a married adult man, leading an apparently impeccable life: he has good looks, polite manners and a nice job. He is gentle and esteemed by his colleagues and is able to make the many women crossing his path sigh from expectation. He cannot resist women either, that is why his life is an endless sequence of cheating on his wife. He reckons they are of no importance, at least until his wife hires the private eye Imagase Wataru to investigate upon his possible infidelities. Imagase is no new man in Otomos' life, being a kohai within the tennis club at university: he proposes to Otomo to be silent with his wife, in exchange for the heated make-out session that he never dared asking before, despite his being a unprejudiced homosexual guy having a crush on Otomo since forever. After the end of Otomo's wedding, though, the intimate encounters between the two men do not stop at all; they are pushed towards a fierce depth instead, symbols of a spiral of lust and psychological turmoil from which Otomo cannot willingly go back any more. "I am no good one."

"I know this. Bad natured men like you are the worst. Do you think that everyone is looking for that perfect person? You can't fall in love with anyone but that one person?"

"Someday, you'll find true love, too. The time will come when you can't help the feelings that well up inside you and you'll be carried away."

The themes and the premises are taken from various undoubtedly not new Boys' Love clichés; Mizushiro-sensei makes skillfully use of them to plumb the human soul as she does in many other works of her, making the story evolve quickly into something way different and way wider than what the numerous and explicit sex scenes might make us think at first. It takes a doting and obsessive homosexual guy into the life of some apparently happy man like Otomo in order to make the latter understand that his marriage is merely an empty shell, built with no true nor deep feelings to live an ordinary life. The encounter with Imagase, though, forces Otomo to think back deeply about his own actions and the meaning to give to his own life, until he gets to understand that despite his true gentleness, he has never cared for other people's feelings at all.

The relationship with Imagase makes his worst side come to the surface: jealous impulses, selfishness and possessiveness, unsuspected masochistic and yet dominating preferences, obscure compulsions and a never missing inclination towards all sorts of temptations. Otomo is no role model nor someone to praise and yet, he's neither a man whose submissive personality can be easily blamed. Such a personality is a spectrum of a lid hiding a lot of things, a reflection of our own fearful and insecure behaviour, our own incapability of getting to call ourselves into question until the moments, those surprising and unexpected moments, that are to change life for real. That these two lovers embody a strong universal value is further suggested by the choice of the Japanese kanjis with which their names are written: Mizushiro-sensei identifies Otomo Kyoichi (大伴恭一) with the definition of 'partner' itself, a potential alter ego of each of us; she entrusts Imagase Wataru (今ヶ瀬渉, from the kanjis of 'quickness', 'crossing', 'involvement' and 'human relations') with the importance of getting to catch the 'carpe diem', the fleeting moment. Should we were to play with the language a little bit, we would find out that the union of the two main characters would lead us to the meaning of a 'relationship with a partner', the play of the cat with its little mouse happening here and now, the moment that we are to live in every single instant.

"You're kidding?! I cannot believe it… You can't decide?! Between a woman... or a man?!” - Natsuki -

"Maybe Imagase is right... maybe I still have to know what true love it. Next month, I’ll turn 30."

Otomo meets a long series of women, each of whom is identified by a definite face and a marked, strong personality. Each of them leaves a vivid notch into Otomo's life; and yet, no one of these figures is able to open a gash into his soul. The true Otomo is unfathomable to anyone, himself included, just like he himself can finally understand after the new encounter with Imagase breaks the quiet surface of his existence. The desirable man that Otomo is in his colleagues' eyes, through Imagase's cynical and revealing gaze he proves to be none other than a failed seducer, a man devoid of lash and decisiveness, a figure suddenly insecure even about what the true and intense physical pleasure is and how to gain it. It is Imagase who makes the miracle, intercepting his senpai's emotional black hole, and the latter finally manages to find out where the borders of his own self lay and how to humbly face his own limitations and inner being. This does not happen thanks to a man, nor thanks to a good guy, but rather because of a tempting snake who exploits Otomo's weaknesses with a cheeky and direct attitude towards him; by acting like so, Imagase takes a vengeance towards his own young self, first of all, the one who had been unable to face with sincerity the object of his adoration, back then. "No matter how sweet he might be, he is war away, like the moon."

His impetuous whims and his sensual attentions take the lid off Otomo's soul in the deep and they produce the most unexpected of effects, by reversing the parts of this play: Otomo, the one who never even thought he would were to find himself one day on the verge of turning 30 years old by asking himself about the true nature of love, becomes fond of the weird daily life established with Imagase, and he adapts himself to such cohabitation with surprising rapidity. He becomes more and more aware of a homosexual relationship in which he, however not knowing how to move, goes on with the cautiousness, the tenderness and the care he had never reserved to any other person before, in his whole life. He even gets to question himself what it is that truly determines the happiness of a couple, both in the short and medium-long term. As for Imagase, he teaches his senpai how to increase the physical pleasure in a more and more intense way, making him find out what offering someone unconditional love means. Someone who is clearly an imperfect one in all his weaknesses, but at the same time someone who is loved for the one he is, and not just because he embodies the ideal of an unattainable perfect man.

As the relationship with Otomo evolves, though, it is Imagase slowly losing the control he had on the whole situation, as he lavishes his spasmodic need for affection -also made up of a sometimes exasperating and childish attitude-  on a story born out of a youthful crush later evolved in true and heartbreaking love, against every possible prevision.  

"I'm just eating away your current existence. I can't make you happy."

"I'll decide whether or not I'm happy. We're both so selfish."

That is why within the play of the cunning black cat with his naive mouse, it is no obvious at all who the real prey or the predator are; quite on the contrary, the roles are repeatedly overturned, both on a psychological and on a sexual level, in a turn-up which is mostly unprecedented as for what Boys' Love works are concerned: as the pages become more daring, there's a parallel growth of the sexual purse power that each of these main characters can use towards one another. A strong and undermining power. Playing tag, letting go, keeping on running after each other once again: all of those are demonstration of a love both childish and adult-like in its elements, a overwhelming love taken to the limit of the obsession, a deep affection that while looking straight into reality, forces both men to ask themselves how much they are willing to leave back of their own selfishness in exchange for an improper relationship, and yet a fulfilling and indispensable one. That is why it is equally truly fitting, the choice of borrowing the name of animals for the titles of the chapters, and these very same animals appears as 'guest-stars' inside the story itself: from a frame hanging at a restaurant to a lighter herald of jealousies, there is no similarity more proper than fish, cats, snakes, owls and butterflies to suggest us behaviours that are to recall the most primeval and animal-like instincts of the human beings. Weaving traps and spider webs: those mean, sleazy and petty acts that people also do when they're in love. "The obstacle is you. And so am I." The frame of this symbolism closes with a gaze looking up at the cover illustration, where the portraits of animals silently stand out in the background behind the main characters. At the same time, such a gaze looks suggestively up at the moon: the Romeo and Juliet described by Shakespeare invoked the moon for an eternal oath, while the Japanese writer Natsume Soseki in his famous 'Tsuki ga kirei, desu ne?' (the moon is beautiful tonight, isn't it?) metaphorically used the moon for a declaration of love. Mizushiro-sensei entrusts the white satellite with Otomo and Imagase's most unspeakable thoughts, for which the moon so becomes a silent leitmotif, as if it was a sensual tokonoma opening inside the story for all those people who can see beyond it: a sort of a story in the story, like a delicate, deep, subtle and intimate alcove. It goes beyond saying that every single dialogue of Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru manga is either enigmatic and cheeky and equally provoking and misleading: what we do reckon we understand about Otomo and Imagase, through their own words, gets later regularly denied by other facts. With thick lines and dialogues that are to tell us the very contrary of what they actually intend to convey, we cannot help but rely then on the inner voices of the many Otomos in his mind, in order to understand the nude truth: the white Otomo, the black and the grey one can maybe remind us of the concept behind the Pixar movie Inside Out, but Kyuso's one is by far forerunner of the latter. Mizushiro-sensei will make excellent use of such theme again by exploring it fully, and not without a subtle humour, in her following Nōnai Poison Berry manga; at the same time, the intricate juxtaposition of human beings and animals comes back to life in the well appreciated Shoujo manga Afterschool Nightmare, while the ultimate aim to attribute to ourselves and to love becomes the core of the romantic comedy Shitsuren Chocolatier, winner of the 36th Kodansha Manga Award - Shojo/Josei and also nominated for the Tezuka Award in 2014. Other than a fully substantial work per se, Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru can be also seen as a sort of effective experimental testing ground for the mangaka herself and her various best works.

"You think that's acceptable?!"

"Acceptable to whom?"

"To society!"

"You're overly self-conscious, as usual... society doesn't care about your sex life."

Mizushiro-sensei's style distinguishes itself for a modern and state-of-the-art graphic, an elegant and refined one, and Kyuso makes no exception: the peculiar design, so clean without any trace of deburring, gets softened as time and years passing by, as we can see by comparing the drawings made for the first chapters of the story with those from the Melancholy Butterfly onwards, and until the recent Hummingbird Rhapsody. Here the lines are so delicate and thin that they almost suggest us they could literally flake off under the piercing gaze of the reader. By leafing through the tankobon, all we can see are tidy pages, sometimes with no balloons at all, thus resulting in a huge expressive performance. The design is sharp and essential as for what details are concerned, but it is no minimalistic one; it is accurate in the depiction of bodies in every detail and characterized by a certain subtle sensuality, this latter marking not only the most rated scenes but also able to permeate the whole work instead. As used as she is in narrating with extraordinary ability about twisted and askew themes and exploring the human psyche with related sexual and gender identity issues, Mizushiro Setona offers us pages with highly aesthetic value, thrilling and bold ones, not without a sort of a certain aesthete voyeurism when depicting lovemaking scenes, however never vulgar at all. They manage to effectively evoke with a surprising visual impact, instead, the devastating passions from which both the characters and the readers end up being shaken and overwhelmed from. The violence this manga is impregnated with is mostly about its psychological insight, rather than the physical one, sex being however undoubtedly an inescapable element of the complicated events binding Otomo to Imagase: it is a key of the story but no ultimate reason of it. That is why we cannot help but follow, almost in a state of trance, how this couple is eventually able to get to intimately know each other by starting from a kiss born out of a blackmail, and thenquickly slackening every inhibition under the sheets through reversal of positions, seme/uke roles and sadomasochistic implications.

"Do you love me? Or after you got a taste of being loved so passionately are you pretending to be my lover as compensation for my feelings?"

How such a sentimental-psychological tangle can be outlined into a story constantly in balance between drama and comedy, keeping a perfect balance between each of its many faces always, without ever falling nor losing a thing, the reader can find it one page after another, surprising himself together with Otomo and Imagase in a thick and tormented love story, terribly authentic as much as its complicated and complex characters are. The pressing storyboard does now allow any rest nor break nor peace: accusations and skirmishes rebound from one man to the other in a never-ending evolution and involution of the personalities of the characters, that is until the unsettling ending; when the time of the games finishes and infantilism stops, another moment inevitably comes. The moment when the face of the adult we want to show to other people outside, goes finally and fully matching the inner essence of us as human beings. That very moment when one can take responsibility towards its own self.

"Poking holes in happiness makes you unhappy.

Nobody understands what I'm going through.

No one knows about the happiness I got to feel despite navigating into an ocean of doubts."

Otomo' sexism, while appreciating what Imagase offers him despite never intimately accepting it’s a man providing him with such a pleasure, vanishes in the very moment he gives his lover a vintage Château Pétrus bottle: it is one of the finest French wines in the whole world, thus suggesting his precious man the implicit idea of being an equally unique and irreplaceable one. Carrying on with a relationship where people can look at each other's eye and discuss, offering our whole self not in order to give back something we received but rather to go beyond our own self, it is then something quite different from seeking the pleasure of a night without any involvement: it is not the same indecisive man he was before, the one for whom appearances in society stops being an excuse, the man suddenly questioning himself how it might be wooing a man rather than a woman, or whether the relationship between two homosexual guys might even be more complete and deep than the one a heterosexual man might start with someone belonging to a ‘different’ universe from his own one.

What is love, then, if not the innate strength that allows us to see beyond our stiff self-esteem and pride, in order to overcome our limitations and arrive and reach the most intimate recesses of the one soul we naturally tend? And it is not only the Boys' Love theme per se to be central in this story, quite rather something that transcends every gender limitation to virtually embrace every kind of love, regardless of any possible colour or legitimacy. And that is because a different way of loving is no inadequate love nor a "less" love. However merely brushing LGBTQ+ themes, however never aspiring to become a gender manifesto, the Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru manga is able to outline some of these aspects with great perspicacity; there's then the excellent portrait offered to the weaknesses of the human being, slave of a need for affection as much hidden as obscure and here translated into the relentlessness of a physical and lacerating love. It does confirm to us how much the social and psychological themes are here treated with crude realism and keen sensibility. In a perfect synthesis of the Yin and Yang elements, Otomo and Imagase's greedy, mean and liar characters are flecked in a sometimes merciless way, not to mention the moment they mean to hurt other people but end up cleaving their own self instead first: it is a couple of uncomfortable characters the one we have here, someone with whom it is definitely not a pleasure to identify ourselves with, someone we wish never to meet, if any. Someone that nonetheless chooses never to give up when in front of human frailty, and that is why these characters end up being unusually authentic, charming and unforgettable ones. " I was hoping, someday, that by sharing my way of loving with you, you would have done the same to me one day." - Imagase -

 "Ugh... I don't lose my temper like this with women." - Otomo -

The new revised All in One Edition reunites the two original volumes into one, which comes with a few color pages in the introduction and the brand new extra Hummingbird Rhapsody chapter. As for what the censorship is concerned, the original pages have actually been partially edited in a very few graphic details: it has been Mizushiro-sensei herself to provide them at the request of the Japanese publisher for the revised edition, which is meant to remove every explicit content starting from 28th January 2020. That happens in order to make the manga available also to a younger target, as the live action movie received a R15+ rating. Censorship involves however only the depiction of male genitals in a few specific, small and delimited portions of the pages, mainly in the first chapters of the story, and does not apply anywhere else. Female nipples and breasts, naked bodies and rated love making are left totally untouched, and so are the original dialogues, the true quintessence of this manga. Even the revised edition presents the harsh and explicit tones of the original pages and there is none of the messages conveyed by the manga that has been damaged or watered down by the re-print. "Love is divine punishment."

Carrying a perfect balance between seduction and feelings, the Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru manga is a challenging, demanding and intense reading. It is a mature story filled with issues, a complex and provoking one; it is compulsory to get near this story with the utmost attention, receiving though a crescendo of emotions that the reader will feel entangled with until the very last page. The Italian poet Giacomo Leopardi would have probably defined it a "matto e disperatissimo" love, a 'mad and utterly desperate' one. Like a river in flood sweeping everything away, the need for getting to know how to slacken control of ourselves and how to gain it back: educating the passion in a relationship is complicated to the point of seeming almost unmanageable.

Love in daily life is quite a different issue from the feelings of a romance novel, an engagement that forces people to swallow bitter bites sometimes, an endless tension towards the other and towards ourselves. In this story that happens to painfully disturbs the deepest part of the heart, we do not know who is the one leading the game; both characters here overthrow the typical Boys' Love canons, an audacious, cocky and authentic couple ready to question itself always.

A story that cannot be missed for all the lovers of the Boys' Love genre, Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru is also quite appropriate for all those one searching for an atypical love story, a strong and nonetheless sensual one, sublimated by a masterful introspection and a very welcome hint of subtle and stinging humour. It is a work dealing with many interesting and complicated issues, though never boasting about none of its many qualities.

A story that knows no limitation and no borders. One of those volumes to keep on the shelf of our own personal bookcase with the utmost care, to take up every now and then in our hands and find new shades of meaning after every new re-reading.

**

Originally written and posted in Italian @ Animeclick

[violentviolette]

So I was on your fandom blog and I saw that you believe Bakugou (at least in assuming) to have ASPD. Is wondering if you could expand on that? I personally see him as NPD but I'd love to hear your side of things

first off anon bless u for being on my fandom blog that takes courage cause it’s a wicked hot mess over there lol and secondly to everyone else yes im about to spend an embarrassing amount of effort overanalyzing an anime man, no u shouldn’t apply this logic to diagnosing real people u don’t know or urself, no its not that deep but yes u can fuck right off if u wanna cry about me headcanoning ur favs with “shitty” illnesses. eat my dick.

