#Ei is surprisingly good at chess

[ceruleanvermillion]

The original seven archons must've had the most unhinged game nights ever

[the-desilittle-bird]

AN- I just thought, why not 🤣🤣🤣. Also, Rhaenys is dead for the sake of this…

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

HoTD Preference

First Meeting

Characters- Daemon Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Otto Hightower, Corlys Velaryon, Cregan Stark & Criston Cole

Warnings - Incest (Targaryen)

Daemon ‘Rogue Prince’ Targaryen

You are either a noble or a part of the extended Targaryen family. Possibly a sister of Aemma.

If you are just a noble lady, then you meet at the court. Possibly at a ball thrown by the King or at a tourney, when he asked for your favour.

If you are a Targaryen (Aemma’s sister, as I am imagining), you meet at your sister’s wedding to Prince Viserys.

You two spend the entire time giggling and laughing and drinking.

Perhaps he spare you a rare dance or two.

You two fully enjoy your time together.

Aemond ‘One-Eyed’ Targaryen

You are most probably a noble lady from one of the Great Houses of Westeros, maybe a Stark or a Lannister or a Tyrell.

Your father or your brother is looking for a perfect betrothal. A good husband and a promise of alliance between your house and his.

Alicent Hightower deems you worthy for her second son.

You two met when you traveled to King’s Landing with your father.

A stroll through the gardens or perhaps a personal supper.

The first meeting was awkward with barely any words spoken, but after a few such meetings, you start to open up to each other.

Otto ‘Hand of the King’ Hightower

You are a Targaryen; younger sister to Viserys and Daemon.

You meet Otto when he is appointed the Hand of the King to the Old King Jaehaerys.

You wish not to marry for alliance; and everyone seems to respect it, surprisingly.

After his wife dies, you become a friend of his.

As much as you love your brothers; you don’t like how Daemon seems to always fight with each other.

You and Otto spend your time together reading and playing chess; or if you have any interest in politics, then you two discuss politics sometimes.

Corlys ‘Sea Snake’ Velaryon

You are a Lannister; sister of Jason Lannister and Lady Regent of Casterly Rock until he marries Johanna Westerling.

You and Rhaenys had always been quite close to each other.

You meet Corlys for the first time at her funeral in Driftmark.

You offer your condolences to him about her death; to which, he only smiles and nods.

He calls you for a supper when you are in Driftmark.

You reminisce your memories of Rhaenys with him and once, your back in Casterly Rock, you send ravens back and forth.

Cregan ‘Wolf of the North’ Stark

You are Rhaenyra’s first born and the only true born Velaryon. The star of your mother’s and father’s eyes.

You are sent to the North to gain alliance with the North on dragon back.

You tamed the Bronze Fury, much to Daemon’s delight. His mere presence made the Northerners freeze with fear.

Cregan welcomed you to the North with a light small smile and a hand on your back.

You handed him the scroll written by your step father.

You later came to know that you have been betrothed to him.

Criston ‘Kingmaker’ Cole

You were a respected lady of House Dondarrion, where he and his father served.

He had asked for your favour in a tourney held in the joy of your name day.

You had been startled by his handsome features and shy behaviour.

Next, you see him when your house attends a celebration after Princess Rhaenyra’s wedding.

You were the one to seek a conversation out with him.

You two jested about all the fat lords and the envious ladies in search of a suitor all night.

[pianokantzart]

Super Mario Brothers Super Show (Season 1, Ep. 2)

I may have been too harsh on the live-action segments, because now we have Luigi losing a chess match with a random sewer maintenance worker while Mario judgmentally eats a pizza and an entire loaf of bread in the corner

Also, they’ve gone a little easier on the laugh track, thank heavens

“Oh sure, just keep eating! Wouldn’t want anything to bother that beautiful girlish figure of yours!” DANG! LIVE ACTION LUIGI’S A SAVAGE. It’s even funnier that Mario doesn’t even care. He just blinks for a moment wondering if the insult is worth his time, then just keeps eating. 

Random child on the doorstep: I’m an orphan :( Luigi, ushering said child into his home: NOT ANYMORE YOU AREN’T

Mario and Luigi being scammed by a sad-eyed little girl because they’re too softhearted to question the obvious scam is so in character askdflkja.

Anyways, Season 1, Episode 2: “King Mario of Cramalot” Gee. I wonder what the theme of this episode is going to be.

Cartoon segment begins with them in Camelot Cramalot looking for Merlin Mervin the magician.

Mario heard the sound of bees and immediately wants to pull a “Winnie The Pooh.” Why is he so hungry!?

We’ve got something called a Beezos that I had to google. Apparently they’re a type of flying shyguy? They’re flipping adorable. I want a plush version.

Mario has to pull a golden plunger from a sacred sink in town square are you kidding me. 

Okay, I’ll admit this joke got a good snort out of me:

Mario and company celebrating his coronation with the rest of Cramalot... i.e as many extras as the animators had time to draw.

King Koopa gets the plunger with the use of the good old fashioned “hand over the magic object or I’ll kill your friends” trope. A classic.

Koopa seems to have all his bases covered for once when it comes to killing his enemies: chain them up in a sealed-off oubliette that slowly floods while a spiked ceiling lowers... not a bad design choice for an 80′s cartoon villain. Too bad he forgot the deus ex machina wizard.

THE LADY OF THE LAKE IS GIVING MARIO AN ENCHANTED DRAIN SNAKE CALLED EXCALIBUR. WHAT IS HAPPENING.

Mario has essentially been given superpowers by this drain snake and yet he wants Luigi to swim across the piranha fish filled moat and let down the draw bridge. Why. 

Luigi tries to weasel out of it by pretending he’s about to have a baby asdkfjlkj LU. WHY. 

The climax of this episode is way better than the first one. We actually have a proper one-on-one duel that is surprisingly decent for the show’s budget. They’re clashing weapons, moving across different terrain, yelling insults back and forth... it’s fun!

Actual image of me slipping out of a social event:

All of you who haven’t seen the episode, I would LOVE to know your guess about what is happening here:

[andmaybegayer]

Last Monday of the Week 2023-03-06

Gamers only play competitive first person shooters when they're extremely distressed

Listening: It was BandCamp Friday this week, so new music! Already posted my album list here so I won't dump it again

For a single song, here's Machine by Dangerfields

Watching: this bizzare 3D anime a media archival guy on YouTube has. I watched it on my phone in stereoscopic crosseyevision which worked surprisingly well but I did have to take a few breaks. The original format used the interlaced lines of SDTV to display left and right, synchronized by active-shutter glasses.

It's about some journalists following up on a terrorist plot or something, there's a lot going on, one of them is a. Robot? Maybe? It's a bit hard to keep on top of the subtitles because they are not in 3D so they appear twice below the image when you're cross-eyed, I think I still have like 10 minutes to go. Fun exercise. It was uploaded in a 3D format so you can just watch it normally or use a VR headset to view it. I lost my Google cardboard thing, so.

Reading: Re-read 17776 and 20020, it's been a moment. 20020 is incredible, 17776 was already good but it had to spend so long setting the scene that it couldn't do as much storytelling. Unbidden my comparison to this came as "Avatar S2 Vs S3"

Man I hope 20021 gets out soon. Great how it can get you so deeply invested in this multi-millennium fake football game. The introduction of the Illinois Chess bit to show that everyone has gone equally crazy about their interests over the past 18000 years is a nice touch.

Playing: Knocking out a couple matches of Valorant swiftplay most nights after the power comes back. The first to 5 is so much faster than first to 13, makes it possible for someone like me to actually enjoy the game when I don't have friends to banter with so I can level up at an acceptable speed. Trying to get Neon because nyoom.

Between everyone having power outages at different times it's nearly impossible to arrange proper matches with my friends, which sucks. I recently found out that they changed how aim rollback works to basically exclude my entire region from rollback netcode so I guess I have to start leading my shots.

Making: Quilt continues apace, now with actual quilting and not just patchwork. This is most of what I'm doing between finishing work and like, seven in the evening these days.

My cousin bought a very fast new car a few days ago and I spent the afternoon photographing it on a rooftop parking lot the other day. Haven't had a chance to go through and do full processing but here's a couple sample images.

Tools and Equipment: Had to spend an hour scouring the house looking for my parents passports so here's a pitch for getting a waterproof bag and keeping all your important personal documents in it and putting that in your bug out pack and putting that in the same place all the time. This avoids many issues.

[siriuslyblack12]

ok @prettyremus @by-any-other-name @aroaceslytherin i give in, here's the detailed headcanons for the supervillain au!!

so they meet at a party, a friend-of-a-friend kind of thing. no expenses spared with everything fancy and decked out.

sirius only agreed to go to finish up some business with an old partner in crime, get what he was owed, maybe have a drink or two and get right out. he’s never liked these little criminal get-togethers. sirius black works alone.

but then the most miraculous thing happened, two words: remus lupin.

the most handsome, freckled, sandy-haired and golden eyed man caught his eye from across the bar. his fingers drummed on the counter in time to the music that played, and when he made eye contact with sirius he gave a shy smile that made sirius’ knees weak.

so of course he went over and introduced himself (not that it was needed, sirius black, the king of crime), and they hit it off immediately. flirted all night.

that is, until the place was raided by the police, and suddenly there was a whole lot of screaming and running (not the good kind). sirius was taken off-guard, and found himself pinned to the floor by some dirty-looking scumbag, unsure of what to do. he was about to say his prayers and all that boring shit when he heard a clang and suddenly the guy hovering over him dropped to the floor. remus lupin stood behind him with a bat in his hand, stained with blood.

he lifted him up and into his car, speeding away with cop cars chasing him, and sirius swears months later that that was the exact moment he fell in love – though he did a lousy job of showing it. as remus tended to his wounds back at his apartment (“I’m just trying to help” “I don’t need help, I work alone” “ok then, but don’t blame me when you bleed out, asshole”)

that was the beginning of the well-known, long and happy relationship between the two princes of crime.

sirius charms his way into remus’ heart more quickly than remus would admit, but when you’ve got the star of half the city’s nightmares wrapped around your finger, it doesn’t half feel good.

and sirius is wrapped around remus’ finger, by the way, happily so.

their relationship blossoms from there: dates at high-end places, bringing the most extravagant gifts and flower bouquets, shining smiles and happiness. eventually it blossoms into kisses in every nook they can find, going back to one of their penthouse apartments after dates, staying over; sirius waking with remus’ arms wrapped around him and smiling to himself smugly.

he got his mans!

everyone knows not to mess with these two.

one time, as sirius excused himself to the bathroom, one of his henchmen made a snide and rather homophobic comment about not respecting this drama queen – safe to say he left the place calling his grandmother to tell her he loved her after remus was through with him.

when sirius got back he was politely informed that there would be a ‘change of staff’, but he didn’t quite care as he took his boyfriend into his arms.

sirius adopted every pet name known to man. remus was his sweetheart, his baby, his angel, his honeybun, his darling, his beautiful murderous man. remus quite liked using a few of them himself.

another time, remus wasn’t feeling too well and stayed home while sirius carried out a heist he’d had planned for several weeks of some expensive jewels. sirius offered to stay home and take care of him, but remus insisted the job was too important.

when he did get home, late into the night, remus was already in bed. sirius smiled to himself as he padded over to kiss his cheek, ask how he was (“there’s some leftovers from dinner in the fridge if you’re hungry” “I just wanted to see my baby first”)

their criminal activity is surprisingly domestic. sitting at the dinner table, legs interlocked, as one of them moves money into an overseas account and the other sorts through which stolen jewels to sell and which to keep as leverage.

this will usually dissolve into sirius giving in and initiating a kiss, followed by several more. remus pretends to hate it (“this has to get done” “it can wait, darling”)

maybe at one point remus gets fed up of crime, and wants to do something normal for a bit – find a hobby. sirius wholeheartedly supports his boyfriend’s attempts at art, baking, knitting, squash, chess…”

for their one year anniversary, sirius plans something big: they rob their first bank together, duh.

sneaking little love notes as they crack open the vault late at night, carrying remus over the threshold of the bank floor, kissing under pouring rain-like water as they accidentally set the sprinkler system off.

as they speed away in the getaway car, sirius turns to remus and offers a ring – valued at about 50 million dollars and stolen in their grand robbery. he smiles shyly, duffel bags full of money on his lap, as he lets it glint in the moonlight.

remus almost combusts (but doesn’t as he’s driving and isn’t feeling a near-death situation on their anniversary of all days), says yes and leans over for a long kiss with his boyfriend (now fiancé) as they inch further and further away from the flashing lights of cop cars chasing them down the street.

remus thought it was the most romantic thing in the world.

if that was the proposal, just imagine their wedding !!!

anyways yes our supervillain boys live an unconventional happily ever after as the most feared couple in the world, and both are more than happy to do so.

[shadowqueen402]

Heyo! Have any headcannons for the Negabosses?

I do! Here they are!

Barktholomew: Despite being a Nega boss, Barktholomew has one trait that all members of the dog family have; a great sense of smell. He can literally smell a Visitor's scent up to 70 miles away. The only time that Lance would want Barktholomew to use his sense of smell would be if a Visitor were to try and escape.

Anjellica: Not only is she a great swimmer, but Anjellica can actually breather underwater. She can also control water which is why you see her summoning down water pillars in her boss fight. When it comes to her water-controlling ability, whatever she does with it will depend on her mood. For example, if she's angered, she'll make the water boil in really hot temperatures.

Wormsworth: Like an actual spider, Wormsworth will use her webs to trap those that are deemed as Lance's enemies. Since she has an ear-splitting shriek, she could also use it to get Lance's attention and let him know if a Visitor is trying to attack. Like some spiders, Wormsworth is nocturnal, meaning that she's more active at night and will spend the entire day sleeping.

Worville Wright: He can fly surprisingly a lot faster than what is shown in the game. His speed can go up to between 460–575 mph which is the same speed as an actual plane. The higher Worville Wright is in the air, the faster he'll go. While he may love windy days, if the day is too windy for him, Worville Wright will refuse to fly.

Cuckoo: Cuckoo can mimick all kinds of bird sounds. But she rarely does so unless she's in the mood to. Also, Cuckoo is crepuscular, meaning that she's active at dawn and dusk. Like a bird, Cuckoo can see everything when she's up into the air. But she flies far because she is actually far-sighted.

Purrla: Like a cat, Purrla can purr if she's either feeling happy and content or if Lance decides to gently scratch her from behind the ears. She can also make different sounds that house cats make, depending on how they feel. However, unlike cats, Purrla does not have claws at all.

Fortstopher IV: He loves games of all kind, including chess. However, he would only play games if he's in the mood to do so. Which rarely ever happens. Despite being rather ruthless, Fortstopher IV is a really good listener. Anything that Lance vents out to him, he will listen carefully without saying anything.

Grim Creeper: His ice abilities allow him to tolerate extremely cold weather. However, Grim Creeper absolutely despises warm weather of any kind, preferring winter. He can also summon snow, but he instead chooses to use ice as it's more effective to attack the player.

Princess Marey: There's no doubt that Princess Marey smells like cotton candy. She also loves cotton candy of all flavors. Princess Marey, in her spare time, will listen to carnival music. It helps improve her mood.

Inkabelle: I personally like to view Inkabelle as not only mean, but also really vain. She has a huge fondness for things that are physically attractive and refuses to want anything to do with anything that's 'ugly'. She also takes really good care on her physical appearance.

The Hydrac: Unlike Eis, Hydrac actually loves fires. His fire abilities prevent him from getting burnt. He also loves really hot weather and thoroughly despises the cold. Which is why he and Grim Creeper clash with each other. Lance has to stop each fight that the two have.

Hooverton: Like Bruce, Hooverton prefers his arena to be clean AND to stay clean. This means that any Visitors that come to his arena cannot bring any drinks or snacks with them. If a Visitor dares litter his arena, Hooverton would go into a rage and roar at the Visitor. Despite this, Hooverton remains fairly chill when not fighting.

[teyvattherapist]

Episodic

My sister and I had a long talk about how we both suffer from dissociation earlier today cause of an ask I got. And I got inspired to write a lil smth. This is based off of my experiences for the most part so anywayss.

tags: gn!doctor!reader + Kaeya, feat Diluc + Venti, dissociation, Kaeya story spoilers, Diluc story spoilers, mental health in general.

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

Lies, so many lies, that’s all he was made up of! A liar, a cheat, a fraud, a dirty traitor. Years ago, well into his teens, he wouldn’t have cared. He didn’t give a damn whether or not the nation burned to the ground, he didn’t care if Teyvat as they knew it was ripped away from them and destroyed. But he was older now, and he cared so much. Oh too much. Torn between loyalties, his royal family who abandoned him to help them or the nation that loved and raised him. The lies stacked up, the nightly duties, the work within the shadows, the information he gave to his informants.

The lies were bearing down on him, he was being crushed, lungs screaming for air. It was almost like he was drowning except the ice above his head stopped him from surfacing for air. Kaeya Alberich could swim but he was not strong enough to shatter inches of thick ice. Every drop of water that filled his lungs, every lie that he needed to keep track of, they all froze over eventually. He was heavy, his body felt heavy, his shoulders hurt, and taking in air was a chore. He wished he’d just drown, but he kept scrambling, slamming against the ice, would anybody come-

“Are you even listening?” Diluc sighed, setting the glass down on the bar counter loud enough it shattered Kaeya’s thoughts and he lifted his head from his hand, star pupil blown as he looked around quickly. Diluc raised an eyebrow at the reaction, not expecting it from the ever composed cavalry captain he once called brother. The bar was relatively empty, Venti was asleep at a table tucked in the back. You were leaning against the wall while you did some work at the bar. Kaeya’s breathing was shaky, he realised as he tried to intake air, fill his lungs, stuff down the suffocation.

“Kaeya?” You set your quill down, concern quickly taking over your features. Diluc grabbed the glass Kaeya had been drinking from, opting to dump whatever remained. Kaeya didn’t even react to Diluc’s actions, instead he opted to look at his hands, opening and closing them, he did the action with his palms up and then repeated while looking at the back of his hands. Being a doctor for the knights, dissociation wasn’t the hardest thing for you to recognise. Approaching the situation, however, that was what became difficult.