But now down to the good shit! So I actually think bakugou has comorbid aspd/npd. But for this since u said u already see him as having npd I’ll just focus on the aspd criteria but im totally down to talk more about npd as well if u wanna. (the rest is under a cut because frankly mobile users would have drawn and quartered me otherwise)

So first im gonna go thru the dsm v criteria that are required for diagnosis that bakugou fits/exhibits (leaving out the few things that don’t pertain to him just for length and also because not every person has to fit every single criteria to qualify)

1. Significant impairments in personality as manifested by

a. identity (self esteem derived from power, pleasure, or personal gain), self direction (goal setting based on personal gratification, absence of prosocial standards and culturally normal ethical behavior)

katsukis entire sense of self is built upon his ability to “win” and to always be number one and come out on top. He absolutely cant stand to be viewed as less than that because if so, his entire sense of self begins to crumble. Part of the reason he’s so antagonistic towards Izuku in the early chapters is the fact that Izuku challenges that identity. He (unintentionally and intentionally) challenges katsuki and wont give way to him (which is the right thing to do, but we see how “well” katsuki handles that). He also doesn’t have a good sense of “prosocial standards.” katsuki has created his own internal sense of morals and values, he’s decided whats worth his time and effort based on his own opinions and not on what society deems worthwhile behavior. He’s constantly getting admonished that his attitude “isn’t that of a hero” because his values are different than the ones of the society around him. But he doesn’t care, as long as he “wins” then everythings good. And its not until he stops “winning” and his behavior begins to get in the way of his goals does he begin to realize that he has a problem.

b. impairments in interpersonal functioning as manifested by lack of empathy (lack of concern for feelings, needs, or suffering of others) and lack of intimacy (incapacity for mutually intimate relationships, use of dominance or intimidation to control others)

I could frankly write a whole essay about just this bit alone but I’ll try to condense my thoughts. So. Lets talk about katsukis lack of empathy. This boy wouldn’t know another person’s emotions if they walked up and punched him in the face. Which they do. On multiple occasions. But I digress. Katsuki is known for his shitty bedside manner, his lack of concern for the feelings of others is literally what cost him his provisional license, but aside from with Izuku (who we’ve established is a source of Baggage for katsuki and shouldn’t be counted among his normal behavior because at the start of the series they BOTH bring out the worst in one another and overcoming that is part of both of their character arcs and growth and a main theme of the damn story. Win and save. Save and win. Ahem. But again I digress) katsuki isn’t vindictive or cruel in an unnecessary way about other peoples emotions. He doesn’t use them against people, it just doesn’t occur to him that they exist. But as we see katsuki grow and begin to try and change his unhealthy behavior, we see that he’s not oblivious of others emotions in the same way todoroki is (who I headcanon as autistic along with izuku (who also has adhd), but that’s a whole nother post lol), he just doesn’t know what to do with them. He can handle things like kirishima feeling insecure, because he can logically talk to him about how strong he is to encourage and support him, but really struggles with more intimate and open forms of emotional support, like with Izuku.

He also struggles with forming prosocial bonds and friends. At the start of the series katsuki doesn’t have friends, he has lackeys he controls with intimidation and fear because he doesn’t know any other way to be. He has trust and intimacy issues and doesn’t like people getting too close to him because he feels displays of vulnerability are what makes someone weak (see those asocial morals and values we talked about earlier). After his time at UA, a few large helpings of some humble pie, and the diligent and hard work of a small group of fearless idiots (aka kaminari whose literally too prosocial for his own good and has zero self preservation instincts, and kirishima who has an endless supply of patience and understands empathy and other peoples emotions to a degree that’s baffling to me) he is able to start deconstructing that idea and realizing that u can be vulnerable and let people close to u and still be strong. That the mortifying ordeal of being known isn’t actually the worst things ever. Also that when confronted with people who aren’t actually afraid of him, he doesn’t know how else to deter them from getting close to him. The fact that none of the other kids in 1-A take katsukis shit and even go so far as to pick on him and mock him and call him out on his bullshit is a MAJOR turning point for his socialization skills.

2. pathological personality traits in the following catagories

a. antagonism, characterized by hostility (persistent and frequent angry feelings, anger or irritability in response to minor slights or insults, nasty mean vengeful behavior), callousness (lack of concern for the feelings and problems of others)

I mean. Do I even have to expand on this point? I feel like no

b. disinhibition, characterized by impulsivity (acting on the spur of the moment in response to immediate stimuli, acting without a plan or consideration for outcomes, difficulty establishing and following plans), risk taking (lack of concern for ones limitations and denial of the reality of personal danger, engaging in potentially risky and self-damaging activities without regard for consequences)

this is a criteria where u have to adjust for the world these characters are living in. but even then, by hero standards, katsuki is still impulsive. His teachers are constantly admonishing him in the early series for charging headfirst into a situation, loosing himself to his emotions and anger, and letting things get the better of him because hes not taking the time to properly assess the situation, this also bleeds into katsukis inability to work with others or ask for help. He charges headfirst into a situation by himself, blows up anything in his way, and then asks questions later. His teammates are often left totally in the dark to his plans, motives, or other moves and have to just play catch up to him the entire time. In the deku vs. kacchan 1 fight we see this behavior come out in full force. He has no plan, he blows up half the building with zero regard for their goals, and leaves iida completely in the dark. Momo pointing this all out and dragging him for filth during the recap is another wakeup moment for him, having to confront the realities of his impulsive and negative behavior whereas before he was only praised for it.

so if we take a look at even just that, which is still about ¾ of the diagnostic criteria, I think u can see where this really starts to explain his personality. Katsuki is hot headed, angry, impulsive, stubborn, selfish, he gets in his own way more often than not, he struggles with prosocial behavior, making friends, and relating emotionally to others. He has a hard time comforting people and usually does so in a blunt and logical way, he isn’t great at sympathy and being soft, kind, or gentle with other people. It takes a considerable amount of effort for him to realize where his world view and his morals and goals are warped and doing him more harm than good, and he absolutely cant stand to be vulnerable or honest about his feelings with others. 

All those things, imo, as someone with aspd & npd, are what make me feel like hes a good character representation of what the complexities of living with these disorders is like. Katsuki isn’t inherently a bad person, and as we see him grow and change, we see the ways in which hes becoming better, but its still hard for him. And despite what a lot of fandom thinks, if u look at the canon, the main person katsuki hurts with his behavior is himself. And I think that’s really important because people with aspd & npd are so often catagorized as abusive villians whose only goal in life is to hurt others. Whereas with katsuki we see where these things and this kind of thinking gets in the way of his goals and ultimately hurts him. and thats what I think makes him the most relatable and makes his growth all the much more satisfying. Katsuki is both fundamentally the same and an entirely different person from when we first meet him. his personality didn’t magically completely change, hes not just a tsundere whose suddenly all mushy feely and hyper empathetic, he’s just learning how to deal with his emotions and the world and getting better at being a healthy person.

So yea, those are my thoughts! There was apparently a whole 1600 words of them so my apologies for writing u a literal dissertation on this lol I just really love this fucking character

[shewantedtobeasecretgirl]

Dangerous Type

Sooo... there was this writing prompt of @shadowsonoureyes ... that I really liked and I immediately started working on it... But something happened in the meantime. I think everyone who understands my username knows what I’m talking about... and I’ll probably feel weird or even guilty about writing my dumb little stories for a while, although I always tried (and keep trying) to do it as respectful as I can. Despite all these feelings I decided to finish and post this one shot, please don’t judge me because of doing it. And... as my side project called “real life” allows, I’m going back to work slowly on my “regular” fic... seeya...

Seattle, Friday, August 17th, 1990

When I stop my car opposite Central Tavern, I can already see the crowd gathering at the entrance. I agreed with Cee, my roommate on meeting each other somewhere there. It’s not difficult to spot her: being a young, aspiring artist, she always wears something extreme. And she always gets clues about the most promising gigs in town from her bohemian friends. I was still at the bureau when she called me on my office number so that I didn’t go home after my self-defense class but met her here. Normally, I don’t accompany her to these occasions but today is somehow different; that “carpe diem” vibe that strikes me once in a blue moon led me here.

“Hey, Al, what a babe!” she greets me. Gosh, I hope not many people heard that; I feel embarrassed enough in my classy “little black dress”. But you don’t really have a choice if you work at one of Seattle’s leading law firms…

“Don’t tease me, I’ve had a terrible day.” I roll my eyes as we’re heading to the bar counter. “Unbearable clients, piles of documents, impatient bosses… I can’t wait to have a blast.”

“The good girl in party mode? Finally!” she glances up at the ceiling with an exaggerated, victorious arm move. “Couldn’t you get the everyday shit out of yourself at the training?”

“Negative. Today, we worked in pairs and I had to fight against that menopausal hammer thrower… you can imagine, I spent the whole class lying on the mattress, searching for my internal organs.”

“Oh, you poor baby… You should…”

She’s cut off by an annoying teenage guy-like voice.

“This place is getting worse and worse, they already let cheap sluts in too.”

No. This too? Not today. I turn with a lightning fast move to find the owner of the voice. The first guy I spot is a tall, lanky kid leaning against the counter. He’s wearing a baseball cap with bandana and his hair down, so I can’t really see his face of the shadow of the visor, only the spaniel shape of this whole combination. A little move of his head reveals the region of his mouth and I realize he’s staring us with an obnoxious, challenging smirk. Who the fuck does he think he is?

“Excuse me???” I spit and instead of apology, I receive a short, nasal chuckle as answer. After a few seconds of blackout, the first thing I perceive is that the guy sits on the ground surrounded by lying bar stools and I feel a dull pain in my fist.

“Allison Holmes, what the fuck are you doing?” Cee screams and jumps to him. She crouches down and starts desperately examining his face.

“I… I don’t know… I probably… punched him?” I rather question than answer.

“Yes, you punched him, are you crazy?”

“Am I?” I mutter but slowly, I’m getting able again to recall what happened.

“Jesus, girls, are your conversations always that effective?” he laughs getting up leaning on Cee’s shoulder.

“Shut up, you jerk! And it’s me who should ask that, Cecilia, are you serious? He just called us sluts and you help him? You should punch him too!” I yell.

“Cool down, Al. Nobody will punch nobody, this is Stoney.” she explains and I feel my blood pressure dropping, I have to hold of the counter to prevent myself from fainting.

“Who?” I breathe although I exactly know the answer.

“Stone Gossard, from Northwest High.” she repeats. Of course. Jesus, a few minutes earlier I could have sworn this day couldn’t get worse but it can. It definitely can.

“What’s going on here, people?” I hear a male voice and as I turn back, I see a doorman approaching us, followed by a police officer. I burry my face into my palm, not that this way of hiding helps me get away with this.

“Nothing, everything’s fine, officer.” Stone answers but I wish he didn’t, his nose is bleeding and the purplish-blueish spot around his left eye doesn’t make his look better either.

“Where’s the other troublemaker? Someone reported disorderly and…”

“There’s no other troublemaker, officer. I punched myself.” Stone mimes hitting himself in the face with his fist.

“Of course, and I’m Ronald Reagan. Where is he?” the cop doesn’t let himself be tricked.

“There’s no one else, only me. You know, I’m not really satisfied with my nose, it’s kinda big, hard to miss it, I thought some intervention couldn’t hurt… but it did… Seriously, I think you deserve more complex crimes than inconsiderate self-harm at a bar… You seem to be a man of conscience, don’t waste your skills on idiots like me…”

‘Oh… well… even if I don’t believe a word from what you said, I’m sure you’re a nice kid so… I warn you, next time I won’t be that lenient.”

“There won’t be next time, officer.” he grins, knowing his tactics worked.

“I hope so. Take care of yourself, son.”

I wait until he gets out of earshot before I react anything.

“You’re familiar with talking your way out of shit, aren’t you?” I grunt.

“He’s known for his smooth-talk abilities, you’ve seen a classic Stoney performance.” Cee wraps her arm proudly around his shoulders.

“I do what I can… but do you have paper handkerchief? I’m already standing in a puddle of blood…”

“Jesus, of course…” I hand him a packet of it and try to repress my giggle as he stuffs Kleenex carefully into both of his nostrils.

“Look, I still don’t know what’s going on here but you look awful. I came by car, I’ll take you to the hospital… your nose seems to have been broken, you should see a doctor…” I offer.

“That’s the least you can do after having attacked him.” Cee agrees giving me a stern look. “I accompany you, I don’t want to leave you unsupervised.” she adds and I can’t decide if it’s only me whom she addresses with her words…

***

“Uhm… I’d pick the backseat, if you don’t mind… I want to feel safe until we get there.” Stone mumbles. I open the backdoor for him rolling my eyes but prevent myself from saying anything sarcastic. I would behave probably the same way if it was me whose nose got swollen to the size of an eggplant. Cee takes place next to him with a large packet of handkerchief we bought at the corner store in the meantime.

As I start the engine and begin to direct the car towards the closest hospital, I can’t help glancing in the rearview mirror. Stone is listening to Cee’s rambling with a straight face but his well-tamponed nose reminds me of a walrus, which makes me smile even if I feel terrible about that whole embarrassing incident. Stone Gossard. If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard this name… Cee and him have met as old friends from time to time, Cee is even dating one of their common friend, Josh, so his name came up occasionally in our discussions… but as Cee was witnessing the hopeless episodes of my love life, these occasions got regular. Unrequited, platonic crushes, awkward dating attempts with disastrous consequences, endless ice cream and movie sessions on the couch with her… and the final conclusion was always the same: “I should introduce you to Stoney.” And this sentence was usually followed by an endless tirade about his smart, funny, handsome, talented friend who could be a perfect match for me. But her praises had exactly the opposite effect on me as intended: I refused even the thought of meeting him, the annoying superguy, who’s a musician by the way. What probably means he doesn’t know at all what to do with his life, he’s a rock guitarist in a town when there are more bands than inhabitants, he pulls espressos in a café and makes her girlfriend pay his rent. Sometimes I wondered if Cee mentioned me to him with the same idea in her head and if yes, what he might think of me… But I got these kinds of thoughts easily out of my head convincing myself about the logical fact: we wouldn’t like each other and I don’t need one more disastrous love affair.

And now we’re here. I managed to introduce myself to him in a pretty memorable way, which basically puts an end to the dilemma: I knocked him out, I can be happy if I’m not prosecuted by him, let alone go on a date with him…

“And… ahem… what’s this inside joke about cheap sluts?” I inquire to shut the voices in my head up.

“Everything began when we performed Cabaret at Northwest.” Cee begins. “I didn’t manage to earn any of the main roles so I was put in the choir that basically meant I had to play a random German prostitute. I was wearing fishnet stockings so I started calling them my “cheap slut stockings” and Stone started teasing me with it every time I was wearing them. And as you know, I’m wearing fishnet stockings today so…”

“Did you think I was serious? Or that I was talking about you? Your dress is not slutty at all… I mean, it’s a nice dress… but not slutty enough. I mean…” Stone giggles in a more nasal voice than earlier. Great, now I’m sure I broke his nose.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, I was tired and angry, okay?” I answer harshly. “Anyway, you used the plural form. Sluts…”

“She’s got two legs, for God’s sake…”

“Watch the road, Al.” Cee stops our developing debate about the grammatically correct way of calling someone a slut.

In the remaining part of our way I fume silently; I only notice after stopping the car that my hands got all sweaty, I must have gripped the steering wheel to tightly. We walk into the building and I lean my back against a pile waiting for them to arrange the registration at the counter of reception.

“What, four hours?” I hear Cee screaming.

“What happened? I approach them.

“We’ve just have been informed that the waiting time takes about four hour… which is a huge problem, since I have to get up early tomorrow, I promised Josh to accompany him to that outdoor video shooting… that can be true…” Cee whines.

“I’m a big boy, you don’t have to…” Stone clucks in.

“I can stay with him and drive him home.” I jabber and swallow hard at the end of the sentence.

“Really? That’d be great! I could even catch the bus! ” Cee grins and I start doubting in the existence of that video shooting. Whatever… I did what I did, I must take the consequences. “You’re the best!” she pulls me into a tight hug. “I’ll call you later, Stoney. Behave yourself!” she shouts back storming down the stairs.

Stone and I glance at each other with the same embarrassment for seconds that seem like an eternity until he speaks up finally.

“Uhm… I’m unbeatable at Twenty Questions.”

***

Gosh, that’s so embarrassing. We’ve been sitting here next to each other for like fifteen minutes and we’re just staring in front of ourselves. No questions have been asked yet, let alone twenty... I glance around and look desperately for excuses to leave him at least for a few minutes, I can’t stand this. A vending machine, bingo!

“Uhm… do you want to drink something?” I ask nodding towards it.

“Uhm… yup, a cola would be nice!”

Thank goodness! I walk to the machine and drop the coins into it but of course they land in the hole of change. As I lean down to fish them out I spot him staring at my direction but realizing I noticed him, he quickly turns his head in the other direction. Wait, was he checking me out? Stop Allison, you’re not a femme fatale at all, why would he…? I give a next try and this time the machine accepts the money and the can slowly moves… and gets stuck on its way. I can’t believe this. I beat with my fist a few times against the glass without any success. I try it more aggressively until I completely lose my temper and push it at full strength, using my entire body.

“Come on, work, you pile of thrash! Work!!!” I yell and finally, it reacts to my efforts. Luckily, I don’t have to fight that much for my ginger ale.

“Thanks” he smiles when I sit back next to him and hand him his drink. “To you anger issues!” he grins lifting it towards me and I can’t help reciprocating his expression.

“To your criminal introduction.” I answer as we clink our cans.

“Sooo… you’re that lawyer chick, huh?”

Great, if I ever had doubts about him having heard about me, now I can forget them. He definitely knows who I am.

“Almost. I still study and work as an intern at a law firm. I rather like to call myself an office monkey.”

“Ah. In that case, I’m not going to prosecute you. You must have a lot of slick colleagues who are ready to save your… backside.”

Am I out of my mind or did he actually emphasize the last word “that way”?

“Eheh, not really… they’d only undertake my case if I paid a shitload of money, I’m their droid, not their friend… Aaaand… you’re that rock star dude, huh?” I try to impersonate him.

“An almost-famous good-for-nothing with no band, at your service.” he lifts his baseball cap slightly.

“World famous rock band looks for a singer, lead guitarist, bassist and drummer?” I grin at him and we both start chuckling and silently smile at each other for a few second.

“Actually, you’re not far from truth. My former band… stopped existing this spring and now I’m trying to put together something new.”

“I’m said to be very talented at playing the pocket comb with parchment paper.”

“Nah, thanks, I rather need a washboard specialist.”

“I learn fast… anyway… Cee mentioned what happened with your last band… I’m really sorry about it.” I add in a lower voice and his smile evaporates immediately.

“Yeah… it was hard… but our record was released, we had to promote it not to breach our contract while we all knew it’s over… it’s crazy.”

“I know… Cee told me what happened… I don’t know much about record labels but I’m sure they are only interested in profit, no matter what happens with the band in the meantime.”