“I don’t know how much longer I can endure this.” Kaeya’s voice was so weak, like he was testing out a tongue that didn’t belong to him. You stood immediately, Kaeya turning to you in surprise from the sudden action. You held your hands out and Kaeya looked at your waiting hands, he blinked and then looked up to you where he received a quick nod in return, a reassuring smile on your face. Kaeya put his hands into your own, his hands were surprisingly warm even through your gloves, slender fingers curling to intertwine with yours.

You gave his hands a gentle squeeze, he could feel two different sets of eyes staring at him outside of you directly in front of him. The weight of the world was so heavy and he felt himself slipping beneath the current again, it was relentless, endless, it dragged him down, the frozen lake was so dark- “Describe how my hands feel, please. What do my gloves feel like? Temperature?” You did your best to keep your voice reassuring, exceptionally kind as you crouched slightly so you could be at eye height with Kaeya who continued to sit.

The words dragged him to the surface and he struggled to remember who he was beyond all of these damn lies. There were so many lies, so much to hide, so many ties and loyalties oh how they swirled in his head. But he had to focus on the feelings of the gloves, thankful his seemed to be fingerless. “Cotton, your gloves feel like cotton.” He got a reassuring squeeze, an affirmative. Diluc snuck out from the bar, heading to the tavern door to lock it, sure an hour early, but given the circumstances.

“Okay, anything else?”

“Cold.”

“Haha, very good. Do you know your name?”

“Kaeya Ragnvindr. No, wait..” He trailed off, eyebrow furrowing. “I changed it, Alberich.” You quickly nodded, prompting him to continue. “You smell like mint and I smell like wine. Or is that the redhead? I’m not sure.”

“Both, probably.” Diluc responded casually, as if his heart didn’t just shatter hearing Kaeya say his old last name as his own once more. How long had it been since Diluc tore that family name from the navy haired captain? Diluc got closer, standing behind you, enough distance from Kaeya not to overwhelm him, but close enough he could watch.

The water still lapped at his legs, threatening, stabbing into him and trying to drag him back in. But he clawed at the sand, finding hold in the frost covered shore. “Are you back with us then, Kaeya? If not, you could try describing one of us.” You squeezed his hands again and Kaeya slowly nodded, his brain fog was lifting at least, he wasn’t entirely focused on the frozen lake anymore. When had he broken through the ice?

“Whoa, sorry- What happened there?” Kaeya pulled his hands back suddenly, gripping his head in one hand and shaking it with his signature laugh. Diluc had been frowning the entire time, and your reassuring smile vanished in an instant at his new words. “What? Don’t look at me like that, it’s embarrassing.” Kaeya smiled, turning his head to survey the rest of the empty tavern.

“You were having a dissociative episode. I’d offer a mora for your thoughts but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.” You stood straight again and Kaeya wished you weren’t on his blind side, that way he’d be able to see without turning towards you, instead the cavalry captain eyed the sleeping Venti in the corner. “I’m not going to ask you to talk to me, but at least talk to Diluc about what’s on your mind if nobody else. It will only get worse from here.” You moved by the redhead who made no objections, and you began to gather the paperwork you had been working on.

“I promise, I’m fine. You’re worrying over nothing. And you, Diluc. I didn’t expect such concern.”

“We grew up together. Of course I’m concerned. You’re one of the few competent knights, and they need you to be on your best.” Diluc had his arms crossed over his chest, but he genuinely was trying not to seem so malicious, despite the biting words of his former brother. “How often has this been happening?” Diluc inquired, waiting for Kaeya to actually look back at them, but he never did, calloused fingers gently tapping the wooden bar countertop instead. “Okay, when did it start, then?” Diluc switched questions with a nod from you.

“A few months ago. They only lasted a minute or two, and I’d barely remember what happened. Recently the times I’ve blanked have been longer. I don’t remember what happened since coming in here.” Kaeya’s voice was quiet, low, ashamed maybe. He was so tired of it all, the lies and the burdens. He didn’t want to be a plot point or a chess piece. He just wanted to live his life, free of the whispering secrets of the dark.

“That was seven hours ago. [Name], is that normal?”

“Quite. Some dissociative episodes have been known to last years. The hours will turn to days, days into weeks. You know how it goes. I’ll bring Venti home so you two can speak.” You pulled your bag over your shoulder, heading off to grab the drunk bard from the corner. “Come on, bard. You can stay at my house.” You lifted the man easily, letting Diluc silently unlock and open the tavern door for you. The door was shut and locked once more.

“You don’t have to pretend to care, Diluc. I’m fine.” Kaeya pushed his barstool back, standing to his full height. He was exhausted, his brain fog may have been gone but his body still didn’t feel real and every step he took felt like walking on pins and needles. It didn’t help when Diluc blocked the door though, the usual bored expression replaced with something else.

“I do care, idiot. Whether or not you believe that isn’t my problem. You’re still my brother, even if we never shared any blood. Now you’re going to sit down and we’re going to talk about what happened that night, do you hear me?” Diluc lowered his arms, gaze dropping to anywhere but the captain. “Please, just talk to me. I won’t push you away this time.”

“Do you promise?”

“Obviously.”

[dennou-translations]

Violet Evergarden Ever After: Chapter 3

Please feel free to message me about possible corrections. If you can, consider supporting the creators by purchasing the official releases. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

← Previous || Index || Next →

No one would imagine that a single drop could be the start of something so big. However, it would earn itself great meaning after a while passed. Should it continue pouring, it could also summon boundless blessings and curses.

Love was almost like rain.

   The Journey and the Auto-Memories Doll

   That one was a rain of betrayal.

It started with a calm morning, the sky unfolding without any hints of being enshrouded in dark clouds. Regardless, it did not take too long for the capricious rain brought by the heavens to turn into a downpour rarely seen in recent years.

There was no longer any sign of the rain that had started to fall like gentle kisses from paradise on the black hats of gentlemen walking around town, over the backs of cats dozing under the sun or onto the cheeks of children who opened their mouths and burst into laughter. The current season was the end of summer, and it was raining for the first in a long while in Leidenschaftlich, where the skies were constantly clear in summer, but had the god that controlled weather gone crazy? With time, as if a bucket had turned over, the city was hit by a flood.

This story is about an uneventful day, which did nothing but pass, in the lives of people who worked at a certain postal company.

   The rain and wind struck the entire building as if attacking it. The doorbell rang loudly because of this, a man standing in place and staring at it with unease.

Creak-creak, the door moved. Ring-ring, the bell resounded. Since it was ringing despite there being no customers, he had become concerned and found himself coming down from his residence in the top floor.

In the previous year, the building had been shot with rocket artillery, and not only had it earned an enormous hole but a fire had also occurred – however, thanks to the quick skills of workmen, the hole was now closed and the walls had been neatly rebuilt.

The man was a stylish redhead. He was the president of this company, which he had named after himself.

Claudia Hodgins had been left all alone in the empty postal office. Still, it was normal for him to be there, as it was both his home and workplace. However, since he was by himself at a time that would usually still be within business hours, no matter what, he looked like he had been abandoned.

The postal office had been in great turmoil because of the storm. Surely, so had its peers. With the deliveries stagnated, complaints were coming from the clients. Nevertheless, the transportation was not carried out by machines devoid of feelings. It was something done by humans, who had been given birth to by someone and who had families waiting for them when they returned home. In lieu of the unpreceded disaster, as the president, he had notified all employees that business would be closed for today.

To begin with, the customers had stopped coming in the middle of the day. If he had to say so himself, this might be the expected. Deliberately going outside amidst such strong wind and torrential rain was an act of sheer madness.

Curious about what was going on outside, Hodgins had approached the entrance from the side. He felt like attempting to open the large doors just a little. He wanted to see how inundated the ground was. Just when he slow and carefully reached a hand towards it, the door opened with force despite him not doing anything.

“Ow...!”

“Oh, my bad. More importantly, we’re screwed; it’s just impossible, Old Man!”

Hodgins was teary-eyed as his precious nose took a hit. He was lightheaded for an instant due to the pain, but soon regained consciousness. After all, one of his employees had come back dripping-wet. Hodgins pulled him – whole body wrapped in rain gear – by the arm, bringing him inside and closing the door. Although it was only open for a few seconds, the entrance was already drenched.

The visitor took off the hood over his head, allowing his face to be seen. He was a splendidly handsome and fine man of sky-blue eyes and sandy-blond hair.

“Benedict...!”

Benedict Blue. One of the postal company’s postmen, who had been working in it ever since its founding.

“It’s impossible – actually, it’s absurd! Working under this rain is absurd! I look like I’m in the bath already. I wouldn’t have come here if I weren’t soaked... Making the staff pull out was the right choice,” Benedict said as if angry-yelling, shaking his head in the same way that a dog or cat would and splattering water splashes at Hodgins.

This wetted most of Hodgins’s shirt and face, but he was unable to reprimand his employee, who had been doing strenuous effort. He accepted it in resignation, wiping Benedict’s face with the sleeve of his shirt. “Okay, stay put.”

“Uoh, what’s with you? Stop.”

“Welcome home. I was worried. Good thing you’re all right.”

“O-Oh. What, hum... I’m back... You were worried about me?”

“Of course,” Hodgins said, to which Benedict turned away with an obviously embarrassed attitude after a moment of bewilderment.

Outside, vases and planters that may have been at the eaves of people’s houses, as well as shop signs, had been turning into weapons for a while now, dancing around the city along with the wind. Managing to come back unharmed and safely amidst this weather, where one could not know what would come flying their way, was something to be happy about.

“I’m just fine. This job’s easier than running around shooting guns. Anyway, I was left with the letters and packages of a guy who fell from his motorcycle and came back by myself. Was best to do that, right?”

“Aah, so someone got hurt?”

“That newbie, Clark. But he only scrapped his knees. He fell lots of times when he was learning how to ride, but for real, it’s surprisingly depressing when you fall off other than during practice. He was crying, y’see.”

“Aah~.”

Knowing who the person in question was, Hodgins pitied him. He was the youngest postman to join the company as of late. It was difficult to find human resources for postmen as they were quick to quit.

“He’s young, after all...”

“You call him young but... he’s already a grown man. I wonder if he ain’t lying to us about his age... I thought he was a baby or something.”

“You can’t compare him to a city boy fresh from the battlefield like yourself. I’m gonna get you a towel and a change of clothes now, so don’t move from there.”

“Why?”

“You’d wet the floor. Don’t tell me to go around cleaning up where you walked.”

“Clean it up,” he said while laughing, to which Hodgins’s shoulders slumped. He was a reliable companion, but also a young man who knew not how to show respect for his elders.

——Well, guess I’m a so-called doting parent for thinking that’s cute – no, doting boss.

Anyhow, they needed towels, Hodgins thought as he went back to his room. He grabbed a few large towels and held a pair of trousers and shirt that Benedict would apparently fit into under his arm. Then returned to the ground floor. By the time he did so, the number of people had increased.

“Uwah... Amazing, it’s like squeezing a rag.”

There were three more other than Benedict. If they were to be separated by types, one of them had evacuated after receiving a report of work, one had evacuated after finishing work, and one had been ordered to clock out, but all had come back halfway through, as their bodies were about to be blown off by the overwhelming storm.

“Please stop.” There was Violet Evergarden, whose golden hair was in Benedict’s grasp.

“Why? You said your hair was wet.”

“You just want to touch Violet’s hair, Benedict. Isn’t that right?” Lux Sibyl, who had given up on wiping her glasses and was glaring at the empty space.

“That’s not it. Don’t say weird stuff, Lux.”

“You knooow, my hair’s just as long as Violet’s.” And Cattleya Baudelaire, who scowled at Benedict with her arms crossed.

The members who had been there ever since the founding were Violet, Cattleya and Benedict, but Lux, having joined midway, was now a skillful secretary who covered up the schedule of the employees and president and moved them around like chess pieces. As the four people whose ages were close to each other’s came together, the conversation naturally livened up.

“You—You’re that kinda thing. If I touch you in a place like this, it’d be that kinda thing. This is our workplace, so there’s all that kinda thing. Morally speaking, it’s that kinda thing.”

“What do you mean ‘morally speaking’?!”

“I wish you wouldn’t say those things even if you think about them. Right, Violet?”

“‘Public morals’...? Benedict, what am I from your point of view?”

“V, you’re like a little sister to me... Aah, Old Man, gimme another towel.”

It was a terribly joyful thing that the company’s young aces had returned to it safe and sound.

“Everyone, don’t move from that spot no matter what. Hey, Cattleya! Don’t move!”

However, wiping all the water off the bodies of those four turned out to be a bone-breaking work.

   Out of kindness, Hodgins invited the four people who had gathered up at the postal company to his residence in the top floor.

The whole floor was his apartment, thus it was quite large. A family of five could live comfortably in it. The furnishings were arranged in wooden items and serene shades of dark brown and green. It was a relaxed, adult atmosphere, where was nothing particularly funny. It had a faint scent of the perfume that Hodgins always wore.

The invited four let out sighs of relief. The biggest reason for it, although there was also the fact that this was Hodgins’s apartment, was that they were able to escape the horrible situation outdoors. With the exception of Lux, three of them were tough enough to take part in the act of physically crushing other postal companies, but human beings could not win against natural disasters.

“Hey, what do we do? We can’t go home anymore, can we?”

“There’s nothing we can do. We got no choice but stay in Old Man’s place.”

“First time something like this happens, huh. But we’re all together, so... might be imprudent of me to say this, but... it’s a bit fun. Violet, are you worried about your home?”

“Yes, about the flowerbeds.”

“You should say ‘about the people back home’, V.”

“The two went on a trip, so they are away. I promised that I would take care of the flowers in their absence, which is why... I am worried about the flowerbeds. Besides, if that house were to be destroyed by this storm, this place would meet its end much sooner... We have little time left to live.”

“Don’t go from talking about your family to destroying the company, Little Violet. Hey, hey, everyone, you’ll catch a cold so get changed first. Put the towels in the laundry basket. Benedict, don’t throw the towels wherever!”

As told by Hodgins, the employees firstly decided to change their clothes.

Violet and Cattleya had just returned from a work trip of two days and one night, thus they had a change of nightclothes in their bags, but Benedict and Lux did not. Although there was a height difference between them, Hodgins had no issues with lending clothes to Benedict, who was also a man, but there was a need for careful selection when it came to Lux.

“Shirt... shirt, shirt; all I have is shirts.”

“Hum, President, I’m fine with anything.”

“Eeh... that okay?”

As a result, the boy and girl came into the scene wearing baggy clothes. Benedict looked almost the same as when he and Hodgins first met. When he was left to chance completely naked in a desert, he had borrowed a shirt and trousers just as he was doing now. He seemed pleased with it, however...

“Feels kinda naughty...”

...the problem was Lux.

“Benedict’s fine, but maybe it won’t do for Little Lux? Is this okay?” Hodgins asked everyone with a meek face.

They all had at last settled down, each seated in a place of their preference while sipping tea. The employees were relaxing as if they were in their own homes. Contrary to the peaceful state of the situation inside, there was still a sound of rain hitting the windows and a troubled noise of something colliding against the building outside.

“What is ‘okay’ supposed to mean?” Sitting on the sofa, Violet tilted her head. Being comfortably dressed in a dusty-pink nightwear gave her usually disciplined self a slightly soft and gentle air.

“Little Violet.”

“Yes.”

“Your nightgown is cute, huh.”

“The people from the household bought it for me. Well, what is ‘okay’ supposed to mean? Was there any problem?”

“Little Lux’s clothes.”

For whatever reason, they had the person in question standing in the center of the room. With everyone’s eyes on her, she seemed uneasy.

“Hum... why do I have to stand in the middle?”

“Little Lux, stay like that and don’t move.”

“All right.”

“What is wrong with Lux’s look? You mean to say it lacks adornment?”

“Why would that be the case, Little Violet?”

“You are the one who chooses attires for us Dolls and you have particularities regarding the clothing and accessories, so I concluded that you might deem the plain shirt as not enough.”

“No, no.” Hodgins flailed both hands. The things he was saying had a moral value to them, out of fear that her outfit was perhaps vulgar.

Benedict had dealt with it by securing her trousers with a belt, but as Lux had too thin a waist, the outcome was the belt falling off. In short, she was not wearing pants. Inevitably, she was dressed in nothing but a shirt. However, her short stature fortunately made it look like a shirt-dress.

As Hodgins explained his concern, everyone said, “I see.”

Showered with their stares more and more, Lux began to blush.

“It gives off a dangerous feeling when you think she ain’t wearing any, but on second thought, isn’t that the same for skirts? There’s actually an open hole in them, but it’s not visible, so they’re classified as clothes. No big deal, is it?” Benedict had been standing with his back against the wall just a moment ago, yet had suddenly drawn close to her and started examining her fixatedly.

“Don’t say ‘not wearing any’!”

“Well, I mean, you really ain’t wearing any... but that’s okay. No biggie. You’re probably not an option for Old Man, so no worries. Right?”

“That’s rude!”

“I’m saying you don’t need to worry about that kinda thing... Should I take mine off, then? I see; I’m fine with it. I’ll be the same as you. That all right? I’m gonna take it off.”

“Stop, stop, stop!” As Benedict put a hand to his belt while laughing, Lux repeatedly hit his chest with her fists to stop him. Lux was red up to her ears. “I can’t take this anymore! Violet! Take Benedict to over there!”

“Understood.”

“Owowowow, V, ouch, that’s not it; it was the Old Man who said weird stuff first. We’re friends, so I was showing that she doesn’t have to get hung up over something like...”

Caught in Violet’s arms, Benedict obediently sat on the sofa. Perhaps in order not to allow him to escape, she gripped his hands and sat next to him.

Cattleya cut through the silence, “The tea is delicious.” She was scattered over the bed. She must have been tired from returning from the Doll business trip. Her eyes were downcast. She might be sleepy.

“Cattleya, do you not have any comments to make? I want to hear lots of opinions.”

“Eeeh, me?” Cattleya joined the needless debate as if it were a bother. “Hmmm... if someone were making her wear this because it’s their taste, it’d be gross indeed, but there’s no other clothes for her... It’d also be horrible to leave her with just a towel wrap, so I think it’s valid. Speaking of which, President...”