“It’s ridiculous, you haven’t even played one single note in the studio but you have already paid a shitload of money, as you said, and you have to decide with your bandmates in questions from which you don’t even have a clue. Not to mention that in our case, they try to overhype “the tragic death of the singer” situation.” he rolls his eyes while drawing air quotes with his hands.

“It’d be nice if someone helped young and unexperienced bands know their way around the business… But it’s difficult to find anyone who’s not only interested in money.”

“Right?” he agrees enthusiastically. “I wish I could have my own label and help other musicians.”

As we go on with discussing the topic, I realize he’s not that unreliable slacker I thought. On the contrary, he’s a rational, left-brained, down-to-earth guy who’s able to analyze everything without being blinded by his emotions. A lawyer brain. And Cee was right, he’s really smart, very smart and funny. It’s too bad he’s not my type. He’s cute but come on, that bandana, the baseball cap…

When the nurse calls him by his name, I glance at the clock on the wall and almost let out a scream of surprise. We’ve been talking for four and a half hour.

***

“Home, sweet home…” Stone groans stretching his arms in the air entering the kitchen of his tiny apartment that also serves as hall and living room. It’s almost 2 a.m., I offered to drive him home since public transport is basically non existing in that crazy hour. My assumption proved to be right: I did break his nose. The doctor re-tamponed his nostrils (obviously with more professional methods than Stone’s stuffing technique) and fixed it with a bandage; he also wanted to call the police seeing the nature of his injury but Stone managed to dissuade him from doing it by claiming he was attacked by an angry ape in a dark alley who also robbed his wallet. Surprisingly, he didn’t get to the psychiatry ward due to his improvised story…

“Do you need anything? Do you have enough painkillers, don’t you?” I ask although I can barely speak coherently and I feel I could fall asleep anywhere, this day is much longer than planned.

“I think I can handle pain.” he grins as he opens the cupboard that is full of alcoholic beverages.

“Whoa, I didn’t think you drink that much.” I remark and I can hear signs of disappointment in my own voice… but why do I care at all…

“I don’t. That’s why you can see the result of hoarding. I only drink beer… okay, sometimes a good, smoky whiskey can’t hurt.” he shrugs closing back the door.

“So no sex and drugs and rock and roll, right?” I smile fidgeting with the hem of my dress. I can’t believe I’ve said this, I started acting like an idiot, I should go…

“Sex and rock and roll are pretty okay to me.” he answers raising one eyebrow meaningfully. Damn, I’m blushing.

“Fuck, this headache… You did a proper job…” he presses his palm on his forehead.

“Uhm, maybe some cold poultice or ice would help. Do you have anything in the freezer?” I ask but I don’t even wait for his answer, I step to the fridge and open it. Okay, opening is a smooth expression, the door of the fridge is stuck in so I basically tear it off.

“Whoaaa… I knew you were going to try to finish the job and kill me before the sun rises.” he laughs and I realize he came nearer in the meantime so I almost managed to slap him in the face with the door.

“Ugh… do you prefer frozen peas or corn?” I inquire basically putting my face into the freezer so that he can’t see my embarrassed face. And the ice cold air maybe helps me win my normal face color back.

“Peas, please.”

As I close the fridge, I find him leaning against the counter squinting at me expectantly. I reach the package towards him but he doesn’t move. Does he want me to do it?

“You should take that cap off.” I walk to him reluctantly. He obeys and lets me cautiously remove the bandana too. I overcome the urge to dig my fingers into his thick hair and I brush one rebellious strand out of his face. He stares into my eyes for a moment, which I respond but I wish I didn’t since I find myself in the middle of some wild whirl, dazing and weakening, pulling me closer to reach those fathomless, green irises… Luckily, he closes his eyes, which pushes me back to reality and forces me to rearrange my breathing. I slowly lean closer and cool his nose area with my own breath before pressing the frozen bag against his forehead.

“Mhm, that feels good…” he moans softly as the ice meets his skin. Great. And now? I’m standing here holding frozen peas to his head… Do I have to wait in this position until they thaw out?

“Ahem… I think that’s all I could do for you so…” I clear my throat after a while and put the bag on the kitchen counter.

“Anyway, when I was sick or got some injury, my mom would give me healing kisses.” he goes on still holding those damn green eyes closed. Okay, this is ridiculous, this is the lamest pick-up line I’ve ever heard…

“Are you trying to say I should drive your mom here too?”

“Nah, that’s definitely not what I’m trying to say.” he snorts shaking his head. With still closed eyes.

“I think my job’s done here sooo…” I make an attempt to finish this awkward scene again but he’s still standing at the counter with a sassy smile.

“…sooo…?”

“…sooo… I’m sorry again, I wish you a quick recovery and... bye.” I jabber.

“Uhm… but you’re still standing in my kitchen.”

And blackout occurs again. A few seconds go by and I’m standing at the door again… but what happened in the meantime?

“I definitely feel better.” he smirks. No. Oh no. The first thing I start to remember is his scent, then the texture of his skin and I might have put my hand on his shoulder too when I pressed that short, light and most importantly, mindless peck on his face. I can’t believe I couldn’t resist, he’s not even my type, he’s only a kid...

“I really have to go.” I mutter and run out of the building not even looking back.

***

Seattle, Friday, September 1st, 1990

 “Allison, are you ready with that memo?” I’m woken up by my boss calling my name.

“Ugh… I need only ten minutes and I’ll bring you.”

I glance desperately at the piles of files and documents in front of me. Okay, if I force myself to focus on work I can do it in ten minutes. Actually, I haven’t been very effective in these days… I haven’t met Stone since the incident, but Cee called him a few times to check his condition. I don’t know if he told her about what happened after she left, I guess he didn’t… but he began to send me funny messages about our first meeting through her and I responded them… so I’m not sure whether something started between us or not… his messages weren’t particularly flirtatious… but the fact he didn’t forget my name immediately and decided to stay in touch even if we haven’t seen each other in the meantime… See, Allison, that’s why you’re not able to proceed with work. You’ve sworn so many times you give up daydreaming… and you’re still doing it. You build up a romantic plotline around the first guy who smiles at you, which already implies disappointment. But he’s smart and funny and amusing… Not that they all aren’t like this for the first time… they play the attractive, sweet guy only to pick you up but slowly and surely, they always show their true colors. And he isn’t an exception either, no matter what Cee tells you. She just wants you to date him to have a company on double dates, that’s all. But Cee is a friend, she wouldn’t promote someone who doesn’t deserve it… Gah…

“Allison???”

Ugh, fuck…

…

I somehow manage to survive the day and drive home. All I want is to order a pizza, curl up on the couch and watch a good movie. But as I get home, I find Cee in the kitchen in the company of a large amount of sandwich ingredients and crackers.

“What the hell…?”

“Oh, hi Al. Would you help me? Otherwise I won’t be able to finish the food by the time the guys arrive.” she tweets.

“Guys? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, haven’t I mentioned to you we’re throwing a party tonight?” she asks innocently.

“Cee, you’re impossible, I’m tired and I don’t really want to meet anyone and you haven’t even asked me…” I grunt at her.

“Come on, Al, it’ll be a very small party. Not that “everyone should bring one more person” sort of party. Only our friends…”

“…that means…”

“Josh, Karen, Steve, Sally, Regan, Tony… and Stoney.” she adds the last name in a casual voice.

“Stone?” I squeak. “I can’t believe you invited Stone…”

“Why? He isn’t angry at you because of what happened at all… plus… the phone calls… you seemed to get on well with each other and I thought you’d be happy to see him again.”

“That’s exactly the problem!” I throw my arms in the air. “I’d be happy to see him again and that’s exactly why I can’t see him again. I don’t need one more trouble.”

“You’re crazy. Anyway, he got super psyched when I told him about the party and I don’t think it’s a coincidence. And now help finally.” she puts a knife in my hand.

I began to chop vegetables and cheese with automatic moves but my brain keeps processing. What if he’s not as handsome as I remember? What if he’ll ignore me? What if he turns out to have a girlfriend? What if he even brings his girlfriend here? What if…

I almost drop the knife by the loud knock on the door.

“I’m coming!” Cee shouts and hurries to the door. Our guests arrive with loud laughter greeting us with hugs, waving with the wine bottles they brought as contribution. Stone is the last one to enter.

“Miss Balboa.” he nods at me with a deadpan and touches his Dallas Cowboys baseball cap briefly like a real Texan cowboy would do with the brim of his hat. Following the others he takes it off and hangs in on the hook on the wall, his hair spread all over his shoulders and… I have to grasp the edge of the table since he’s truly not as handsome as I remembered. He’s much more handsome. Okay, now that he’s not wearing that ridiculous bandana and baseball cap combo and he doesn’t have purple bruises around his nose, it’s pretty obvious that he’s the most handsome guy I’ve ever met. And he’s funny. And smart. And talented. And interesting. Shit.

I follow them in the living room and settle down on the couch. As I glance at him our eyes meet for a second and I can’t help sending a little smile at him that he responds and moves towards me but Regan plops down next to me. Great. Thanks, Regan. Stone takes place right in front of me, in the armchair. During our usual social activities – talking, playing card games, teasing each other –, the well-known game begins. Stolen glances, squints, awkward moves when we accidentally touch each other while serving ourselves from the food… it’s been the same embarrassing routine since my teenage years. Did he just look at me or am I just hallucinating? Was that a smile? Is he following me with peripheral vision the same way as I do with him? Jesus, I don’t dare watch him for too long, what if he notices it… What if he told the guys about our flirtatious scene in the kitchen? What if it wasn’t our scene, only mine? What if it wasn’t flirtatious but ridiculous? But fuck, I don’t care, who cares, apart from a few, punch-related jokes with which he addressed explicitly me, he hasn’t shown any interest in me. Inviting him was the idea of the year, thanks Cee.

We quickly run out of sandwiches so I decide to provide the bunch with supplies and head to the kitchen. I open the window and lean out to fill my lungs with fresh air. I feel immediately better as if it cleared my head too, making me realize we’re not in a tragedy, it’s no big deal if he doesn’t like me.

“Don’t jump.” I hear a nasal voice from behind my back.

“Hah, funny…” I close the window with a bitter smile. I open the fridge and pile the ingredients on the table ignoring him standing aimlessly in the room. I start spreading butter on the slices of bread signaling I’m busy.

“Hey, they don’t need to be stabbed… are you angry?” he chuckles examining my moves.

“I’m not angry!” I answer in a sharp voice. “I just thought we…” I flail but due to my intense moves the knife slips out of my hand and flies right in his direction.

“Whoa, knife throwing… that’s new to me but I’m in.” he leans away laughing as the knife bounces back from the wall and falls down with a loud jangle.

“Will you help me or did you come only to crack jokes about what happened two weeks ago and about which I’m really sorry? How many times should I repeat it?”

“Hey, easy girl, I didn’t want to hurt you. And I know you’re sorry. And I don’t mind it happened at all. And please tell me in which drawer I can find the cutlery.”

I point pouting at the drawer in question and reach my hand for a clean knife but he shakes his head with a severe expression.

“Ha, did you think I let you take pointed objects in your hands after this performance? I spread the slices and you put the ham and cheese on them.” he declares undeterred and I obey shrugging. We work silently for minutes when he speaks up again. “So what did you think?”

“Huh?”

“You haven’t finished the sentence you began when trying to kill me.”

“I…” I take a deep breath before going on “I just thought you were over it.”

“I am, just as I told you a few minutes ago…”

“But you keep joking about it…”

“Hey, I joke about everything in case you hadn’t noticed it… Plus, I haven’t known you very well yet so that’s the only thing related to you I can joke about…”

“Hey!!!” I nudge him.

“’I’m just kidding… just kidding…” he giggles nudging me back.

Okay, I can’t procrastinate it, I have to come up with it to avoid misunderstandings.

“And… I hope you don’t feel bad about the other thing either…” I jabber fixing my eyes on the table.

“About what thing?”

“You know… the other thing… the embarrassing one… I mean the other embarrassing thing that happened after the first embarrassing thing.”

“Uhm…” he scratches his chin. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about. I mean, I do remember one more thing from that night but that one was rather pleasant than embarrassing… no, it was considerably pleasant.”

I finally muster my courage and look up at him and our eyes linger on each other’s smiling face. It does exist. We have a thing. I wasn’t imagining it. It’s not only my fantasy. Maybe I should…

“Hey, guys, what takes you so long? Do you also butcher the pig and make the ham by your own?” Regan opens the door and peaks in putting his head in the doorway. “Oh sorry, I didn’t want to bother you…”

Thanks, Regan, again.

***

I hate this bowl. It’s so damn difficult to wash it without flooding the whole kitchen. And I hate these plates too, I’ve always hated that ugly pattern on them. And I hate these cutleries with their sticky plastic handle. Fuck, I hate everything. The dirty and disgusting dishwater gets mixed up with my teardrops, I try to wipe my eyes with my hand but it’s wet, I can’t even wipe my eyes, I hate, hate, hate…

I knew this was gonna happen. I don’t even know what I was thinking when I hoped he’s interested in me. After we had gone back to the living room, Regan sat down meaningfully in the armchair, and I took it for granted Stone would sit next to me and he did. And we talked and made each other laugh the whole evening like we’d done in the hospital and I got in that easy, happy bubble again with the guy with whom I couldn’t feel bored for a single moment… And that was it. I was hoping he’d ask me out or we agreed on meeting each other later or anything… But nothing happened. He left with the others, all he said was a short “seeya” and that’s all. It was only a flirt to him. And I rather don’t start daydreaming about him calling me later or looking for my company because it’s not gonna happen. He’s the first guy I’ve been really interested in since my latest relationship ended but obviously, he only wants me to be the girl in the bunch with whom he can flirt only not to be bored.

And Cee went with Josh to his place so I’m alone with my anger. At least I can beat my fist against the furniture and kick in chair legs as loud and strong as I can. And no one would laugh at me if I pummeled pillows. Ugh, but I’m swimming in tear and snot, I should restore my dignity at first. I walk to my jacket since I always keep a small packet of handkerchief in its pocket. And I spot that baseball cap on the hanger. He forgot to take it back… Great… Whatever, Cee can give it back to him anytime. Or what if he comes back for it? Or should I call him later or… No, stop, Allison. The guy has just ditched you and you’re already looking for excuses to see him again? And what about your dignity? If he wants the cap, he will…

I freeze as I hear a knock on the door again.

“Who’s that?” I ask loudly and try overcome the trembling in my voice.

“A dangerous criminal. Calls decent girls sluts, provokes fistfights and stabbings.” I hear a familiar nasal voice from behind the door. And I’m grinning from ear to ear again, how can he make me laugh in like two seconds every time he’s around?

“I take the risk.” I answer as I open the door for him.

“I forgot my baseball cap here.” he explains still standing in the door.

“I know, I’ve just noticed it.” I stare at him paralyzed.

“Are you okay? You’re eyes are red and swollen.” he leans closer and I lean back terrified.

“Oh, I was… I was washing the dishes and the detergent got into my eye so…

“I’ll help you.” he enters, closes the door quickly behind himself and marches in the kitchen and I can’t do anything but follow him. “I’ll do the dirty work, you dry.” he puts on the apron and throws the dish towel towards me. Since I’m still numb of surprise, it lands on my head and we both burst out in loud laughter. We start to work in the utmost harmony and I must admit, my anger evaporates in seconds to make place for this new-found comfort.

“Ugh, I’ve always wondered how delicious food can turn so quickly into alien snot due to a few drops of water.” he frowns cleaning kitchen sink with the sponge and then disappears behind my back probably to dry his hands and take off the apron.

“Actually, I’ve always thought they’re not food residues, there must be an alien base in the pipeline and they come up through the drain.” I explain drying the slotted spoon.

“Whoa, you almost put out my eyes.” he startles. “I’ll take this from you, nice try, again.” he takes the spoon out of my hand. Ouch. I didn’t notice he was standing that close behind me. Wait, why was he standing that close behind me?

“And… we’re ready… thanks for helping.” I wipe my hands in the towel hanged on the cupboard.

“You’re welcome.” he nods standing with his hands stuck deep in his pockets. “It’s late, I should let you sleep and go.” he adds but still, he makes a step towards me.

“Yeah, it’s late and I don’t want to waste your time, thanks again.” I walk closer to him too and began to examine my shoes.

What if this time I didn’t wait for the guy to make the first step? Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

“You know, I thought, once we could…” I perk my head up and…

“OUCH!!!” we both yell as our foreheads collide with each other.

“Do you always try to kill guys who like you?” he groans pressing his palm against his head.

“I don’t… what? Who???” I stutter on the verge of fainting not because of the splitting ache in my head but due to the wild pace dictated by my heart.

“I glance a pretty girl with my friend but she punches me. We’re talking all night but she tries to knock me off with the fridge door. She touches and kisses me so softly that I nearly melt but then she runs away. I try to approach her again but she throws a knife at me. I leave my baseball cap intentionally at her place to be able to come back and stay alone with her and as I’m about to embrace her finally, she attacks me with a slotted spoon. I make an attempt to kiss her and she headbutts me. You’re a dangerous type, you know?”

“Am I?” I send a timid smile at him biting my lower lip. “You know… I only try to kill guys whom I like…” I utter slowly not taking my eyes off him.

“I want to try something, but you have to cooperate, okay? It’s extremely risky.” he explains stepping to me again, trying to keep a strict face. “First, I have to make sure you won’t make any sudden, unexpected move.” He wraps his arms around my waist pulling me closer.

“But my hands still have a clear way… that’s not safe enough… what if I put them here… like this?” I tiptoe and lace my arms around his neck.

“Excellent idea.” he mutters brushing his nose against mine.