“Hm?”

“You’re saying that even though you pick open-chested clothes for my Doll outfits? And the times you were choosing Doll attires for me, y’knooow, you were never so considerate to say ‘not this, not this either’ when discussing it with the people from the made-to-order store...”

Her manner of speech was somewhat thorny, but Hodgins did not make much out of it. “That’s because they look good on you.” Rather, he said decisively, with an earnest gaze and excessive confidence, “Because they look good on you. Is my judgement wrong?”

“E-Eh?” Being replied to so unapologetically, Cattleya’s reasoning jumbled up, to the point she found herself wondering if she was the one in the wrong.

The Doll outfit that Cattleya usually wore was composed mainly of a crimson dress-coat, so there was no mistaking that one could not wear it unless the person was remarkably stylish. In addition, there was also no doubt that it was lascivious. Whoever looked at her would find their line of sight momentarily going to her chest. Still, whoever looked at her would remember the woman named Cattleya Baudelaire at once.

“No... it’s not like your choices are wrong... but I only forgive you because you’re the boss. I was shocked when you first showed me that outfit! I didn’t use to wear something like that before.”

“Well, but y’see, an hourglass-shaped person looks more slender when the area around their collarbone is exposed, and it’s pretty.”

An evident question mark floated above Violet’s head at the unfamiliar word. Benedict pointed a finger at the tea set arranged on the nearby table. An hourglass used to measure the time it took to steam the tealeaves was lying there. Perhaps finding the similarity between it and a plump chest and dainty hips, Violet nodded as if convinced.

“You’ve got an hourglass-shaped figure with that slim waist, so I gave you a coat-dress that puts this on display. You can adjust it with the ribbon, so it’s not a pain, right? It has a wonderful line in mathematical terms, y’know? Plus, you also have a cheerful character, so it doesn’t look vulgar. That’s important. It means that outfit takes into consideration even the personality of the one wearing it. And the owner of that made-to-order store is famous not just in this country but abroad. The outfits of our Dolls are on a whole different level in comparison to other companies, aren’t they?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“I don’t want to bring this up, but they’re very expensive.”

“Eh, I’m sorry. S-Should I pay you back? Either that or you can dock my salary...”

“No, you’re my Doll, after all. Nobody waters a flower to get money off it, right? It’s fine, Cattleya. Just stay pretty. It’s exactly because I have obsessions over clothes that I don’t want to make a girl look vulgar. And it’s exactly because I like girls that I want to have them shine wonderfully. That’s also why I have a few complaints about Little Lux’s usual plain clothes, though...”

“I don’t know why you decided to run a mail service, President, but I accept that passion of yours. I’ll wear those clothes with care. But, President, I’m doing my best, so I want a new outfit. A cute one.”

Listening to the conversation of the two in silence, perhaps tired of going along with her superior, Lux looked at Violet and Benedict’s direction with a gaze that quietly asked for help. There was a gap on the sofa that seemed enough for one person to sit. Having locked eyes with her, Violet told Benedict to scoot over after a brief moment and patted the open spot. Lux sat next to them, looking happy.

“Violet, what’re you drinking?” Lux peeked at the teacup that Violet was holding.

“I wonder. I took the tealeaves that were in the kitchen. I do not know what type of tea it is.”

“Darjeeling.”

“Benedict, how did you know?”

“‘Cause that guy likes Darjeeling. All the tea cans he has are nothing but that.”

“Guess I’m gonna drink that too; my body got cold from the long time under the rain.”

“Heeey, the three of you who ended the talk before we noticed! Listen to what I have to say.” Hodgins put his hands on his hips, pretending to be angry.

“We were deviating from the main subject. We deemed that it was not a necessary conversation and took action prioritizing Lux’s rest,” Violet expressed with a clear voice tone.

“Besides, this talk’s about bedroom wear, ain’t it?” Benedict added a two-fold retort. The blond, blue-eyed duo that looked like siblings stared at Hodgins with questioning eyes.

“Ugh, I comply with you two no matter what you say when you both look at me at the same time, so cut it out. But I’m not giving up. I think she needs one more article of clothing.”

“Hum... President, I’m okay with this. I’m already thankful that I could borrow your clothes. Besides, when you make such a big fuss about it, things that weren’t lewd in the first place start to seem lewd, so to say,” Lux said, wanting to end this topic as fast as possible.

“The solution has come to me. Wouldn’t it be best if I took the shirt and trousers and had Lux wear this nightgown?”

However, Violet wound up rewinding it.

——Violet!

Lux hit Violet repeatedly in her mind.

“Ah~, that’s right. If that’s the case, I can do it too. But maybe my nightgown is too big? It’s a negligee just like Violet’s. The shoulder length might be the problem for this one...”

“Old Man, you gonna die if you don’t obsess over the stuff we wear? You ain’t. Give up.”

“No way. Days like this one don’t come by. All five of us are trapped in the company and we can’t get out. You’ve got no choice but stay here in my house, right? We’re having the best of parties, a pajama party. I want it to be a good one. But I can’t enjoy it when I’m worrying over Little Lux’s clothes.”

Benedict contemplated a reply to Hodgins’s words for a few seconds, but soon stopped. He was probably tired. He looked Violet’s way and asked, “Hey, you not hungry? I’m gonna take a look at the kitchen.

“Hey, don’t ignore me.” As Benedict stood up, Hodgins chased after him.

“Benedict’s gonna make something? Yay! You guys probably don’t know this, but he’s good at cooking.” Cattleya lined up behind them.

“I didn’t say I was gonna make anything, though... Well, if you’re hungry, I can do it.”

“I shall assist you.” Violet raised her arms, rolling up her sleeves. Her prosthetics made a creaking noise.

“V, you can cook?”

“To some extent. In the military, I used to make preparations for the cooking. Mrs. Evergarden... Lady Tiffany also trained me on it.

“M-Me too... I can peel the potatoes, and stuff.” Lux hastily went after everyone. In a trail, a big move to the kitchen began to take place.

“Lux. You don’t usually cook, do you? I can already tell by just that statement. I’ll teach you.”

“Most things get solved just by peeling the potatoes... Benedict, you’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“Am not, Potato Demigod.”

“Violet, Benedict insulted me!”

“Benedict.”

“Owowow! V—! Don’t poke my sides! A hit from those crazy-ass prosthetics of yours ain’t no cutesy way to poke anyone! It just hurts like it normally would!”

In the end, Hodgins was able to find a light feather-print sweater in his closet and gave it to Lux. As she put it on, with her short stature, its length became the same as that of a long cardigan, which Hodgins was awfully pleased with for how adorable it was.

   The madder-red sky was not visible at dusk, the outside morphing into evening with no changes in the rainy weather.

Benedict made a soup at random with the vegetables available in Hodgins’s kitchen, which had seasonings in abundance, while Violet and Cattleya supplied it with cookies that they had brought back as souvenirs from their ghostwriting business trip. Lux brought over small candy marbles that she kept stored in her desk at the company, and Benedict, instructed by Hodgins, reluctantly took an expensive bottle hidden on the liquor shelf of the latter’s room.

“Hey, let’s rummage through the desks of everyone in the company. There are probably gonna be other ingredients in them.”

“If it’s Mr. Anthony’s desk, I think there’s definitely something in it. Mr. Anthony always gives me sweets... We’re in a state of emergency so I’m sure he’ll forgive us for it.”

“There were sweets in the reception guys’ desks. Would they get mad if we took them?”

“Definitely seem like they would. But this sweet... is one of the tasty ones... I wanna eat it.”

Lux, who was still growing, and Benedict, who had missed lunch and did not have enough with just the vegetable soup, procured more food. The sweets that the hungry thieves sneaked from the company employees’ desks turned out as what could be considered a big catch, and so, the five people trapped inside during a day of usual rain commenced a night party.

The five of different ages, genders and positions were already at a state where they could be deemed as a single family through the many incidents they had overcome and the time they had spent together. They laughed a lot, talked a lot.

“You remember when Violet brought Lux over? She went to negotiate it directly with Old Man with so much might, like, ‘I have picked up a puppy. Please give me permission to raise it here. Now, hurry’. They were holding hands and she wouldn’t let go of Lux, explaining the situation all at length as if to say she wasn’t gonna move until he gave the permission. The way Old Man acted so suspicious back then was a real blast.”

“I remember~! He was like, ‘Eh, “demigod”? Eh, “abduction and confinement”? Have you told the military police about that?’... President was so troubled, walking in circles around the two. It was the funniest thing of that year.”

“Hum... I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologize, Little Lux. You’re our main player now, so you did what you could to get where you are. You really exerted yourself in this unfamiliar land. Work for us forever, ‘kay? Rather, for me. Little Violet does some unbelievable stuff sometimes, but she generally doesn’t do anything wrong, so back then, her first-time deed shook up even someone like me, with plenty of life experience. Saying no didn’t even cross my mind.”

“I knew that President Hodgins would give you a generous treatment. If I had not concluded so, I would not have done such a thing. Thank you very much for that time, President.”