I can’t stop smiling even when our lips finally meet in a long, light, gentle kiss caressing and tasting each other for long moments.

“I think we’re both still alive” he breaks the kiss breathing against my skin.

“I’m… I’m not sure… if I am…” I mumble between further stroking kisses.

“Actually… there’s one more thing I really want to try out with you… as for now…” he pulls away for a second. “But it’s very dangerous… we need to take more precautions…”

His one hand wanders slowly upwards on my back and his fingers end up in my hair while the other hand of his slips under my shirt to touch my bare skin.

“Precautions are important…” I whisper against his neck as I mirror his moves. He’s about to capture my lips again but this time it is me who cuts in.

“Stone?”

“Mhm?” he starts swaying with me impatiently.

“I’m so glad I punched you…” I sigh and let him pull me into a deep, greedy, relentless kiss…

[anitabyars]

Title: A Perfect Lie

Author: Lisa Renee Jones

Release Date: May 14, 2019

ABOUT A PERFECT LIE

Secrets. Lies. A man. There's always a man. And there's always a truth to be told.

I'm Hailey Anne Monroe. I’m twenty-eight years old. An artist, who found her muse on the canvas because I wasn’t allowed to have friends or even keep a journal. And yes, if you haven’t guessed by now, I’m that Hailey Anne Monroe, daughter to Thomas Frank Monroe, the man who was a half-percentage point from becoming President of the United States. If you were able to ask him, he’d probably tell you that I was the half point. But you can’t ask him, and he can’t tell you. He’s dead. They’re all dead and now I can speak.

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EXCERPT

“Can I join you?” he asks, motioning to the table.

There’s interest in his eyes, the kind a man has for a woman, but who knows, maybe it’s real or maybe it’s not real. Maybe he knows who I am and sees a path to power and fame. The way Tobey wanted me for money and power, right up until the moment I’d called his number aka his agenda; thus, he has not called me since I left. Maybe Harvard will lie even better than Tobey did. Maybe Harvard will at least kiss better than he did, and the lies would taste like temptation rather than convenience. At least then, if I’m used, I’ll enjoy being used.

Whatever the case, it’s clear I might actually be angry with Tobey and that aside, the interest that Harvard has shown in me, must be controlled before my Denver sanctuary is destroyed. “You can join me,” I say, “but only because I’m trying to save the rest of the place from the attorney in the house.”

I am pleased when Harvard laughs, where Tobey would have scowled, proving that Harvard has a sense of humor, which is rare for those in my life. I’ve barely completed this thought when he moves forward and claims the seat next to me, not across from me, settling his briefcase on that chair instead. In the process, his leg brushes my leg and for the briefest of moments, I’m transported back to the place that I’m now trying to forget: to Austin, to Drew’s leg next to mine, his wink, and I do now what I did then. I jerk back. If Harvard notices he doesn’t react. “Since we haven’t been formally introduced,” he says, resting his naked hands on the table. “I’m Logan. Logan Casey.”

“Logan Casey,” I repeat trying to ground myself in the present, at least for now, but some part of me is still swimming in that memory, which naturally has me wondering if this man is a shark in the water around me. “Two first names,” I add. “Sounds like your parents fought over who got to pick your first name. Did they draw straws for which choice became your middle name?”

“You’re actually right on target,” he says, laughing again, and it’s a nice, masculine laugh, and oddly this thought feels familiar while Logan does not. “No one has ever guessed that,” he adds. “My mother won the name war. The women always win. Speaking of names. Do you have one?”

“Hailey Anne Pitt,” I say, “and in my house, my father won the name war.” Because in my father’s world, I add silently, the women don’t win the wars. At least, not that he knows, not in an obvious way. I’ve learned this well.

“Well then, Hailey Anne Pitt,” he says, “what’s a Stanford girl like you, doing in a place like this? You’re a long way from school.”

I’m smacked in the face with a lesson I’ve long ago learned and forgotten with this man; strangers do not always remain strangers and all offhanded remarks can come back to haunt you. “That was a joke,” I say, shutting the door connected to my real life, and a path that leads to my father. “I hate attorneys, remember?”

He narrows his eyes on me, and for no reason other than instinct, I believe he’s looking for a lie that he won’t find. I’m simply too well-taught from birth, too skilled at being more than one person to allow such a detection. Well that, and the fact that I really do hate attorneys, which is why I’ll be a good one.

“That was a joke?” he confirms.

“Yes,” I say. “Are you amused?”

“Yes, actually. I am. What does a lawyer-hating smart ass like yourself do for a living?”

“When not busy taunting those who went to law school,” I say. “I’m an aspiring artist.” Both honest answers, if you put a “was” in front of the “aspiring artist” which I’d thought that I’d come to terms with, but the knot in my stomach says I have not.

Logan motions toward the art room. “Your career explains why you ended up here.”

“I guess it does,” I say, as this place serves me well to reconnecting to the Pitt part of my life, which is a place I really need to be right now, for all kinds of reasons.

“Are you good?” Logan asks, as if he’s read my mind.

My father’s words answer him in my head. Art is useless unless you’re famous, he used to say often, because of course, it was inconceivable that I might be good enough to be famous. “Art is like movies and food,” I say, shoving aside that bad memory. “Good is subjective.” I don’t give him time to reply. I ping the conversation back toward him. “What kind of law do you practice?”

“Corporate,” he says, and this time he pings back to me. “Do you live in the neighborhood?”

“Yes,” I say simply. “Do you?”

“I bought a building a few years ago where I live and work which means this is my home turf, and why I know you’re new here.”

“I am,” I say and since he’s clearly going to ask for details, I quickly preempt with an on-the-fly story. Actually, it’s the suggested story, Rudolf included in my file. “I came here for a job, and my new boss owns a house he’s rented to me for dirt cheap.”

“And what does an artist do but create art for a living?”

“I’m working for a private art acquisitions firm. I now hunt for treasures for a living.” This lie is actually my dream job that I’ve never been allowed to entertain.

The horror flick loving waitress delivers my coffee and brownie. “Thank you,” I say, because every politician’s daughter has manners beaten into her.

“No problem,” she says, “but if you come to your senses and want a better version of that coffee, just shout.” She eyes Logan. “I already know you want a crappy tasting coffee, on endless pour and a chocolate chip cookie. Coming right up.”

“Thanks, Megan,” he says, giving her a wink that I don’t classify as flirtatious, just friendly, and Megan is gone.

“Obviously you’re a regular,” I comment, “and they even like you.”

“And they like me,” he confirms, “despite knowing I’m an attorney.

“Because you’re good looking and use it to your advantage.”

He arches a brow. “You think I’m good looking, do you?”

“Oh, come on,” I say, crinkling my nose. “Everyone thinks you’re good looking. I’m simply stating a fact. We use what we have and those of us that are smart, know what we have.” I move on from what is really quite inconsequential. “Why work here, not at home, or in the office?”

“I find I get a lot of work done with a cookie, coffee, and no access to streaming television,” he explains.

No one in my D.C. crowd would make an admission of being human and distractible. Some people in my situation might take comfort in that fact, but I don’t. Logan’s an attorney, and my gut, which I’ll confirm with research, says he’s a powerful one, the kind that radiates toward my father. Maybe that’s a coincidence and maybe it’s not. Maybe he’s testing how well I execute my cover story. The possibilities are many. Though in all fairness to Logan, perhaps I’d lean toward his innocence, if not for the laundry list of recent events such as Tobey being gay and the FBI agent, who is likely working for my father, that I slept with to prove I was a) still desirable and b) not a killer.

ABOUT LISA

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the author of the highly acclaimed INSIDE OUT series.

In addition to the success of Lisa's INSIDE OUT series, she has published many successful titles. The TALL, DARK AND DEADLY series and THE SECRET LIFE OF AMY BENSEN series, both spent several months on a combination of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling lists. Lisa is also the author of the bestselling WHITE LIES and LILAH LOVE series.

Prior to publishing Lisa owned multi-state staffing agency that was recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised by the Dallas Women's Magazine. In 1998 Lisa was listed as the #7 growing women owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine.

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My Review!

5 ⭐️

Riveting!!!

Wow! This is a riveting, suspenseful, mystery that is about greed, destiny, betrayal, secrets, lies, power, money and ambition. It’s about what some powerful people may do to get ahead. But is also the story of a young woman Hailey Anne Monroe whose father has political aspirations to become the President. A father who appears to be disdainful of rules, of laws and of ethics. Raised from infancy to be the perfect daughter, Hailey tells us her story, as she searches for answers, and finds out what she is truly made of. Written in past and present tense it takes you on her journey of what she says is the truth. But is it? Or could it be the perfect lie?

This story took me on a wild ride, making me question every single character and situation the whole way through. There were little hints along the way that built this story, so many little things that started to tick off this list of what was real and who was behind all of this. I spent most of the chapters mentally keeping track of all the big and small clues. My mind constantly racing trying to figure out where this was all leading next. Because we have learned that in politics and life that lies can and are avoided by the many versions of the truth.

Lisa Renee Jones did a phenomenal job crafting this story, and I was held captive until the end. I loved its fast pace and unexpected turns. So clear your schedule. Bring a snack. This will keep you reading late into the night. I couldn’t put it down. I highly recommend this story.

I voluntarily read and reviewed an advanced reader copy of this book. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

[onestowatch]

Newcomer Delacey Stands By What Is Hers In Spellbinding Debut “My Man”

Photo by Amber Asaly

International Women’s Day is all about honoring the beautiful qualities that make women powerful, all around the world. What better way to celebrate female empowerment than with newcomer Delacey and her captivating hook, “Bitch don’t steal my man,” a sassy plea from her infectious debut single, “My Man.”

Delacey, whose real name is Brittany Amaradio, is not only a friendly face to the music scene but a highly skilled songwriter. You might not know her name but you know her songs: Halsey’s “Without You,” The Chainsmokers’ “New York City” and Zara Larsson’s “Ruin My Life,” to name a few. And now, the songstress is more than ready to step out into the limelight and make her mark as an artist.

“My Man” is a bold yet vulnerable ode to the insecurities women often fall prey to in our continuously evolving society. With social media constantly advertising the glitz and the glamour, we often worry that someone “better” will come and swipe our significant other away, a fear that is the result of our tendency to sometimes paint false illusions on the internet. Delacey captures these worries brilliantly and shows just how fearless and honest women have the power to be, crooning “Bitch don’t steal my man/ He’s got a weakness for girls like you/ We both know you can/ But I really need him more than you.”

Her lyrics evoke relief within us; we are not alone in our thoughts and worries. She sings, “You’re a supermodel/ Shaped just like a bottle,” later comparing herself, crooning, “Got a mouth just like a trucker/ I can’t even be a lady,” and we cannot help but praise Delacey. There is the notion that we all have to be supermodels and act like ladies but Delacey paints a different story: it is okay to be rough around the edges, to break the stereotypes around being a woman, and to fight for what is rightfully yours. In this case, her man.

Of the track, the California-native says,

“I really like the balance in this song, how I’m being my feisty Italian self but also building up this other woman by talking about how dope she is. I’m really just an endless bank of crazy things I’ve gone through, and I feel like I’ve worked so many emotional rollercoasters into my music. I hope that helps people to connect in a really honest way - and I hope that it makes them a little uncomfortable sometimes too.”

Give the song a listen below:

And to all the women out there, keep being the badass ballers that you are!

[cromulentbookreview]

Menstruation!

Yes, that’s right, menstruation! Something half the world’s population experiences on a monthly basis - the regular discharge of blood and mucosal tissue from inner uterine lining through the vagina and...are all the dudes gone? 

Sweet. 

Let’s talk about Mackenzi Lee’s fiercely feminist follow-up to The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue: The Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy!

“You’re trying to play a game designed by men. You’ll never win, because the deck is stacked and marked, and also you’ve been blindfolded and set on fire. You can work hard and believe in yourself and be the smartest person in the room and you’ll still get beat by the boys who haven’t two cents to rub together.” - From the ARC of The Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy

For some reason, I have a terrible time writing about things I really, really like. I can go on and on about that one thing that I hate (and I do, often), but when I like something, I say “hey, I like that” and then not much else. My eloquence deserts me when I have to articulate why it is I love something beyond “aw man it’s the best” and then nothing else. Not sure why that is. What I do know is that I finished reading The Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy on August 28th, actually, it was August 1. I know how dates work. I started writing a review as soon as I finished it, then just...didn’t. Perhaps it’s pure laziness. Perhaps its writer’s block. Perhaps it’s because I’m in the middle of another epic book binge (five books in, four to go, plus a novella and possibly an ARC of book 10!). 

Whatever the reason, I’ve come back to this review over and over, determined to be clever and such, but...man it’s just harder to write about things you love versus the things you hate. It’s very easy to criticize (fun, too), but writing endless praise gets boring fast.

So how am I supposed to describe how much I love Mackenzi Lee’s books?

Mackenzi Lee’s works are the book equivalent of a warm, comforting hug. A hug delivered directly to your brain, with words. The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue was one of the best books I read last year, and its sequel does not disappoint in the slightest. Lady’s Guide is 100% pure feminist awesomeness. If you’ve ever been angered by the patriarchy, then this book is definitely for you.

Since praise is hard and complaining is fun, let me take a moment to complain.

All girls, all women, really, know how it is to feel “less-than” for simply being female. That shit starts the minute we’re born and it’s pervasive as fuck. It never stops. Even in a world where a family cannot survive on just one income, women are expected to work two jobs: one for pay, and one for free. Women are described not as people, but as extensions of others: “Wife”, “Mother”, “Girlfriend”, “Daughter” - as if that is all we are, and all we’re expected to be. (On a related note, I am so tired of books with titles that end with “wife”, “daughter”, “sister,” etc. Also, describing women as “girls.” Fuck that shit, I’m an adult, don’t you call me “girl.”). All the bad things that happen to women are our own fault somehow. Rather than teaching men not to attack women, women are expected to take every single precaution in the universe to protect themselves from men. A single “lapse”? Well, then, anything that a man does to you is your fault. Ladies, have you ever had to fake a hypothetical male partner in order to avoid being harassed? Because men would automatically respect a non-existent male before a real human female?

I am so fucking tired of all of that shit. I am so tired of women being blamed for every single bad thing that happens to them. I am so tired of men getting away with harassing, demeaning and belittling women. I am so tired of male authors saying shit like “Mary Shelley didn’t really write Frankenstein!” I am so tired of women’s accomplishments being treated as “less-than.” I am so tired of a woman’s value being equated with whether or not she has a husband or children. I am so tired of a woman’s worth being equated with her appearance. I am tired of being paid less for the same work my male coworkers do. I am so tired of job interviews with loaded questions meant to suss out whether or not you’re planning on taking maternity leave (because it’s illegal to ask if someone is planning on having kids, but perfectly OK to ask “what are your future plans?” wink wink). I am so tired of all of it. It’s bullshit. All of it is bullshit, and the fact that being a woman means fighting an uphill battle every goddamn day just makes me tired.

And all I’ve described above is just a fraction of the bullshit women of color experience. It’s the fucking worst.

This is why we need books like Lady’s Guide. The patriarchy might not be as visible or obviously terrible as it was in the 18th century, but it’s still here, and still as toxic as ever. 

Ahem. Anyway. Ladies Guide! See, I can complain forever. When it comes to things I love I’m like “uh, I love it, you should read it” and that’s it.

Lady’s Guide takes place roughly a year after the end of Gentleman’s Guide - Felicity is living and working in a bakery in Edinburgh. She’s been trying, and mostly failing, to get accepted into medical school. But, this being the 18th century, and Felicity being a woman, she doesn’t get very far. After her coworker at the bakery proposes to her, dismissing Felicity’s desires for an education as nothing more than a phase, Felicity decides to take off and try again in London. She sets up shop with her brother and Percy, living happily ever after (because Monty/Percy forever, goddamn it!) and attempts to get into one of the London medical schools via subterfuge. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work out. Felicity is on the verge of giving up when one of the hospital’s more enlightened board members gives her the contact info for Alexander Platt - a trailblazer in the medical field and Felicity’s idol. Dr. Platt might just take a woman on as a student, but he’s all the way in Stuttgart...

...about to get married to Felicity’s childhood best friend, Johanna Hoffmann. Sounds like a perfect way for Felicity to ingratiate herself with Dr. Platt, right?

Except Johanna and Felicity had a falling out years ago. As kids, Felicity and Johanna loved exploring and science and getting dirty, but, as they got older, Johanna started showing more interest in “girly” things while Felicity’s interests never strayed. Nothing like that painful phase of adolescence where you look around and see that all your friends have changed, gotten into boys and makeup and all that shit, while all you want to do is read Tolkien and watch Sailor Moon...

Such a classic episode. 

Anyway, Felicity decides to say “fuck it,” and head off to see Johanna in Stuttgart anyway, because this is her chance and she’s not going to throw away her shot.* So Felicity teams up with Sim, a friend of the pirates from Gentleman’s Guide, ditches Monty and Percy and heads off for the continent. 

And if reuniting with an ex-best friend who you haven’t spoken to or seen in years isn’t awkward enough, meeting your hero, who is about to get married to said ex-best friend, is even worse. Like all heroes, Dr. Platt isn’t exactly everything Felicity thought he would be. And his upcoming marriage to Johanna isn’t exactly a love match on either side...

Lady’s Guide is not only a massive brain-hug, it’s existence-affirming. Felicity writes herself a message, one she returns to time and time again throughout the book, and something all women and girls  should hear: You Deserve To Be Here. Yes. Yes you fucking do. Felicity deserves to attend medical school - but men block her path. She deserves to be her own woman, an intellectual, a scientist - all of that, without being scoffed at. 

Lee also makes the point, throughout the book, that the patriarchy is not just men. Women perpetuate patriarchy as well by bullying and policing the behavior of other women. We’re kept down by our own infighting. We see this in the relationship between Felicity and Johanna, whose friendship fell apart because of their differing views on femininity. Felicity was keen to reject feminine trappings, like clothes, makeup, boys, etc., focusing instead on her books. Johanna wanted to embrace her femininity and be a scientist. Felicity looked down her nose at Johanna’s embrace of the traditionally feminine, and Johanna resented Felicity’s high-and-mighty-better-than-you attitude, and thus their childhood friendship fell apart.

The relationship between Johanna and Felicity and their views on femininity is very much like Sansa and Arya Stark. On the Sansa-Arya spectrum, Arya is all about rejecting traditional femininity - no frilly dresses or talk of marriage for Arya. No, she’s all about sword-fighting and vengeance and wearing other people’s faces as masks. Sansa, on the other end of the spectrum, embraces traditional Westerosi femininity, at first suffering it’s trappings, but then she learns to embrace it in another way. Sansa learns to wear her femininity like armor, and use it to her advantage. First, she uses it to survive in King’s Landing, where one wrong move would have gotten her killed, then she uses it to get the same thing Arya hopes to get with her assassin skills: vengeance. Independently, Sansa and Arya are both powerful women. Together? Aw, man. Shit’s going to go down.

I do have one nitpicky complaint, re: Lady’s Guide.

At one point, Johanna tells Sim: “I will drag you back to Bavaria by the ear and take you to court there if I must.”

OK, so in the novel, Johanna lives in Stuttgart. Stuttgart is in Baden-Württemberg, though so...why is Johanna threatening to drag Sim to Bavaria? In the early 1700s, Stuttgart was part of the Duchy of Württemberg which was definitely not in Bavaria. I’m not sure how the Swabians would take it if they were mistaken for Bavarians. Or vice-versa. And heaven forbid you mix up Bavaria and Franconia, even though Franconia is technically now a part of Bavaria…

Ok. Here’s the thing, though. Germany, as it is today didn’t exist until the 90s. The 1990s. Until then the 99.999999% of German history is trying to figure out the goddamned map. There was no unified “Germany” until 1871, and even then the borders didn’t mesh with what they are today. The area that we refer to as “Germany” historically was about 100,000,000 little Kingdoms/Grand Duchies/Duchies/Electorates/Principalities/city-states/what-have-yous tangled together by the Holy Roman Empire, until Napoleon kicked the Holy Roman Empire’s ass in 1805, leading to Francis II to dissolve the Empire in 1806 then it was the German Confederation with the same amount of Kingdoms/Grand Duchies/Duchies/Electorates/Principalities/city-states/what-have-yous … Jesus, just look at the maps. I mean, look at  Baden-Württemberg in the 18th century alone! 

I honestly don’t know how actual Germans sort this out. It’s easier to just be like “OK, we’re just going to start at 1871 and go forward, OK? Let’s just call everything that came before Germany and move on.”

Still, if you’re from Stuttgart and you show up in Bavaria to file a complaint, you’d probably get laughed at by a bunch of mustachioed dudes who’ve been drinking since 9 AM.  

But really, that is my only complaint. Read The Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy. If you pre-order it, you can get a bonus ebook epilogue to Gentleman’s Guide!  So...go do that. 

RECOMMENDED FOR: Everyone, women especially.

NOT RECOMMENDED FOR: Assholes, men’s right’s activists.

RATING: 5/5

TOTALLY UNBIASED FANGIRL RATING: 5,000,000,000,000,000/5

RELEASE DATE: October 2, 2018

ANTICIPATION LEVEL FOR SEQUEL/CONTINUATIONS: Olympus Mons

AMOUNT OF TIME IT TOOK ME TO WRITE THIS RIDICULOUS REVIEW: 21 days.  Hahaha, no it took me 48 days. Because...fuck...I don’t know.

* (curse you, Lin-Manuel Miranda!)

[sockablock]

Here’s Chapter 4 of my Critical Role backstory fic, this time featuring Beauregard! It’s the longest one so far; I had a lot to write about the Disaster Lesbian™ (check out Fjord, Caleb, and Jester too!)

Word Count: 4686

From Where We Came: Chapter 4, Beauregard

Beauregard is born in the early morning hours of the 18th of Brussendar, in the height of summer, to parents glowing with immense pride. Beauregard is hastily handed off to her nurse in the early morning hours of the 18th of Brussendar, in the height of summer, by parents who don’t even do their new daughter the kindness of hiding their disdain and disappointment. She is whisked away, down the hall, to a different room furnished in soft blues and filled with little wooden toys and plush animals. She is placed into a wooden crib. The nurse leaves. In the lonely quiet, the newborn girl begins to cry.

“No, Beau, dearest, stop fussing with your dress,” her mother scolds quietly. “This is a very important tour, and you mustn’t behave this way. It would look absolutely terrible for your father if you caused a scene.”

“But, Mama,” Beau protests, “I hate wearing this dress. The lacy parts are itchy and the sleeves are too long.”

 Her mother pats her on the head. “Don’t worry, darling, we’ll get you another one made.”

 Beau pouts. “Mama, I don’t want another dress. I don’t want to wear a dress.”

 Her mother tuts quietly. “Don’t be silly, dear. Look, Mummy is wearing a dress, isn’t she? Don’t I look pretty? You look so pretty too.”

 Beau considers her mother. Then her eyes wander a few yards away, where her father is proudly showing off the brewery’s newest oak barrels to group of tall, very important-looking men. They are dressed in long coats, with their trousers tucked into sturdy, but well-made and needlessly fashionable boots.

“Why can’t I wear what Papa is wearing?” Beau asks. “He’s not got a dress on, so why do I have to wear one?”

 Her mother laughs. It’s a soft, twinkling sound, like a little bell. Beau knows this laugh. It’s the we’ve-got-company-and-my-child-is-talking-too-much laugh. Beau knows this laugh well.

 “You can’t wear trousers,” her mother says, “you’re a girl. You could if you were a boy, but you’re not, are you?”

 Beau knows the answer to that question. “No, Mama,” she says.

  Darien is a boy, and one of the most exciting people Beau knows. He’s eleven, two years older than she is. He’s the son of another winery owner, as renowned and as wealthy as Beau’s parents. The edges of their lands weave together easily enough, and he frequently slips away from his duties to go hang out with the rowdy girl next door. Together, they pester the workers and write cuss words in the dirt paths and chase each other through endless rows of gleaming purple grapes. During peak harvest season, one of their favorite things to do is steal the fattest grapes off the vines and meet in the woods between the properties to compare their loot. They sit together in one of the tallest trees and munch on grapes and talk of benign, childish things.

 “I could beat you up,” Beau says between mouthfuls.

 Darien considers the muddy hem of her dress, her rolled-up sleeves, the leaves in her hair. “Yeah,” he says, “You probably could.”

 “Probably could?” Beau raises an eyebrow.

 “Definitely could,” he admits. “But I’m not that strong.”

 From six feet up in the branches, Beau leans against the tree trunk. “That’s ok,” she says in a rare bit of open friendliness, “you’re good at other stuff. Like climbing trees and stealing things from your dad.”

 Darien shoots her a grin. “You won’t believe this,” he says, “but I picked a lock yesterday!”

 Beau’s eyes go wide. “No!” She exclaims. “Really? How did you do it?”

 His grin broadens. “I can show you when we finish these grapes!” He lowers his voice conspiratorially, even though there’s nobody around for ages here. “I lifted a set of thieves’ tools from one of the sheds,” he says, “and I’m not really sure why they were there, but it was probably fine because nobody goes in there ever anyways. And I was messing around in there but then I knocked some stuff over on the top shelves and it hit the door and then the door locked and then I was like oh, Pelor, I’m gonna die, but then I just shoved some of the hooks from the set into the lock and then it opened!” Darien takes a deep breath to refill his lungs. “And now I’m an expert rogue,” he concludes.

The pair stand in front of the door. “It’s not locked,” says Beau. “It was just rusty. I think you probably just messed with the inside hard enough to unstick it.”

 Darien gives her a reproachful look. “That’s basically lockpicking,” he says.

 “Nuh-uh,” Beau says.

 “Uh-huh,” he replies with scathing wit.

 “Nuh-uh,” Beau retorts eloquently.

 “Uh-huh. It wouldn’t open before, and now it does.”

 Beau considers this point. “Alright,” she says eventually, “I’ll give you that one. But it’s not lockpicking like real thief would lockpick.”

 Darien points a finger under her nose. “Then just you wait!” he declares. “I’ll learn how to be a real thief and then you can’t tell me what’s what anymore.”

 Beau grins. “Oh yeah? What if I do it first?” And she cuffs him over the head and scampers off, shouting about how real thieves could move quick as the wind. Darien gives chase, whooping loudly behind her.

Beauregard stares out the window, and chews on the end of her quill. The clouds look quite fascinating today, and the fact that she even had that thought must be a testament to how godsdamn bored she is. Father and Mother are making her check the books again, and even though her tutors have praised her mathematical skills (“When she applies herself she really is quite good,” the one with the annoying mustache had said.), Beau really can’t be bothered to even try and be interested in numbers. Even though her parents have hinted numerous times that she should be stepping up and helping out more with the business, Beau doesn’t want to. It’s boring. She’d rather run around outside or pick grapes or do almost literally anything else.

 She sighs and glances down at the page. Only a few rows left.

“You spoke out of line again, Beauregard! That tour was incredibly important, and your comments disrupted my guests and made me look like a fool!”

 “I’m sorry, father, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again.”

 “If you do, you know what the punishments are.”

 She does.

So when Beau accidentally lets slip to her parents that her clothes are always filthy because she spends all her free time traipsing through the woods with the neighbor’s son, she expects the worst. There are grave punishments for doing boy things. For being disruptive. For being ungrateful and ruining the lovely things we give her and being a bad, bad girl.

 What she doesn’t expect is for Mother to scoop her up in a big hug and cry tears of joy. What she doesn’t expect is the flicker of impressed surprise that flits across her father’s usually stoic face.

 “Oh, my darling, this is wonderful news!” Her mother gushes. “And you’re sure this is young Darien? You’re sure he likes to spend time with you?”

 Beau makes a face that neither of her parents notice. “Mama, of course I’m sure it’s Darien. And, uh, yeah.”

 “Oh, this will be absolutely fantastic for your father. Won’t it, dear?” She asks with a glance at her husband.

 He gives the slightest nod. “How old are you, Beauregard?”

 Beau looks down at the ground. “Twelve, Papa.”

 “You are rather young,” he muses, “but this opportunity…”

 Beau’s mother nods enthusiastically.

 Her father nods again, this time more firmly. Then his frown returns and he says, firmly, “But pleased as I am with this match, you two cannot keep spending time the way you currently are. No more of this running through the forests and getting into trouble. You are a young woman, and should compose yourself as such.”

 Beau can feel the weight of his gaze. She doesn’t like it.

“I can’t believe our parents are making us do this,” Darien groans. We’ve never had to be fancy around each other before.”

 Beau grumbles, misery dripping off her slumped shoulders. “This sucks ass,” she says. Swear words are still rather new to her, but she has a good feeling about them. She makes a mental note to ask the servants for some more.

 Meanwhile, Darien risks a glance over at where his mother and father are talking with Beau’s at the other end of the garden. They’re seated around a polished wooden tea-table and passing each other the weird little sandwiches that grownups like to eat. Between bites, they discuss (probably) the best way to ruin their kids’ lives. A maid hovering behind them, striking empty cups with the teapot like an eagle diving for heron. To the side a butler stands, staring at pink lilies, artfully pretending not to be waiting for commands while also waiting around for commands. Birds chirp in the flowering trees above them. A few bees hum softly in the background.

 Darien turns back to Beau, whose scowl has somehow gotten even deeper. “Hey,” he says, “do you think they’re doing this ‘cause they want us to…you know? Get married and stuff?”

 Beau sighs and gives a shrug. “That’s what they were talking about yesterday.”

 Their eyes meet, and they consider one another for a moment.  

 “No,” they say simultaneously.

 They both nod in acknowledgement of a good decision and slide further down on the bench. Beau’s dress, a horrific, daffodil-colored poofy nightmare, prevents her from achieving optimal slouch. Darien fidgets with his coat. They are basically in hell.

 Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Beau hops to her feet. “Okay, I’m done now. Let’s go.”

 A slow grin spreads across Darien’s face. “The birch tree by the river?”

 They wait for just the right moment. And while the parents are preoccupied with one another and the maid is busy fielding refills and the butler is distracted by a particularly unruly-looking begonia, they slip away, adults none the wiser.

Beauregard stares out her window. Her cheeks are sticky from dry tears, and the sniffling hasn’t quite stopped yet. Her face is still a bit puffy, and her eyes are bloodshot. But the worst relic from the last half-hour are the words, which she are trying desperately to bury so far into her subconscious that nothing would ever be able to bring them out again.  

 Horrible, useless child, how could you be so ungrateful—This was an incredible opportunity and your selfishness has ruined it—His parents were appalled at your behavior—How could you just run away like that and wreck everything—We raised you better—

 —Oh, for Pelor’s sake, stop crying, you’re nothing but an embarrassment. Get out of here, Beauregard. Get out and stay in your room while your Father and I try to fix the damage you’ve caused.

 Beau hits her forehead against the glass.

“Father is sending me away,” says Darien from outside the open library window. “I snuck over here so I could tell you, but I have to go back before he notices. He’s kind of still super pissed about our disappearing act.”

 “Yeah,” Beau mutters. “My parents are too. Who would’ve thought, huh?”

 Darien smirks. “The sticks up their asses are pretty lodged in there.”

 There is a brief silence. Then, “Where to?”

 “It’s an academy in Rexxentrum, if you can believe it. Apparently lots of young nobles and wealthy hoity toity assholes go there to learn…whatever it is they learn.”

 “How long?”

 “I don’t know. Father says it’s until I can ‘behave properly enough to live up to my duties,’ which I think is a load of shit.”

 “How long do you think that’ll take you?”

 “…I’m not sure. But I think he wants me to be there for like…a long time. A really long time.”

 “Will you come back?”

 The answer is instantaneous. “Yes,” Darien says. “I’m his heir. He said so himself.”

 “Alright then,” Beau closes the ledger she was working in. “I’ll probably be here when that happens. It’s not like my parents are going to do anything with me.”

 Darien leans through the window and reaches around Beau’s shoulders rather clumsily. “You’re my best friend,” he says.

 “You’re my brother, dumbass.” Darien doesn’t argue. And the next day, he is gone.

“Papa,” Beau asks tentatively at dinner, “am I your heir?”

 He continues to skim the documents in his hands. “No,” he says.

Beau continues to work the books for the brewery. It seems like the times she quietly retreats to the library to manage ledgers are the only times her parents don’t make their displeasure with her quite as overt.

 At least you’re good for something, goes unsaid.

 She also keeps up with her studies, though she really would rather not. History is about boring dead guys fighting in stupid wars because they do stupid things. Geography doesn’t matter; it’s not like you can do anything about it if you don’t like it, and it’s not like you need to keep an eye on it in case it runs away. She finds marginal interest in the stories of the gods from religious studies, but could do without the constant, underlying our gods are superior and nonbelievers are scum. Math has always just been math, and she couldn’t care less about the politics of the Empire.

 The only things she really enjoys reading are the tales of adventure she finds in the dustier sections of the library. She steals them from the shelves and hoards them in her room. At night, she’ll pull them out and reread her favorite parts by candlelight. She absolutely loves The Mountain Range of Gold, and almost cheered out loud when the protagonist resurfaced in Part 2. She delights in gratuitous descriptions of kick-ass fight scenes, and sometimes tries to reenact them with that a particularly kind onlooker might call “enthusiasm.”  

 There are also many, many romance scenes. Beau is unprepared for the sheet amount of…canoodling that some of these adventurers get up to. She’s rather annoyed by the unfortunate tendency of the broad-shouldered, handsome male characters (heroes) to sweep the beautiful, helpless female characters (love interests) off their feet. Beau could do without ever reading about a Sir Diggory and his seemingly endless muscles again. Usually she’s also disgusted by the way the women are portrayed, as gorgeous damsels with hearts of gold and not enough clothing and apparently very soft skin.

 Though sometimes, a small part of her is absolutely delighted. Beau isn’t sure what to make of that yet. Yet.

When she isn’t raiding the libraries or being forced to learn things, Beau continues to run through in the vineyard and the nearby forests. Doing so does feel a bit empty without Darien around, and the loneliness would never go away, but the sharp edges of solitude had smoothed down into soft corners over time. Besides, Beau has to do something, and stir craziness does not sit well with her. 

 So rather than mope around all day in the manor, which is probably what her parents would want, Beau climbs trees and wades through streams and throws pebbles (unmaliciously) at squirrels. She also has the clothing for it now. A while back, in a stroke of genius, she asked the one of the more slightly-built workers for a pair of trousers, a linen shirt, and a hefty pair of worker’s boots. Despite her worst fears of being reported to her mother, the boy didn’t seem to mind. And after a while of hanging around their quarters and volunteering to do chores and refusing to bugger off, the servants move from tolerating her presence to inviting her for drinks (non-alcoholic) and stories. She hears about daring adventurers from ages past, brilliant and bloody battles, and learns quite about the various criminal elements of the empire. One day, an older worker teaches her how to really pick a lock, which comes in handy on the nights she stays out too late and has to break into her own home. They help her touch up her disguise, which allows her to hang around outdoors when her parents expect her to be in the house doing ladylike things. They let her hide her outfit with their belongings, and even occasionally pass along other hand-me-downs to her.

 She has never been so free.