“Little Violet... Little Violet’s all grown up too, huh; you’ve become a wonderful lady...”

“Well, she’s got you as her example of guardian figure, after all.”

“I was raised by both Benedict and President Hodgins. You are my examples.”

“Eh, so I’m Old Man’s son...? Gimme the whole company.”

“No way! Actually, you’re taking a part of the company in the future, so that much should be fine, right?”

“You were serious about that? If you split the company...”

“Yeah, I’ll be the vice-president. V, call me Vice-President Benedict.”

“Benedict will be... the vice-president?”

“Violet, you haven’t been to the company too often because of work, right? I’ll stay as President Hodgins’s secretary, but some of the employees will go to Benedict’s side. That’s gonna be pretty lonely... Still, the company will be built inside the country, so it’ll be close in terms of distance. But it won’t be the same building anymore.”

“Other people... will also be gone.”

“Did I tell you that my role’s gonna change too?”

“I have not heard about that.”

“I’ll be transferred to training the newcomers. Violet, you’ll stay as you are. Well, between you and me, if we were to debate on which one should be the instructor, it’d have to be me. I’m good at looking after others.”

“Cattleya will be... an instructor...”

“I’ll be here like always. The Doll department that Little Violet and the others are in will stay in the main office and you’re largely in charge of the numbers in our Doll department, so your role won’t change.”

“Sounds like I don’t make money when you put it like that.”

“No, it’s not like that... I’ve been keeping the right people in the right places since long ago, right? I asked you to do this because I thought you could be everyone’s big sis. Besides, wasn’t it you, Cattleya, who immediately replied that you’d to it when I said your pay would increase if you became an instructor?”

“Well, that’s because I don’t know how long I could keep on being a Doll. It’s a job you can do even when you get older, but walking up mountains has been hard lately. Probably because of my high heels.”

They truly laughed a lot and talked a lot.

In their feel-at-home looks, they played card games, discussed memories of their trips and laughed holding their stomachs at silly stories. The night went on and on and the heavy rain outside gradually subsided, but no one said, “Let’s go home, then”. Days like these were a rarity. They all knew this much.

“I’m having lots of fun today. It’d be great if it were always like this.” The words that Cattleya muttered with a big smile spoke for everyone’s feelings.

Whenever a fun feast reached its climax, the loneliness towards the fact that it was going to end would cross the corners of people’s heads. That applied not only to this day that God had granted them but also to matters in the long run.

Perhaps the company named CH Postal Company itself could also be considered a feast to the people gathered in it. “May this dream, this fun time go on forever,” they wished.

The dream had begun with Claudia Hodgins. He then picked up Cattleya Baudelaire, Benedict Blue and Violet Evergarden.

“Make sure to just lick it. So, how’s that?”

They had built the company office building in Leidenschaftlich and started it together. As the postal business was a privatized one and the competitors were many, nobody could predict at first for how long this company would continue to exist.

“This stings.”

A local customer then came, earning them a large-scale contract in the delivery business.

“Eh~, you okay, Violet? You’re better off as someone who can’t drink...”

Their Auto-Memories Doll activities began to stand out.

“But everyone is changing.”

“Doesn’t that have nothing to do with drinking alcohol? I drink ‘cause I like it. If you don’t, then stop.”

“That’s right, Violet.”

“No... Major has a taste for drinking during meals, so I had been thinking of learning to do it one day as well. You are all changing one after another whenever I blink. I have started eating with other people quite often at work as well. I, too, shall adapt...”

Along the way, a girl who would later become a brilliant secretary joined them.

“I see... Then I want to try drinking too. I’m a secretary, after all. I have to eat out with other people. What kind of taste is it, if you had to compare?”

Despite the major changes in the personal life of each, all of them had contributed to the development of the company, to the point that they spent every single day being busy.

“Close to that of a perfume. In that it is hard to swallow.”

There would surely be many, many more changes.

“Hey, I can’t approve that opinion. Big Sis here will introduce you to delicious drinks. Rather than being taught by a man, you should learn from me. Lux, you can’t yet.”

Surely, their fates would twist further.

“Eh~?!”

“Benedict, bring another one. And something to crack it open with.”

For people to gather up, an encounter had to have happened. That was what it meant.

“Aight, aight...” Benedict stood up from the sofa. He had been dragged into Cattleya’s scheme, in which she had planned the conspiracy of attempting to make Violet Evergarden consume alcohol, because he himself had complied with it.

“O-Owah. Old Man. You were here?”

“‘Were here,’ you ask... this is my house.”

As they came across each other in the kitchen, Benedict had let out a brash voice without thinking. The reason might be that he perhaps was seen grinning as he walked in. Despite his nihilistic attitude, he was happy to spend time with his friends.

“I-I know. I was thinking you were taking too long in the toilet...”

“Cigar.”

With the kitchen’s small window open, Hodgins was smoking a cigar. All of the women despised the smell, so he rarely ever let them see him smoking. Just when Benedict was thinking about how he had suddenly stood up and disappeared, there he was, smoking in secret.

——He only smokes when he can’t calm down, though.

There was no better day to relax with their companions, and yet.

“Hey, take a look outside. It’s so quiet after the storm... like the wind. Even though it was so loud before.” Perhaps due to him being a little drunk, Hodgins’s face was red.

“True... Hey, need more booze. Ain’t there anything easier to drink?”

“Eh, why? You can’t give it to Little Lux.”

“Cattleya wants to make V drink some. Well, ain’t it okay? I think it’s about time she learns the ropes. Dunno when we’ll get to drink with her again... and it’s better to have people you get along with teaching you this kinda thing, right?”

“Eeh... it’s still too soon. If you insist, isn’t it enough to drip a drop of rum into her tea?”

“Can you even call that a drink? Make it a degree higher.”

Hodgins gave a strained smile. “Hey, hey, her big brother figure shouldn’t be saying this...”

“I say it because I’m her big brother figure. I mean, we’re getting more rookies. She’s the highlight of our Doll department. Eating with people is part of having a big job. Before she gets involved with someone who wants to make her drink...”

“Does this have anything to do with me telling you to be the branch manager?”

Hearing a slightly icy voice coming from the president, Benedict blinked. “No... sorta.”

“She’s still a child, and I’ll definitely always be with her in those kinds of places, so it’s okay. It’s still early to teach her how to drink. Nope, nope.”

“A ‘child’, you say... well, she’s got a childish side, but she ain’t one anymore.”

“She is – you, Cattleya and Little Lux, too, are all kids to me. Because you’re quick to do this kind of thing if I don’t keep an eye on you... My, my,” Hodgins said, blowing out the tobacco smoke. Mismatched as it was for someone with such a mature appearance, Benedict could get a glimpse of childishness in him.

“You’ll keep trying to do that from now on too? That’s impossible; face the reality,” Benedict bit out incidentally.

Silence.

Benedict’s words were not wrong. The CH Postal Company was growing rapidly as a business. The fact that the postal company led by Salvatore Rinaudo had withdrawn from the postal industry in the previous year had a major influence in this. They now reigned at a pivotal position in Leidenschaftlich’s postal service. The CH Postal Company would soon account for nearly all of the commissions from the people living in Leidenschaftlich. Other than being busy with work affairs, there were even discussions about relocating the head office because of problems with waiting areas and break rooms due to securing new employees.

“Like, you and I are gonna get damn busy. The Auto-Memories Doll department is gonna be the main organ of the head office and my place will be ordinary mail, right? We’ll be teaching people how things go, and I’ll be doing deliveries too. You’re the one with the busiest role. Anything and everything’s gonna be relayed to you. Getting to be close to your employees like until now while doing all that is just...”

It was natural for a company that had become bigger to do a corporative split-off and for one of their employees to manage the branch office. Benedict was still young but had the power to bring people together. The task would not be an impossible one if they put a veteran of the head office in charge of taking over it. They could do this, Hodgins had decided, thus he came up with the proposal.

“The regular meetings and other stuff that I take part in happen in the head office... It’s not like we won’t get to see each other.”

“Everyone will have a different post and position. We won’t get to see each other. Same for you, Old Man.”

“If it’s work, I can adjust it. I’ll do my best to administrate everyone so that the employees can get a time every now and then to relax like this...”

“Old Man, even if you do your best, V’s dating that nasty-ass military officer, so won’t they get married someday? Dunno ‘bout it, but... that’s why it’s impossible to always watch over us in the first place...”

Silence.

“Hey, don’t clam up.”

What was being thrust at Hodgins now was something that he did not want to look straight at, despite thinking about and readying himself for it. That was what he was being told.

“Hodgins – hey, Old Man.”

It was something that Benedict Blue had the right to say, exactly because they had been doing everything together from the start.

“Hey, don’t take it in a weird way. I ain’t saying this to be malicious. You left the Auto-Memories Doll department in the head office ‘cause your wish to watch over V is a big deal, right? I get it. She’s special to you.”

“That’s not it; I—”

“But she won’t be a kid forever. She’s different from back when she started working, with you teaching her everything. She’s someone who’s gonna let go of your hand one day. She ain’t your real daughter or your girlfriend. Then, if you had to say what she is, at the end of the day, she’s your employee. You’ll part ways one day. If you don’t get ready for that now, will you manage to get over it if she marries into that bastard’s family and he makes her leave the company?”