“You’ve gotten rather fit, haven’t you, Beauregard?” asks the dressmaker as she measures Beau for another terrible ensemble. “Just look at you!”

 Beau considers herself in the mirror. “I suppose so?”

 “I can’t imagine how,” says the dressmaker, “with you being home and learning to be a proper lady all the time.” The comment is pointed. It indicates that at any point Beau’s mother can be brought into the room and also shown how rather fit Beau has gotten.

 Beau sighs. “I promise I’ll stop squirming,” she says.

 “Don’t worry, dear, it’s refreshing. Too many young ladies these days look like a light breeze would blow them over.”

Beau can now successfully hang upside-down on a tree branch by her knees. She considers this one of the greatest achievements of her young life.

“Her tutors are quite impressed by her abilities,” her mother says to the guests in the drawing room. “Aren’t they, dear?”

 “Yes, Mother,” says Beau. Her hands are folded in her lap. This dress is blue, at least, but that only helps so much.

 The other ladies are speaking. They sound like birds tittering ceaselessly outside a bedroom window in the early morning.

 “Not too impressed, I would hope?” says one, louder than the rest. Beau doesn’t like her. She’s got hair that’s obviously going grey, though the woman tries to hide it under an ostentatious hat. There’s also a mole growing on the edge of her nose. It’s got more personality than she does.

 “A husband wouldn’t want his lady to be too clever, after all,” says the terrible woman. “Can’t have her getting too controlling of his household.”

 Beau’s mother laughs. It’s another tinkling laugh, the I’m-richer-than-you-and-we-both-know-it-so-don’t-you-dare-lecture-me laugh. “Of course, Deannie, she’s properly educated. She just excels at what she’s taught. Why, she was almost betrothed to young Darien. It’s just that his father decided the boy should be sent to school before committing to anything.”

 The women sip their tea in a manner that indicates how impressed they are. Beau wants to pick up the tea cart and use it to smash the window open.

Beau receives another letter from Darien. She crumples it up shortly after reading it. Then, immediately filled with regret, she picks it up and tries to smooth it out best as she can. Her fingers trace over the words.

 Beau,

 I’m sorry to say this but I won’t be coming back. Father is having me stay in Rexxentrum to be the face of his company in the capital. I know I promised I’d see you again, but there’s nothing I can do. Believe me, I tried to fight him about this. But he said that with him in Kamordah already, there’s no need for me to be at home. He wants me to be a businessman. You and I both know he won’t change his mind. You’re my sister, Beau, and I’m so sorry—

 She puts the letter in a drawer and goes to bed.  

There’s a new maid at the manor.

 Her name is Mariel. She has dark, curly hair and freckles across her nose. She moves like a storm through the Quarters, cussing loudly and joking cheerfully, and old Reddick tells Beau she’s from one of the rowdier coastal cities. She’s seventeen, and Beau is thrilled to finally meet a girl her own age. But Mariel makes Beau nervous, and she isn’t sure why. Maybe it’s her unrestrained spirit. Maybe it’s her wide smile and mischievous eyes.

 Maybe it’s the loud, echoing laugh that dances through the halls when she watches Beau—who had scaled the manor to the third-floor and tripped over the windowsill as she tried to sneak in—spill onto the floor and land on her ass.

 “Ow.” Beau rubs her head. She looks up at Mariel. “I’m not a thief,” she says.

 Mariel snickers, and Beau is struck by complete lack of decorum in the action. “Yeah, a real thief wouldn’t have fallen like that.”

 Beau scowls. “I mean I’m not a thief ‘cause I live here.”

 Mariel leans against her broom. “Yeah, right. Mister, you’re wearing worker’s clothes two sizes too big for you, and you’ve got dirt all across your face. And haven’t I seen you around the Quarters before? I could have sworn you were playing cards with Reddick yesterday.”

 Beau freezes, and swears inwardly. Of course, someone new would think she was one of the servants breaking into the Boss’s house for some gold. Over the years, the help had welcomed the muddy-faced and loud young lady of the house into their fold, and largely ignored her antics. She had gotten so used to making a fool of herself and breaking rules in front of everybody except her parents that she’d forgotten how unacceptable her behavior really is. She sighs, and figures there’s no good way out of this situation.

 The truth, then.

 She pulls her hair out of its messy bun and does her best to wipe the dirt (fresh from the forest) off of her face. She tugs at the sides of her pants, trying to flare them out like a dress. “I’m Beauregard,” she says. “Please don’t tell my parents?”

 The broom falls over, and Mariel almost does too. She hastily picks it up and tries to curtsy with a four-foot wooden stick in her hands, which only makes her almost drop the broom again. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” she says, and when she rises her face goes red, “wait, fuck, I mean…oh shoot, dammit. I’m sorry, milady.”

 Beau tries to suppress the smirk threatening to split her face. “Nobody warned you that I do this sometimes?”

 Mariel swears under her breath and curtsies again. “No, ma’am.”

 Beau fails, and when Mariel resurfaces from the curtsy, she is met with an absolutely shit-eating grin from Beau. “I kind of hang around the Quarters and run around in the woods a lot. I think everyone thinks it’s funny, and I always loose a lot of money when we play cards, so nobody really cares. Except my parents. Who can’t know,” she adds.

 Mariel stares at Beau, and bursts into laughter again. After a while, she wipes the tears from the corners of her eyes. “Wow, when I heard that the daughter of the house was a troublemaker, I thought they meant you were shitty to the servants or something. I didn’t think they meant you dressed up in boy’s clothes and lost at cards to us.”

 Beau rubs the back of her neck sheepishly. “Well—”

 Footsteps echo down the hall. Then, “I’m sorry, Madam, but I really don’t think it was a servant.”

 There’s a scoff. “It had better not be. Honestly, I pay you all well enough to keep quiet and keep out of trouble. If I found out it’s a servant making noise this late at night I’m docking all of your pay.”

 It’s her mother. Beau freezes.

 Mariel quickly looks around. Then she grabs Beau by the wrist and yanks her down the hallway and into an empty guest bedroom. She carefully clicks the lock shut, then squeezes Beau and herself against a wardrobe just beyond the doorframe so their shadows don’t peek under the door.

 Footsteps go past, along with an angry tirade by Beau’s mother.

 They breathe a sigh of relief. Then Beau notices how the other girl has both her arms around her to keep her still, how she’s still holding her wrist and how well her body fits into Beau’s. How soft her hair is, and the way her chest rises when she—

 “See something interesting, Milady?” whispers Mariel. Beau’s face colors. Her head snaps upwards and their eyes meet.  

“You’re eighteen. And though our previous efforts failed thanks to your actions, new arrangements can always be made. It’s high time we planned for the future of this business, and it’s not as if you’re completely undesirable. Marcus would be a nice match, I should think.”

 Beau carefully helps Mariel into the branches, then swings herself up the trunk and lands next to the her.

 “Nice of Syra to cover for you today,” she says.

 “Personally, I think Syra is on to us, and I think she’s doing her best to keep us together.”

 Beau pulls out a book. “Perfect! That means we can keep going. Now, where were we?” she asks.

 Mariel grins. “I think Sir Diggory was just about to compliment Lucianne’s tits in a much-too flowery manner.”

 Beau snickers. “Oh, you’ll love this part.”  

She leans against the pillow, breathing heavily. “Mariel?” She says.

 “Yes, Beau?”

 There’s a pause.

 “I think I love you.”

They let their guard down. It’s a mistake.

“Your father and I have decided to send you to Zadash,” says Beau’s mother. “You’ve left us in a very…difficult position, and it was extremely hard for us to find a place for you. But Archivist Xenoth has agreed to teach you, and we think learning from the monks will be a positive influence on you.”

 “Why?” asks Beau. “Because monks do what they’re told and don’t have sex?”

 Her mother’s face turns a scandalized crimson, and her fists clench. “Beauregard, you have caused enough trouble for this family. You’ve always behaved extremely poorly, and you’ve never listened to your father and I when we know what’s best for you. You destroyed your own chances at a future with Darien, and got him sent away by his parents. You continue to mess about with the servants when you should be mingling with the rest of dignified society. And now you allow yourself to get tangled with this common girl, and—”

 “Don’t you talk about her like that,” Beau says through clenched teeth.

 “—and you get caught and you’ve scandalized the entire family—”

 “Nobody needs to know! And why does it matter, anyway? Why does it matter what I do?”

 “—you have duties to carry on this legacy your father has worked so hard to create for you—”

 “I didn’t ask for it! I didn’t want any stupid legacy! This would be fine if I were a boy!”

 “—shut up! You are not a boy, as both of us are well aware, and if you were one then everything would be so much easier for us! But you’re a girl, even if you seem incapable of acting like one, and we cannot have you soiling this family by continuing to stay here and being the way you are. If you aren’t going to do what we wanted you to all along, you’re going to go to the Cobalt Reserve and you’re going to become a monk, and maybe you’ll learn some respect and come home, or maybe you’ll just stay there and keep studying. But whatever happens, you’re going to become respectable, and you’re not going to ruin our name. Is that clear?”

 Beau is biting her lip. There are tears running down her face. Her mother is shaking with anger.

 “Is that clear?”

 “Yes.”

It could have been worse, Beau thinks. At least they gave her some neat robes. At least they let her swear. At least they taught her how to fight. And she was really good at that last bit. But all this crap about “preparing her mind” and “preparing her soul” and “being the truth” learning about patience and sorting shelves and reading books is…is all crap. Beau doesn’t give a fuck. And so when she packs a bag and slips on her uniform and cracks open the window and slides onto the balcony, she moves quietly. And she doesn’t look back.

[jejublr]

The Trouble with Dogs

Genre: Romance, Comedy, Hybrid AU

Character(s): Wonwoo x Reader

Warning: Blood

Wonwoo had his life planned out. He went to a good school, graduated with good grades, went to a nice university and was eventually placed in the work force with a very good salary. What he didn’t plan out was finding a hybrid, half-conscious and bleeding out in the rain.

Prologue

Wonwoo did not have a great day. 

He woke up later than he intended to, which consequently made him miss his usual bus. His attempt to console himself by buying himself a steaming cup of hot chocolate was immediately ruined when he tripped on his own shoelaces and spilled his beverage all over the pavement. When he finally got to work, Seungcheol was already fuming from the sudden influx of papers their boss seemed to whip out out of thin air because it means they would have to stay late at work.

By the time he finished the last of his assignments, his joints are positively stiff and he could feel the soft pounding of an oncoming headache in the back of his head. Wonwoo likes the routine and stability his work provides, however boring it may seem to other people, but after what seemed like hours of endless meetings and typing away monotonously in his cubicle, Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel overjoyed when it’s finally time to pack up and go home.

He bid Seungcheol, whose eyes didn’t leave his computer screen as he sent him a half-hearted wave, goodbye and stepped into the elevator. Wonwoo checked his watch and let out a long sigh.

10:49

It’s way past his work hours and Wonwoo could feel his stomach twisting uncomfortably for skipping dinner. As he stepped out onto the street, Wonwoo figured he’d make a quick stop at the convenient store for a measly dinner of ramen before he makes the trip home.

Wonwoo has always thought the streets looked different when it just rained. The glow of the pavement, the iridescence of it under the street lights makes everything looked twice as beautiful. The gentle chill almost felt comforting to him and the sound of his footsteps the only thing accompanying him in the darkness of the night.

Wonwoo just rounded a corner when a noise broke him from his thoughts. His steps faltered slightly as he took a glance into the alleyway. Curiosity got the best of him and he peered into the darkness. As his eyes adjusted to the lighting, he caught sight of someone slumped over the dumpster, a hacking cough resounding throughout the alley. He could feel fear slither its way into his neck, tightening and choking him like a snake. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes caught what seemed to be a pair of dog ears resting on the top of the stranger’s head.

What in the world...?

His fingers fly to his face as he readjusts his glasses, his brain refusing to believe what he just saw. Maybe he’s just tired.. It’s got to be his mind playing tricks on him.

But the ears didn’t go away and he looked as the stranger’s eyes finally found his. Your face looked beaten and battered, the edge of your lip bleeding from a cut. You looked so tired and so in pain, your face scrunched up, lips curling as a hoarse whisper escaped your lips. “Help..” you croaked weakly, before dropping to the ground.

Wonwoo’s instinct kicked in and he crouched next to you, worry coloring his face. His brain was screaming at him to leave, to pretend he didn’t just see a half-dog person pass out in the middle of an alleyway. Because what if someone saw them and report them to the authorities? He couldn’t afford getting into trouble.

But he couldn’t do that. Not when you’re clearly hurt.

“Hey! Are you alright?!” he tried shaking your shoulder gently. You only managed to tilt your head a little towards the sound of his voice.

“It hurts...” he heard you whimper that was soon followed by a pained hiss.

It was then when Wonwoo realized that true state that you’re in. He couldn’t see your face properly but he could tell you were in the rain from your wet locks. The white shirt that you’re wearing doesn’t seem like the right fit and it looked as if you had worn them through a storm. The jeans you’re wearing dirty and ragged and nothing better can be said about the shoes, too.

But the sight that made Wonwoo’s stomach churn was the large stretch of a bloody gash on your arm. It wasn’t very deep from the looks of it but Wonwoo can imagine how painful it can be. Not to mention the blood loss that will surely ensue.

Wonwoo reached for his pocket for his phone to call an ambulance but your voice stopped him.

“P-Please.. Don’t call the ambulance...” you whispered with ragged breath. “They’ll find me.”

Wonwoo knows nothing of this “they” you’re talking about, nor does he know what you are. Heck, he doesn’t even know why he decided to try and help a stranger, a half-animal one at that, in the wee hour of the night. On a good day, he would be at home at this hour, sitting on his couch and reading a book.

Maybe this is all just a dream. He had fallen asleep at work and Seungcheol will wake him up and scold him for falling asleep when he’s supposed to be working and yeah, he’ll go home late but all of this wouldn’t happen-

“Please..” you said once more before your eyes rolled back and your body went limp.

Oh my god, they’re not dead, are they?? Wonwoo’s mind screamed.

His fingers flew to your neck to check for a pulse and he sighed when he found it, although weak. He let out another sigh.

Now what?

Waking you up is our of the question. There’s no way you could stay conscious for long with all the bruises and that kind of wound, not to mention the shock you might be going through. You also told him not to bring you to the hospital. That might be for the best since you have freaking dog ears. So the only option here is to either leave you in this alleyway to die or he can bring you to his place to recover. 

Neither seemed like a good idea but Wonwoo figured he wouldn't be able to live knowing he left someone to bleed out and die when he could’ve done something more to help them.

So five minutes later, Wonwoo finds himself trying to balance a complete stranger on his back as he staggered his way back home. He fumbled with his keys when he got to his door, almost dropping you for the dozenth time in tha past hour and he praised every deity that may be when he managed to unlock his front door.

He laid you down on his couch before dashing to the kitchen to grab his first aid box. He always prided himself for being prepared. Others had laughed when he had gotten his first aid certificate, telling him he won’t even be needing to use the skill in the future and Wonwoo is more than happy to be proving them wrong at the moment.

He went to clean your wounds, stitching up your gash to the best of his ability and dressing it. And while he couldn't change your wet attire, he did clean your face and did his best to provide warmth by laying on blankets and cranking up the heater.

After getting cleaned and changed himself, Wonwoo plopped down on the recliner on the opposite side of the couch, his eyes going over your features. 

You looked a little too pale for his liking, but since your wound is all stitched up now, he hope it’s just a matter of time before your coloring goes back to normal. His eyes glanced over to the black dog ears on your head. He wondered if they were real and Wonwoo found his hand reaching out to touch. Fortunately, he caught himself the last second and retracted his hand as if he just got burned.

His face burned as he hurried into his room, feeling like a child caught stealing a cookie.

You dumbass, what did you just do?! he chided himself. He could still feel his heart racing as he sat down on the side of his bed. He took off his glassed and slid into his his covers, his mind running a mile a minute.

There are so many questions left unanswered, the most prevalent one being who are you?

Wonwoo let out a long sigh as he closed his eyes.

He’ll just have to find out tomorrow.

A/N: Hi, peeps! This story is just something I thought off on a whim and I couldn’t help writing it down. I think it’s going to be a thing bc I’ve got some ideas brewing for this. I really hope you enjoyed this small snippet! Have a lovely day!

[haikyuulovercompany]

Oikawa - king by Lauren Aquilina

King - Oikawa Tooru. 

Oikawa left the gymnasium holding his head high, andhe kept it like that all the way home. Not a single tear fell from his eyes. Herefused to drop his chin in front of the people he knew looked up to him. Helistened to their coach. He praised everyone, and flattered their skills. 

“You all might feel disappointed, but what you did in the court was impressive.You need to…” Oikawa heard he coach saying as his attention swayed in and out.“The name of Aoba Josai…”

He looked to his side noticing the dried streams oftears on the faces of his teammates, on the faces of the people who trustedhim, and his words. He had promised they would win. They would beat Karasunoonce more, and then they would take Shiratorizawa’s glory out of their hands.

Instead, it was Karasuno the one who beatShiratorizawa on their first try. Oikawa had been able to see how much Karasunohad struggle throughout the whole match. He had pushed Iwaizumi claiming thatthe winning ceremony would make him sick. What was truly happening underneathhim was a complete different matter.

He closed the door of his room behind him watching thedimness it offered. He had faced that darkness before. He was familiarized withit more than he liked to admit. His shoulders grew heavier, and even the airwas denser. Just because he was used to staring into the void didn’t mean ithurt any less. He rested hi back on the door and his head finally fell down. Heslowly slid down letting the weight of his loss to settle in.

His hands went to his head, to his hair, and hisfingers started to scrap his skull and he grinded his teeth in a failed attemptto keep his emotions in control. Inevitably, faint whimpers escaped his mouthas thin lines of water framed his face. Their loss against Karasuno was like anearthquake destroying the foundations of his will. The ground beneath him shookso violently he didn’t have where to stand anymore.

You’realone, you’re on your own, so what?Have you gone blind?Have you forgotten what you have and what isyours?

He had worked hard. He had trained. He had spentyears trying to beat what he thought was his last obstacles just for Karasunoto come out of nowhere and stole what he had been fighting for. All fornothing. Because whatever he did would never be enough, wouldn’t it? Therewould always be someone to remind him his efforts were nothing but uselessreminders of the talent he lacked. When he looked back he only saw failure. Hegrasped victory, but never reach it. He was stuck in an infinite ‘almost’. 

Almost there.  Almost a winner.

Almost, but not quiet.

He could hear his phone ringing but he ignored it. Hedidn’t want to hear about the world. At the moment, even his soul feltpowerless and unable to answer any type of inquiring. There was not a bit ofhim that felt like trying.

He got out of his clothes still hearing his phonetirelessly ringing. He took it and turned it off before getting under hisquilt. His eyes were sore and his body begged for rest.  

——

She stared at the empty seat in front of her. Two daysstraight and he was still missing. Her heart clenched in her chest. She knewthere was no coincidence for Oikawa to be absent right after he lost. Hercellphone marked the thousands of calls she had made. All of them had gone intovoicemail. She had never imagined she would grow enervated of his cheery voice,but his voice telling her to leave him a message had become a nightmare.

She knew she wasn’t supposed to be calling him. If anyof her friends found out, they would sure be giving her a lecture aboutself-respect and self-love. She always saw in Oikawa much more than the othersdid. She had peeked into his heart once and she had never forgotten what shehad found. So it was near to impossible for her to leave him be, to simplyignore the hunch throbbing, indicating nothing was as it was supposed to be.

Glasshalf empty, glass half fullWell, either way you won’t be going thirstyCount your blessings not your flaws

He looked at his reflection on the bathroom mirror. He had big darkcircles around his eyes, and even when he had fair skin, he was abnormallypale. In the last forty-eight hours his life had been a mixed of drifting inand out of his sleep and hollowly staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. Thefood her mother brought him ended up flushed down the toilet.

He had to get up. He was aware that he needed to move on. Yet somehow,his mind didn’t act according to that knowledge. Would it matter? He could backto the gymnasium, back to court. For what?

He would stand behind the line waiting for his turn to practice. Hewould jump, he would strike the ball and hear it smash against the floor feelingunsatisfied because no skills had ever been sufficient to drive him to victory.So why would he make any new efforts, if the ending result would always be thesame? He didn’t want to see the dejected countenances of his teammatesagain.  

There would always be an Ushijima, or a Kageyama. Someone whose naturaltalent was so extraordinary, hard work would never outdo it.

Usually, his train of thought was the complete opposite. There used tobe no force on earth that could discourage him. With so much evidence along theyears there was no other conclusion he could reach. He couldn’t close his eyesto the facts anymore. To keep pushing countercurrent will only wreck himfurther.

He felt a jolt of desperation crossing his body caused by a crescentfrustration. To see himself so defeated made him feel pathetic and piteous. Theperson who was in front of the mirror wasn’t supposed to be him. He swanked hispride, his abilities, proud of who he was. He had sacrificed more than his timeto be who he was, to then just be reduced to that sad reflection.

He turned the shower on, and got in even when the water wasn’t warm. Histeeth clattered and his breath was heavy trying to resist the freezingsensation. Once the water felt hotter against his skin, he finished taking abath. He dressed in sports clothing and went out of his house.

 Youdon’t get what all this is aboutYou’re too wrapped up in your self doubtYou’ve got that young blood, set it free

Oikawa started trotting with a constant rhythm as if he was training. Hewanted to scare the demon that was suddenly living on his back, but it had itsclaws deep down his flesh and in a matter of minutes the trotting turned into amaniac running. Even though his feet seemed to be made of stone, he keptrunning. He wished he could outrun his misery, avoid the thoughts that didnothing but infuriate him.

He wasn’t aware at all of how much time, or how far he had run. Hesimply couldn’t take it anymore. He found himself alone in a public park, andtook his chance to hit the trunk of a tree repeatedly as he cursed under hisbreath. He was jaded. He was furious with himself, with life, with destiny,with whatever force was responsible. He stopped hitting the tree once henoticed the stinging pain on his hand. He also notice thin tears had fallenfrom his eyes at some point. He turned around resting his back on the trunk.

“Tooru,” he heard someone calling him. His eyes flew wide open at thesound of the feminine voice. _______ was there looking at him with the mostconcerned eyes he had ever seen on her. His mouth was ajar but no sound cameout of it. His state was deplorable and he didn’t how long she had been her.For the look of her face, he guessed that she had seen enough.

She walked to him with hurried step and inadvertently held him tightagainst her. “It’s okay,” she whispered to his ear. He stood dumbfounded for asecond.

His body started having small spasms as a soft wail came out of hismouth. His arms wrapped her in return, and he hid his face on the crook of herneck. She started stroking his wet hair as he let himself fully cry.

“It’s okay,” she whispered again. Her own heart was breaking as well.Oikawa had always stood so tall, so powerful. It was disheartening to catch himin such a vulnerable state. “You did well, Tooru, so so well.”

“I didn’t,” he said in a thin thread that sounded nothing like his usualvoice. “I was never enough” he stopped mid sentence. His voice got lost inanother painful sob. “I’m just another good for nothing.”

“You’re extraordinary. Do you even know how many people look up to you?”she broke the embrace and softly took his face so she could see him straight inthe eyes. “You’re an example to not only your own team but to so many others.”She took a deep breath maintaining her own emotions at bay. Oikawa was fullycrying now, endless streams slid down. “Who cares if at the end you lost.You’ve had three amazing years at Seijoh. Don’t you care about your team?” shestopped for a second as he nodded. “That’s what truly matters. They admire you. I admire you. Get over Ushijima foryour own sake. You have achieved so much on your own… Be proud of your team, ofwho you are, of what you had built.”_____ gently wiped away his tears before taking his face again pulling it down.She kissed his forehead and finally let go of him. “There’s more in this lifethan a high school tournament. What you have given to the rest of the team isfar more than important than a trophy. Try to think about that.”

She smiled sweetly, and continued her way. Oikawa didn’t turn to watchher leave. Instead, he walked back home with his head full of her words.

There’smethod in my madnessThere’s no logic in your sadnessYou don’t gain a single thing from miseryTake it from me

In another time, she would have stayed with him. If the circumstancesaround them had been others, she would have surely stayed. She felt tempted,but it wasn’t the right time.

The weekend went on without hearing about him again, but when Mondayarrived and she found him on class again, she felt glad. Despite the historythey shared, she wished him well. She had seen him on lunchtime laughing andsmiling with his in-crowd, and then she was beyond glad. It was nice to see himbeing his usual self.

She didn’t expect him to come to her again, so it was a genuinesurprised when he approached her at the end of the day. He looked as charmingas ever. The person she had seen on the Friday evening was gone. 

“Hey, ______, thank you for… for the other day.”

“Don’t worry. It was a coincidence to find you there. I only did whatevery descent human being would have done.”

“Yeah, I don’t believe that much in coincidence,” he admitted. He restedhis eyes on her taking in that small peaceful moment. They hadn’t share one inmonths. “What you said resonated a lot. It was a wake up call for me, so thankyou. I needed it.”

She shook her head. “Again, it’s nothing. I’m happy to know you’refeeling better.”

“Can we meet this weekend?” Oikawa asked leaving her speechless. “I wantto talk to you about Friday… and the aftermath of that.”

“Okay. That sounds nice.”

“Deal.” He smiled at her and then patted her head. “See you around.” 

You’ve gotit allYou lost your mind in the soundThere’s so much more

What had happened on that Friday evening had been a change of course forhim. He hadn’t lied to her when he admitted her words had been an enormoushelp.

He had returned home looking for the videos of any previous match. Thattime around he didn’t stare at him or at the opposite teams. He stared at histeammates. There was truth on what ______ had said to him. They didn’t have thetrophy, but the team he saw was a winner one. The chemistry between each ofthem, the agility they had was impressive. They were a team that knew how towork things out. At the end, he had led a team full of proud warriors.

His chest had filled with proudness, with that same pride he alwaystalked about. Maybe they weren’t the winning team, but they were a team anyonewould remember.

At the end of it all, everyone will always remember Oikawa Tooru as thecaptain and main setter of Seijoh.

And that was amazing enough.

You canreclaim your crownYou’re in controlRid of the monsters inside your headPut all your faults to bedYou can be king

——

Thanks for the request! I hope you liked it!

[sopherfly]

Chapter Two - Lord Rogers Returns

Summary: Tony tests Bucky’s loyalty. Steve returns to King’s Landing. 

A/N: Stuckony Game of Thrones AU. Many thanks to @folklejend for beta reading. :) Catch up here, or check out the fic on ao3. 

It had been a year, and James Buchanan Barnes still didn’t see himself as King in the North. The position didn’t belong to him. It belonged to Steve. It always had. The mantle was too impossibly heavy, and Bucky had no desire to carry it.

He wondered, then, why he hadn’t said no. Of course, it hadn’t been as simple as refusing. King Stark rarely took no for an answer. And in this particular case, Bucky would have feared more than a little for his life if he’d argued against King Stark’s wishes. The threat of death by dragons had only been implied - but then, that threat was always implied with a king whose dragons had razed armies to the ground.

Bucky wasn't the leader that Steve had been. Too often he asked for advice, and too often his will wasn't strong enough to withstand a sensible argument. He never knew with certainty that he was choosing the right path. Every decision took days of deliberation; only with the situation analyzed from every side would Bucky be satisfied. It made Bucky thorough and consistent in a way that Steve had never been, and for some incomprehensible reason, the people loved him for it.

King Stark insisted that Bucky visit King’s Landing on a regular basis. It wasn't a quick trip, and it meant leaving someone else in command while Bucky was away, which Bucky loved and hated in equal parts. As heirs to Winterfell and as skilled fighters, Bucky trusted Wanda and Pietro to keep his interests safe while he was away. But as the (albeit reluctant) guardian of the north, Bucky felt a fraud whenever he abandoned his people and rode south.

There was nothing for it. Bucky had grown used to being pulled in too many directions at once, and when King Stark requested Bucky’s presence, Bucky never argued. What good would it have done? King Stark snapped his fingers and the whole world came to attention. There was something about him, something captivating that had Bucky desperate for his approval, no matter the personal cost.

If Bucky was honest, it wasn’t just approval that he craved. It was attention; more than that, it was affection. Love. Whenever Bucky left King Stark’s side, he was consumed with thoughts of when he could return. When he could see King Stark’s face again. When he could hear that rich laugh, the one that meant King Stark was truly amused. Bucky wondered, sometimes, if it was some kind of spell. He wanted King Stark. The feeling had settled into Bucky’s heart and spun out into his veins, his skin, his bones. Some days, it threatened to consume him, going so far that King Stark’s presence on its own left Bucky short of breath.

(mobile users, mind the cut!)

He knew it was impossible. King Stark was of noble blood, and Bucky was decidedly not. Even if Bucky was King in the North, he’d come by it through King Stark’s appointment, and he still believed himself unfit for the post. There was no way King Stark would return his affections. Besides, an admission like that would've been dangerous. No matter what kind of personal relationship he and King Stark had, a declaration of feelings could easily cross the boundary into too bold. It was never a good idea to test King Stark’s patience.

Bucky slipped his arms into his robe, tightening it around his waist and tying the sash before stepping outside into the morning air. His room had both a fireplace and a private balcony, as King Stark had insisted on nothing less than the best accommodations. That meant Bucky’s room was also in the same wing of the castle as King Stark’s, putting him in King Stark’s path all too often. King Stark looked so much more relaxed at night, the day having worn down every sharp edge until there was only softness in brown eyes. It was torturous - and yet, Bucky preferred it to the alternative. Being too close was better than being too far.

From his balcony, Bucky had a perfect view of the training grounds. The sun had barely risen, still a crescent over the curve of the earth, and in the relative darkness, Bucky could make out King Stark and Lady Natasha, dueling with broadswords. An interesting choice for such an early hour. That likely meant that King Stark hadn’t slept. He called members of the Kingsguard to duel only when there was too much on his mind.

Shaking his head, Bucky returned to his room, finding his clothes and dressing himself for the day. With no formal audiences, plainclothes would do fine, although the cold - how had the cold traveled so far as to reach King’s Landing? - would require a coat. Bucky pulled the silver one from the rack and slipped it on, then took in his appearance in the looking glass, fastening the coat all the way to the neck. It made him look menacing, the light color of the fabric emphasizing the darkness of his hair, his eyes standing out in sharp contrast to the rest of his face. The design did nothing to conceal Bucky's physical fitness. That was almost impossible to hide, even with his days as mercenary and assassin behind him.

Slipping his hands into his black gloves, Bucky stepped out into the hall, closing the door softly behind him. He took the stairs two at a time, the spiral seeming endless until it finally let him out onto the training ground. His breath puffed out in a cloud in front of him, and he pressed forward, approaching as King Stark and Lady Natasha prepared themselves for another round.

“Your Grace,” Bucky said, ducking his head briefly in a gesture of respect.

An easy smile parted King Stark’s lips. “Lord Barnes. Good morning.”

Bucky would never tire of that voice. It sounded almost musical, the cadence changing more whenever King Stark was pleased. “You haven’t slept.”

King Stark said so much without saying anything at all. ‘How is it you know me so well?’ Bucky read in his eyes.

“No rest for the wicked,” King Stark said, letting the tip of his blade rest in the loose earth. “Natasha. I’d like a moment alone with Lord Barnes.”

“Of course.” Lady Natasha retrieved King Stark’s sword, taking it from his hand like it weighed nothing, and Bucky smiled a little. It was refreshing, having a woman at King’s Landing with such similar training. It made Bucky feel less out of place.

As soon as Lady Natasha was gone, Bucky took a moment to just look. King Stark was tired, that much was obvious. There was strain around his eyes and mouth, and Bucky heard that same strain in his voice when he spoke. “I received a raven yesterday. From Steve Rogers.”

Bucky’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He tried again. “What?”

“I was as surprised as you are. After all those months of silence, I didn’t think he was coming back.”

Bucky was struck dumb, his lips refusing to make any of the words that had come into his head. King Stark had banished Steve, that was true; but Steve had left without saying goodbye. After everything they'd been through together, Bucky still hadn't forgiven Steve for that.

“What did he say?”

“He said - he said he was sorry.” King Stark closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head. “He’s bringing the Wildling army here.”

Bucky swallowed past the knot that had formed in his throat. “Will you grant him an audience?”

It was obvious King Stark didn’t like the answer to that question. “I don’t have a choice. The Wildling army strengthens our numbers and our odds.” King Stark breathed out on a sigh. “I gave my word that I would hold the trial if he completed his task. I owe him a chance, at least.”

“The council will vote against him.”

King Stark’s smile was grim. “I know.”

Of course he did. And if King Stark knew, Steve undoubtedly knew it too. Bucky frowned, worry tangling confusingly with hurt feelings. “He’ll ask for a trial by combat.”

“I know.” King Stark considered Bucky, then stepped forward, resting his hands on Bucky's shoulders. The closeness was too much; it set Bucky's skin on fire even through the thick layers of fabric.

“Do you trust me?” King Stark asked.

“Yes,” Bucky said, the hoarseness in his voice betraying him. “Of course.”

“Then trust me in this. I know he’s your friend. He was mine too. Trust that I’ll do what’s right.” King Stark squeezed Bucky’s shoulders, a small gesture of reassurance, before releasing his grip. He smiled, then took a step back, looking Bucky up and down. “Silver suits you. You should wear more of it.”

Bucky felt his face heat at the praise. “If you like it, then I will.”

King Stark raised an eyebrow. “What if I told you I didn’t like it? Would you stop wearing it?”

“Yes.”

A long moment passed, King Stark staring at Bucky, intensely focused. King Stark pursed his lips, and Bucky wondered if that was annoyance or pleasure in his eyes. It was always so difficult to tell; with King Stark, the two were so often intertwined.

“And if I told you to take it off?” King Stark asked, the question sounding falsely innocent.

Bucky held onto his composure despite the fear that prickled in his spine. Every so often, when King Stark tested him like this, Bucky managed to answer wrong. “I will do as my king commands.”

“No matter what I ask?”

“Yes. Always.”

King Stark’s lips curled back to bare his teeth. “Your blind obedience is infuriating.” This time, when King Stark looked Bucky up and down, it was almost predatory. “Fine. You want so badly to follow my commands? Take it off.”

Bucky didn’t know whether or not to look away. He held King Stark’s gaze, moving his hands to the fastenings at his neck. Gods be good, at least his hands were steady. It was only his training that kept him from trembling. His gloved fingers and thumbs moved down, making quick work of the buttons, and Bucky slid one arm out of the coat, then the other, setting it down gently over the fence beside them.

“Good,” King Stark said, crossing his arms. “Now. Spar with me.”

Bucky shook his head. “King Stark-”

“I thought you would do as your king commanded.”

“It won’t be a fair fight.” Bucky braced himself, ready for King Stark to argue.

“You’re right. I’ve never met anyone who could fight like you. Not even Rogers.” King Stark picked up the coat, running a hand over the dyed wool before passing it over. “It’s cold. Put it back on.”

King Stark began to walk away, and Bucky followed, slipping his arms back into the sleeves as he went. A man less familiar with King Stark might've stayed put, but in Bucky’s experience, a person was to stay in King Stark’s presence until he or she was dismissed, even if that meant following King Stark for hours on end.