“Will you manage to get over it?” The question ruminated in Hodgins’s heart.

Benedict had shot him where it hurt without mercy. He was a gun expert. His aim was precise and the bleeding made Hodgins want to hold his own chest down.

——Will I recover if I ever have to be separated from Violet Evergarden? Hodgins pondered earnestly over the question. ——I don’t know.

He truly did not know.

Bonds were things that could not easily break off once they had connected, yet reality, time and busyness unpityingly caused the existence of “friends” to grow far apart.

——To the point that I don’t know, I...

Surely, a day like this would not happen five years from now. Their place to return to amidst the rain would be somewhere else.

——It’s not just her, but also you and everyone else.

To begin with, they might not even be working in the company itself anymore until then. More of them would fall for someone, nurture their love and move their places to be in life to their “homes”.

Twenty, thirty years from now, it might be hard for them to even work. Or they would not be alive – there was also that possibility.

The one who was more aware of this than anybody else was Hodgins, the oldest of them all.

——I’m the one who’s farthest apart in age.

That was exactly why he did not know.

“I have no idea.”

He did not want to see it. Did not want to think about it.

“I have too many things that matter to me, so I can’t make a move anymore. Y’know, you... you might aught at this, but... rather than when you’re young, getting hurt becomes scarier when you grow older. You start losing the energy to do your best and heal. It’s tiring. Still...”

Hodgins had thought that the youth in front of him, who referred to him as “Old Man” on a daily basis, was probably going to laugh, yet Benedict was expressionless.

“Still...”

He did nothing but listen. His posture of properly listening at times like these somewhat...

——...looks like Little Violet.

“Still, I know I’m the one who has to get moving the most. I’m getting everyone involved in the things I wanna do. That’s why I do what I have to. I also counted on you, because I trust you. I left it in your care. But... that and my feelings for her and you guys...”

“I get it.”

“...are different things, right? Y’know, you’re... mean. I’m like a foster parent to you, and yet... Even if you understand my loneliness...”

While Hodgins spoke as if bursting out, Benedict put a hand to his mouth as though to stop him. “I get it.”

Time halted completely.

Was he supporting the flustered figure of the one who was like a parent to him?

“My bad.”

Before he had noticed, he was carrying a load of things he must protect. Was he doing this due to realizing that he had left Hodgins to chance, thinking, “That’s because it’s him”?

“My bad. That just now was on me.”

Silence.

“I didn’t have to pick today to say this. Isn’t that right?”

“You think I’m being lame right now, don’t you?”

“Nah, you ain’t all that cool in the first place.”

“That’s a lie; I’m a generally-acknowledged beautiful young man... no, beautiful middle-aged man.”

“You might not be cool, but well, that’s what’s good about you. Right?”

Silence.

“The cool thing about my Claudia Hodgins is his uncool side.”

Since Benedict was speaking as if to comfort a child, Hodgins told him to “shut up”, slightly annoyed, yet burst into laughter nevertheless.

   The rain caused all sorts of things to pour. The way that people were drowned by the drops trickling down from the sky inevitably made them think about something.

As dawn broke, Claudia Hodgins sat up, body heavy from not getting much sleep. When he peeked at his room’s bed, Violet and Cattleya were sleeping wrapped in the same blanket. On the sofa, Benedict was scattered about, snoring in a way that made him want to laugh.

Hodgins looked for where Lux Sibyl might be. He went down from the third to the second floor, and then from the second to the first floor. She was nowhere to be found.

While thinking it could not be possible, Hodgins opened the front door, and sure enough, he could see the figure of a girl walking down the street towards him.

The clothes she had put to dry yesterday were surely half-wet. What was it that she wanted to do outside so badly to the point of going this far? He understood when he saw what she had in her arms.

“Ah, President.”

Lux was holding a paper bag with a lot of bread in it. The amount was enough that the small girl’s face could not be seen.

“Little Lux... could it be you went to buy us breakfast?”

Thinking back, this young woman was the kind of person who was always quick to act when she was trying to do something for someone. That was all it took to be a considerate person, but without kindness in their heart, they would not turn out this way. The reason why Hodgins had nominated her his secretary was not just that she could do any sort of work.

“That’s so nice.”

“Yes, the bakery owner is very nice. I woke up a bit too early, and when I went on a walk to see how things were outside, the bakery was just about to open and they were getting ready... I went to take a look ‘cause it seemed so delicious and they told me to come in.”

“Ah, hm...”

“I was so touched when they said they baked bread for people who were hungry early in the morning, so I told them many thanks for selling them and bought lots of it. It’s the bakery from that street around the corner.”

“As expected of my secretary. Did you properly get the receipt?”

At those words, Lux showed him a smile that resembled a blooming flower. “Huhu, of course.”

For Hodgins, who had spent the night deep in thought about all sorts of things, that smile was a soothing one. It was like the water of a lake for someone who was feeling thirsty.

Hodgins wordlessly took the bag from Lux. “Little Lux, I’m seriously glad you came to us.”

“Only in this kind of situation, right?”

“All the time. Always. Little Lux, you’re still young, will probably keep working with us... and you’re such a good secretary... I’m the happiest CEO in Leidenschaftlich.”

“Are you going to hire me for life?”

“Eh?”

“Is that a no?”

“No, I could. But that’d mean working with me for life, y’know?”

“Is that bad? I have nowhere else to go.”

When asked with such an innocent look, Hodgins faltered.

“I won’t say the stuff Benedict does, like wanting the company for me.”

“Well, I might... end up giving it to you if you say that, so don’t ever. Hahah... Of course, keep working for us forever and always at my place. Huh, this is kinda like a marriage vow... Wanna take this opportunity and marry me in the future? Just kidding...” Upon thinking that the jest that came out incidentally was an unsavory one right after saying it, Hodgins looked at Lux’s reaction, only to find her staring back at him blankly. He had made himself into a caricature of an old man bothering a girl. “No, it was a prank! But hey. Little Lux, you might be the only one who can go along with me, so having this kind of small talk is... I-I’m not looking at you with dirty eyes, really! We’re too far apart in age, after all! We’re c-close enough that we can crack this kind of joke to each other, right?”

Lux pretended to think for just a few seconds. “Huhu, I can tell. That it’s a joke, at least. But not happening. We’re not getting married.”

And then, she flat-out rejected him.

“Ah, yes.” Although Hodgins would have been at loss if she had accepted it, his shoulders dropped somewhat.

“But President, I’m prepared to nurse you if you ever become unable to work.”

“Don’t... suddenly thrust such a cruel reality at me.”

“Eh, is it? From my point of view... this is quite a deep form of love. President, you’re the first decent adult who accepted me. I’ll devote my whole life to you.”

“Little Lux, you sure like me a lot. Gonna marry me after all?”

This time, Lux actually grinned and replied, “I’ll take that one home and consider it.”

“Amazing; that answer’s like the business talk at the company.”

“Because you’re teasing me... even though you’re well-aware that I don’t even know love yet.”

“Don’t know love yet”. The destructive power of those words caused Hodgins to regret his lighthearted proposal a little.

“Then, I’ll ask again in about five years. I should be at a nice middle age by then.”

“You say that, President, but you’re going on a trip with some hottie next week. I know it.”

The duo, who somehow seemed like they would or other be hanging together for a long time, returned to the office with bouncing chatter.

   In order to make breakfast for everyone together, Hodgins and Lux stood in the kitchen by themselves.

Besides the already-baked bread, they would need drinks and vegetables. Those were merely simple preliminary preparations, but Hodgins felt that just this was somehow enjoyable, unlike doing the work on his own.

“President, you have yours with one sugar cube and a slice of lemon, right?”

“And for Little Lux, it’s two sugar cubes with milk, yeah? I know it.”

While arranging the bread on a plate, they also poured water over the tealeaves and left them to steam. Perhaps due to the scenery that could be seen from the kitchen’s small window being a blue sky with not a single cloud in it, it was awfully dazzling.

“Good morning.”

The next person who appeared amidst the morning sunlight was Violet. Her soft golden hair was just a bit disheveled. Hodgins’s hand naturally reached out to it.

“Morning... You’ve got a bedhead, Little Violet.”

“Excuse me...” Violet looked back at Hodgins as he caressed her head, seeming a little embarrassed. Her eyes were just slightly red. She might have not been able to sleep very well.

“Morning, Violet. Are Cattleya and Benedict also up?”

“Benedict was awake until a while ago, but when I got up from the bed, he began sleeping again by Cattleya’s side.”

“Morally speaking, it’s that kinda thing. I’ll go give him a warning.”

Hodgins laughed a little, seeing Lux off as she walked away while rotating her tiny shoulders. He then turned his gaze back to Violet. Her bedhead, which he had supposedly fixed with the caressing, had returned. For some reason, both of them being alone like this in a kitchen bathed in morning sunlight struck him as extremely peculiar.

Just the two of them, having such a tender time. How many more opportunities would they have for that?

They were already at it. He should talk about something. That was what Hodgins thought, but the words did not come out of him. Not because he had no topic to discuss. He could come up with as many things to talk about as he wanted, such wanting flowers to decorate the table or that they would surely have many customers today who were unable to come yesterday.