“Is there any order I could give you that you would disobey?” King Stark asked over his shoulder. They were headed around the side of the tower, toward the cliffside that overlooked Blackwater Bay.

“No,” Bucky replied, bracing himself against the wind.

“Infuriating.” King Stark said it fondly this time, his expression soft. “Your loyalty is more than I’ve earned.”

“That’s not true.”

King Stark straightened, eyes bright with curiosity. “You don’t think so?”

“You freed me from HYDRA. You saved me even though I had hurt the people closest to you.” Bucky had done unforgivable things, things he refused to name. Things he wanted to forget, but couldn't.

“My father was a tyrant, you know,” King Stark said softly. “You did the Seven Kingdoms a service.”

Bucky still didn't believe it any more than he believed he deserved to be Lord of Winterfell. How a Kingslayer had earned favor with a King, Bucky would never know; except that maybe King Howard had been cruel enough to deserve his end, when it had finally come.

“If you say so, Your Grace.”

“I do.” King Stark stared out at the water, his gaze caught somewhere along the line of the horizon. “If I ever become like him, I need you to tell me. I know you're not my Hand, and I know you only want to tell me what I want to hear, but… Gods. If you care for me, promise me you’ll tell me the truth.”

“I promise,” Bucky said in reply.

“Thank you.” King Stark turned to meet Bucky’s eyes, and for a moment it looked like he wanted to say something else. He shook his head wryly instead. “I ought to change. And I'm due for a visit to the baths. Thank you for your company, Lord Barnes.”

“Your Grace.” Bucky bowed, and King Stark smiled before retreating back the way they'd come.

Bucky turned toward the water, watching the waves crest softly, his mind turning in circles. Steve Rogers, returning home. Bucky knew it would plague him as much as it already plagued King Stark; Bucky wouldn't be able to sleep, knowing the year-long silence would soon come to an end. That silence had been safe. It had been painful and terrible, but it had been safe all the same. Bucky had set all the emotions of that day aside, boxed them up and sealed them in his mind as soon as Steve had left King’s Landing. The thought of reopening that box made Bucky’s chest tight.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the air tasting of salt. King Stark would have a plan. King Stark would deal with Steve. And with any luck, Bucky wouldn't need to be involved at all.

~

In the last year, Steve Rogers had become a man who dealt only in extremes.

The climate, the company he kept, his feelings for King Stark - they all swung violently from one side to the other, never stopping in the middle. He’d lived in sweltering heat, then bitter cold. He’d spent his nights alone, then found himself surrounded by Wildlings, never afforded a moment’s peace. He’d fallen out of love with King Stark, knowing banishment would be easier without the weight of what he couldn’t have. But when Steve dreamed, he fell in love all over again, remembering small looks and gestures and the warmth of King Stark’s smile.

Steve had thought to live out his sentence in Dorne. After he'd been commanded to leave, he’d shipped out on the first vessel, refusing to look back. For months Steve had trained with the Dornish athletes, living like men in Dorne, letting his hair and beard grow long. His skin had turned dark under the Dornish sun, his body occupied enough to keep his mind from dwelling on his loss.

And then Steve had received a raven from Sam Wilson.

It had been so long since Steve had seen any of the men of the Night’s Watch. Sam must have known that Steve no longer held Winterfell. So why had Sam chosen Steve, and not Winterfell’s new lord?

Things have gotten worse, Sam had written. The Army of the Dead comes closer and closer with every passing day. We need more men. We need a plan. Do you have any ideas?

Yes, Steve had replied. One.

The idea hadn’t been his. It had been King Stark’s. Gather the Wildlings and march their army to King’s Landing. It was the only thing that might absolve Steve of his guilt; and now, it was the only thing that might save the Seven Kingdoms from the enemy in the north.

White Walkers. He hadn’t doubted Sam, but Steve hadn’t quite believed until he’d seen them for himself. They were truly the stuff of nightmares, terrifying and cold and nearly impossible to kill. No wonder Thor, the leader of the Wildlings, had been so easy to persuade. Alone, the Wildling army would never stand a chance against the Night King’s massive force.

They were several days south of Winterfell, Steve, Sam, and every able-bodied Wildling of the north. Ten thousand men and women, all camped just east of the Whispering Wood. Night had fallen an hour before, and the lights of the camp were bright against the sky. The cold was less bitter down here, but the night was no less dark.

They’d received a raven earlier that morning. Steve had waited to open it, allowing the scroll to burn a hole in his pocket as they rode. Now that he was alone, in the safety of his tent, he still wasn’t sure he was prepared to read King Stark’s reply. He held the scroll in his hand, wondering at how something so small could carry so much weight.

“Come on, Rogers.” He took a deep breath, then unrolled the scroll. He stared, tracing the tight scrawl with his eyes until even the light of the fire wasn’t enough to see by. The darkness didn’t matter. The words smoldered like hot coals, still bright in his mind’s eye.

Your words of apology are meaningless. Speak with your actions, or else do not speak at all.

It was biting, but that much, Steve had expected. He had waited too long to apologize. He’d known it wouldn’t be enough. Steve would have to prove himself again, and even if he did, King Stark might not forgive him. A trial by combat was his only option. Steve had to hope that King Stark would permit that kind of trial at all.

Sam stepped into the tent unannounced, and Steve looked up, surprised.

“Have you put that down once since you opened it?” Sam asked.

“No,” Steve said heavily. “I keep wanting it to say something different, but it never does.”

Sam sat down on the stool beside the fading fire, watching the smoke as it curled upward and disappeared through the smoke cap out into the air. “What do you want it to say?”

“That I'm forgiven. That I won't be killed the second I set foot on southern soil.”

“You’re not much of a realist, are you?”

Steve sighed. “No. I’m an idealist. Or at least, I was. I’m not sure what I am any more.”

Sam grinned at him. “You’re shaggy, that’s what you are.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “The beard keeps me warm.”

“It makes you look like a Wildling.”

“Well. At least I’m in good company.” Steve stared down at the scroll again, then crumpled it into his fist, ready to throw it into the fire. He drew his arm back, then hesitated, his palm falling weakly into his lap. “Why do I care so much what he thinks of me?”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Do you really want to hear the answer to that?”

“No.” Steve let his shoulders sag, tucking the scroll safely under his pillow. He knew the answer as well as Sam did, but he didn’t want to hear it. His feelings had complicated things enough. Better to focus on their goal: saving the Seven Kingdoms.

“You miss him.” Sam’s voice was serious, and for the first time, Steve didn't deny that it was true.

“It doesn't matter. We’ll see him soon enough.”

Sam nodded, standing and leaving the tent. Steve stared into the fire a while longer, then crawled under the blankets and tugged them over his head, King Stark’s words still burned behind his eyes.

~

“Come in.”

Banner opened the door and closed it softly, and Tony could see in his periphery how Banner stayed close to the wall instead of stepping forward.

Tony looked up from his work. “Maester Banner.”

“Your Grace.”

Tony returned his attention to his parchment. “Apparently every man in King’s Landing urgently requires my signature.”

Banner took a step closer. “You might let your Hand do some of that.”

Tony shook his head. “As long as I am in King’s Landing, I’ll sign all of them myself. I can't let another man bear my burden.”

“Is that because it's actually a burden? Or because you don't trust another to understand your will?”

“Would you trust someone to know your mind so well? I've been down that path once before. I won't do it again, not even if I trust Lord Jarvis with my life.” Tony signed one final document, then set his quill down. “I received word that Rogers is a day’s ride from King’s Landing.”

Lines of worry appeared on Banner’s forehead. “Then I'm here as a friend and not a Maester.”

“Yes. I need someone to listen. There's no one else I trust.”

“What about Lord Barnes?”

“He has a history with Rogers. And besides, I haven't shared my plan with him. I can't.”

“I understand.” Banner paused, finally taking a seat in front of Tony. “Does Rogers’ return trouble you so much?”

“Yes.” Gods, did it bother him. It would've been so much easier if Rogers had stayed away. Tony was tense. Nervous. Angry. Part of him wanted to cut Rogers down, and another part wanted to bypass the trial altogether with an unconditional pardon. Tony’s thoughts had been consumed with little else, and now with just a day between them, Tony’s head was starting to pound, his jaw aching from keeping his teeth clenched so tightly together.

Tony sighed, leaning back in his chair. “If you were in my place, what would you do?”

“I don’t know. My heart doesn’t speak to me the way yours does to you.”

“My heart tells me so many stories I can hardly keep them straight.” Tony let out a frustrated noise. Even his patience with himself was wearing thin. “Just… Am I doing the right thing?”

Banner shrugged. “I don't know. It's a fair test of loyalty on both sides. And it’s about time we changed the rules for trials by combat. Even if it's not right, it does what you need it to do.”

Tony stared, unseeing, at the papers in front of him. “Lord Barnes will never forgive me.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“No?”

Banner waited until Tony looked up. “He loves you. He’d forgive you almost anything.”

“That just means I’m abusing his affection.”

“You're doing what you have to do to preserve the realm,” Banner said, more emphatic than Tony was prepared for. “That's all anyone expects. Including Lord Barnes.”

Tony sighed in resignation. Banner was right. In service of the realm. That one phrase had become Tony's single guiding principle. If it didn't serve the realm, it was inconsequential. If it _did _serve the realm, nothing was more important. Proving power and offering mercy were the two things he needed to accomplish. Those were the things that would serve the realm best. Pitting Rogers and Lord Barnes against each other and stopping the fighting to save them both would be a suitable enough means. Tony only hoped Lord Barnes would forgive him for the deception.

If he didn't… So be it. It needed to be done.

“Keep our contingent back until I've given Rogers his greeting. Only bring Barnes forward once I've said his name.”

“Planning something theatrical?”

“Maybe.” Tony barely reacted to Banner’s smile. “I only plan to scare him a little.”

“Whenever you say that, men end up nearly shitting themselves.”

“They all know I have the dragons. It's not my fault they don't expect them.”

“You're right about that.” Banner’s smile faded into something serious. “My advice, Your Grace, is to get some sleep. You've thought about this long enough. Tomorrow will bring what it will bring.”

Tony gave a small nod of agreement. “Thank you, Maester.”

“Your Grace.”

Banner rose and left, giving a brief bow and a murmured, “Goodnight.” Tony sat alone in the silence, twirling the quill between his fingers, wondering how Banner expected him to get any sleep at all.

~

The messenger with news of Rogers’ arrival came before dawn.

Tony wasn’t asleep. He was seated on the Iron Throne, as he had been for hours, his right elbow on the armrest, his index finger pressed into his temple.

“King Stark.” Peter’s voice echoed loudly in the empty chamber. “He’s here.”

Tony sighed, standing up. “Well. I suppose I should hear what he has to say.”

The dragons were outside this morning, circling the towers of the Red Keep. As soon as Tony set foot onto the roof - it had taken ten minutes to climb the stairs - Striker was there, landing on the ledge. It was uncanny, the way the dragons knew him. They could tell his mood and his whims just by his scent. They knew when they were needed and when it was best to keep away.

Striker lowered her head, and green eyes followed Tony as he made his way up to her shoulders, using each scale as a foothold as he climbed onto Striker’s back. God, she was beautiful, the same rich, deep color of red clay. Her scales shimmered, reflecting the torchlight from the tower’s entrance, and Tony settled himself between two of her spikes, holding on as Striker lifted herself up, spreading her wings wide. A rush of cold air, a ripple of muscles, and then they were no longer connected to the earth.

The first time they'd flown, they had very nearly spun out of control. Tony hadn't known how to give directions. He hadn't been thinking clearly. In fact, the only thought in his head had been to hold on for dear life; and Tony had done just that. Since then, Striker had grown. She was easier to ride and easier to handle, and she and Tony had become so used to one another that it was as if they were a single being when they flew. In the sky, Tony and the dragon were one and the same.

Tony held tight as Striker rose higher and higher into the air, wings pumping until they’d reached the lowest clouds.

“You remember Rogers, don’t you?” Tony asked over the soft whistle of the wind, rubbing the side of Striker’s neck. He felt more than heard her rumble in reply. “Wait for him. He’s the one we want.”

~

Steve had walked the final two days to King’s Landing, if only because he hadn't been able to sit still on the horse. He had been restless, too tense with the anticipation of seeing King Stark again. Would it be a good reunion? Or would it end with Steve’s head on a spike? It was impossible to guess. Steve thanked the old Gods and the new that it would all be over soon.

The silhouette of the city grew larger and larger in the pale light before the dawn. A feeling of familiarity washed over Steve as they marched down toward what was left of the Dragonpit; Steve had made this walk hundreds of times before, but never under circumstances like these. The nostalgia was oppressive, and Steve cast it away with a quick shake of his head.

“You look nervous,” Sam said, suddenly beside him.

“Aren't you?”

“No. I figure as long as I bow and don't say anything stupid, I’ll be alright. I'm just glad to be warm.”

Sam was only half right. The south might’ve been warmer than the wall, but winter was on the wind, a biting cold that cut underneath the summer breeze, making it burn. Steve had learned in his time beyond the wall that the cold burned like nothing else. It crept into fingers and toes. It slithered under clothes. It burrowed into hearts, making them shrivel and die. King Stark’s silence had been another kind of cold, one Steve had hated more than anything. Steve would always take fire over ice; he would always take rage over indifference.

Finally, they stepped into the stone circle, Sam on Steve’s right, Thor on his left. The army was gathered far behind, awaiting orders. A hundred feet away, Steve could make out bodies, dark shapes in the low light. Why had King Stark’s men not come closer? What were they waiting for?

Thor was the first to look up. Steve followed his gaze, squinting, just making out the shadow of-

A dragon.

Of course. How could Steve have been so stupid as to believe King Stark might arrive on horseback? No. King Stark would want to make an entrance. Riding in on a dragon was exactly the show of power King Stark was famous for.

There weren't words for the way a dragon looked descending to the earth; but Steve couldn't deny that in that moment, he felt like prey. He was frozen in place, watching the dragon widen its claws, scooping air under its wings to slow its fall. Finally, Steve could make out the dragon’s color. Striker, he thought. King Stark’s favorite.

When Steve had left, Striker had barely been big enough to ride. And now… Now she could’ve swallowed a horse whole. She was huge, her spikes as tall as a man, her body too massive to take in all at once. She was beautiful. Beautiful and terrifying.

“Oh shit.” Sam backed up, lifting an arm to protect his face as the air around them moved with Striker’s wings. When she landed, her claws scraped the earth, making the ground beneath them shudder and shake.

Suddenly, it was all too real. Steve was about to see King Stark for the first time in a year. How had he changed? Was he still the man that Steve remembered? Would he still inspire the same fear, the same awe, the same abject adoration?

Some part of Steve thought it might be a better idea to turn tail and run. He kept himself rooted where he stood, his eyes trained on the dragon’s back, watching as King Stark descended and approached them with measured steps.

Steve swallowed, bowing and dropping onto one knee. There was the sound of boots on the earth, and then King Stark’s legs came into view, stopping just a foot away.

“Get up.”

Steve did as he was told, his focus narrowed so far that the rest of the world had disappeared. A pang of longing shot through him, and he stared, his breath shallow, his heartbeat thundering in his throat. Tony.

“King Stark,” Steve greeted softly.

“Lord Rogers.”

The title was some kind of cruel courtesy; Steve wasn't lord of anything any more. King Stark smiled, daggers in his eyes, stepping back just as slowly as he’d approached. He looked Steve over, then opened his hands, palms facing up. For some reason, that gesture filled Steve with dread.

“Welcome back to King’s Landing.”

~

[dakdoritang-blog]

Jan 10

Everytime you affirm your trust in me, you put coins into my treasury. Thus, you will build up equity in preparation for days of trouble. The more you trust me, the more I empower you to do so. 

Practice trusting me on quiet days when nothing much seems to be happening. Then when storms come, your trust balance will be sufficient to see you through.

Store up for yourself treasure in heaven through placing your trust in me. This practice will keep you in my Peace.

Psalm 56:3-4 When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust, I shall not be afraid. What can flesh do to me?

Matthew 6:20-21 But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal.

For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

I am so obsessed in accumulating earth treasures: money, friends, status, recognition, that I’m de-prioritizing heaven wealth. When those are what ultimately matters.

Give me the eyes and the wisdom to see the real values of the things I’m chasing here. I’m trying to trust you more, but sometimes I slip up and get caught up in the things I can readily see here.

Give me clarity and love. And mercy and grace. I want to be confident in my identity in You, as a child of you, not because I’m me, whatever that may mean on this earth.

Thank you for your endless pursuit. You love me more than anyone possibly can and you know all the worst things that I’m made up of. Not sure why I’m seeking for “more,” but thank you for your unconditional love.

My mind is jumbled up: I’m grateful but I’m also worried. I’m excited for this new leaf I’m turning over with you but the old lifestyle was “fun.” Give me the right eyes to keep them on the prize.

Organize my thoughts for me -- insecurities, overcompensating...

God, Father, Lord -

My anxieties are rising. With myself, like who I am as a person and over work. Applications ask me to write things and I get so anxious over them because I feel like I’m not good enough. I feel like I’m a fraud and like I’m always trying to lie to them about the skills I have because maybe I really don’t have any of them. I am helpless. I really am. So I’m asking you -- could you put the right words into my head so that what I’m good at can come out on these applications? You know what I’m good at better than myself. Help me to figure that out. I’m having trouble identifying which is helplessness and I really don’t have a talent in it or if I”m just not trying hard enough.

Please guide me into the right step into the path, that you’ve created for me. I know you’ve made me this way for a reason and I must be good at something. I don’t even have to realize what this something is; it can be kept under warps, just let me know somehow that you are guiding me because I’m putting all my trust in you and you alone.