But he did not want to spoil this morning. He felt that it might crumble if he spoke even one sentence.

Violet was there. She had her blue eyes directed his way, looking at him. It was no longer awkward for the two of them to stay silent. That was their relationship.

Perhaps still sleepy, she was in a haze. He wanted to watch her standing amidst this gentle time for a little longer.

As she would usually always seem wide-awake, Hodgins believed that she was laidback to this extent due to being in the presence of people with whom she could be at ease from the bottom of her heart. That he had played a part in this feeling of security of hers.

——Will you forget one day?

One day, the position that Claudia Hodgins occupied in the life of Violet Evergarden would become smaller.

——She only gets bigger on my end, though.

Going to the hospital numerous times. Pushing her wheelchair. Giving her a notebook and teaching her how to write.

——I for sure can’t forget. These moments, days, everything like this with you.

The fact that he had not stopped her from fighting in the war. That he had thought they could use her.

——I can’t forget.

Delivering to Violet an outfit that could hide her prosthetic arms, yet that would also make her look her most beautiful.

——I’m sure I won’t forget about this morning either.

About that quiet morning, which was much like the one from before everyone was caught in the great storm and barged in.

Hodgins touched Violet’s hair again. Although she had told Benedict not to touch it, with Hodgins, she all but slightly left a strand in his hand’s care and let him take it, almost like how a cat would do.

——Aah, I want to hug you.

He was not in love with her. That would never be the case.

However, if she were his real daughter, on days like these, mornings like these, he would have easily said, “Good morning, precious” and embraced her.

“I had a dream, President Hodgins,” Violet whispered out of the blue with a freshly awake, faintly hoarse voice.

“Dream...?”

The stunning young woman, who was no longer a girl, talked about her dream like a child, “Yes; in the dream... you owned a clothing store.”

“Huhu, that so?”

“I cannot make clothes. You told me that you did not need me, President Hodgins, if I could not make clothes...”

“That’s horrible of me, huh.”

“Even when I said I could polish the shoes, clean up or do anything, you did not listen...”

Unlike the real one, the dream version of Hodgins had apparently chosen to part ways with Violet.

“Little Violet, what did you do about that?”

“I asked countless times. However, you rejected it countless times. I thought about standing in front of the shop until you allowed me in, but it started raining like yesterday.”

“Hm. And then?”

“Major Gilbert came to pick me up and told me to come home with him, but...”

“Hm.”

“I waited for President to come out of the store even as the lights went out.”

“Hm.”

“Despite waiting and waiting, President Hodgins did not come out, and at some point, a passerby told me, ‘This shop has moved’.”

“Even though it was open until just a moment ago?”

“It was a dream, after all... And then – and then, I asked where it was and went after it. Benedict and Cattleya also appeared in-between, but they seemed to have other things to do, saying they would come after me later... As for Lux, she was the only one who had been hired by you from the very beginning, so she also asked you to hire me again, but in the end, you said no could do.”

“Hm...” Suddenly, Hodgins felt so pained about everything that it was hard to breathe. “And then, Little Violet, what did you do...?” His hand reached out to Violet.

“I kept looking at the interior of the store beyond the shop window from outside.”

Not towards her head, but towards her eyes, where her golden lashes fluttered like the wings of a fairy.

“Inside it, many people – people that I know and do not know – came and left... showing how lively the shop was.”

A sea had silently formed in them, which dissolved and disappeared once Hodgins’s index finger touched it.

“Major came to pick me up for the nth time and said you had told him that my standing there was causing him problems. But, for whatever reason, I at the very least knew that if I stepped away from there even for a moment, you would never let me in... therefore, I could not comply. But I did not want to trouble you, President, so I was unable to make a decision... I attempted to ask Major for instructions, but he was also gone before I realized.”

The sea – the teardrop – turned into a pearl and slipped down her cheek.

“I... I... ended up crying.” Violet stared at the sky, the look in her eyes seeming almost as if the scene from her dream was there at this very moment. “To think I would cry like that...”

“Hm.”

“That was why President Hodgins would not hire me, I thought... And also why Major had grown tired and left.”

“Hm.”

“Then, without my notice, you came outside. You looked the same as that post-war day when you went to visit me at the hospital. You were very surprised with my appearance, as I was soaked with mud and rain. And so, you said this: ‘Guess we’ll start with how to hold a needle’. You told me that you had not invited me for the new job because it would surely be difficult with these hands of mine, so I was extremely relieved... Then, then...” Violet’s words cut off at once.

Unable to hold himself back, Hodgins pulled her into an embrace as if shoving her little head into his chest.

While being embraced, Violet said with eyes that looked as though she was still dreaming, “...with some effort, I could still be helpful. I was able to confirm this, after all.”

Hearing her let out a relieved sigh in his arms, Hodgins forgot about both his and Violet’s positions, clasping her to his chest very, very firmly. “You sure are helpful... Was there anything about me that made you feel uncertain?” Upon realizing that his voice sounded tearful, Hodgins allowed the tears to overflow at the truth.

——Aah, I’m such an idiot. Got caught up in it and ended up crying too.

As the girl whom he thought of as his own daughter, despite her being an actual adult, had shed tears, he found himself crying along with her. Almost like a child. Even though he was supposed to conduct himself as an elder in this situation.

“I do not know.”

“But, has anything like that ever happened until now...? You had that dream because you were uneasy.”

“‘Uneasy’... That might have been the case. Yesterday night, I came to know that many things were progressing while I was away, so I have the feeling that I was quite agitated.”

“Sorry; we were doing things on our own accord. Even though we’ve been together since the founding.”

“No, I am often absent, and it is only natural for some things to be decided in the meantime. I am an employee. I feel that your judgement is correct. Employees must correspond to the changes of a company. My surroundings are about to change significantly. I am grateful to you, President, for letting me be here like always. However...”

“‘However’...?”

“However, I do not know if I can cope with it. With the matters regarding Major, the ones regarding the company... with the fact that Benedict will be going to a different office building. When I think about these things...”

“It’s okay.”

“When I think about them, I realize that the number of things I should prioritize has increased too much.”

“Little Violet.”

“The order of priorities...”

“It’s all right.”

“I have to deal with situations of every kind as I live, and yet...”

——Surely, Violet Evergarden wouldn’t be alive if she didn’t do that.

Always, at all times.

She had been living through corresponding to her surroundings despite being at loss regarding its circumstances, putting everything she could do to use while looking for a place to belong and an adult who would take care of her. She was not allowed to waver. For beasts, hesitation was death.

Violet did not know unconditional love. She now had at last earned herself this warm place through her efforts, but it was about to suffer a rapid change with the course of time.

After running, running and running, Violet – previously one such beast – was watching the nest she had finally found crumble down. Even when people knew they had to prepare to start running again, there would come a time when they would be short of breath and unable to move.

Violet had gone from wild animal to person.

Her human parts and animal parts co-existed, occasionally revealing themselves. When she was the animal, she simply did not mind how much a place changed as long as she could live in it. However, it was difficult to live while holding something better, more important.

Now that she had become a person through the increasing of her emotions...

“I shall fight. I can always be of use. President Hodgins, please forget this aspect of me that I just showed you.”

...she had turned into just a girl who was a little bit scared of the future.

“Please... forget about it.”

Who had made her this way? Gilbert was likely the first, but the ones who had done the finishing touches were definitely all the people in this place.

“No way, I’m not forgetting.”

At Hodgins’s words, Violet lowered her eyebrows, looking troubled.

“Don’t make a face like that; I’m not teasing. I meant to say that you don’t need to worry about it. You indeed might’ve gotten weak. But is that a bad thing? You had nothing when you met me for the first time. Not even your brooch, right...? But now you have lots of things. You went on a journey for a long time and got more stuff to shoulder while you were at it, so it’s no wonder that you’d end up in a dilemma.” Albeit knowing that Cattleya, Benedict and Lux were looking at them in shock from the shadows at the doorway, Hodgins went on, “You know... life is a journey. Little Violet, you’ll go on this journey, won’t you?”

He had already forgotten about his anxiety. The feeling of frustration at such things and the overwhelming wish to cling to someone were now gone.

“You started your journey with a little less luggage than other people, so you’re staring at your bag now that it’s gotten a bit heavy, wondering what happened to it. You don’t know what to throw away anymore.”

He was able to think, from the depths of his heart, that he had returned to his usual self. While embracing her, who was indeed still young and confused in the middle of her journey, he was finally able to think so.

“You need clothes and money, of course, and good shoes are vital. Right, and an umbrella too. When you look into your bag and realize that you actually have nothing that you can get rid of, it’s indeed a problem. Even though it’s a hassle because it’s so heavy. What do you think you should do?”

He could still be useful.

“Train... my physical strength... No, calibrate my prosthetics...”

He was still needed.

“You’re such a fool... Either leave it in someone’s care and continue the journey or have someone take half of it.”

Even if it were only for a short while.

“Gilbert will probably take half of the luggage. I can take care of the rest that you can’t carry over here. I’ll be in Leidenschaftlich forever, after all. Little Violet, no matter where you go, I’ll stay here and wait for you to come back, and no matter when you come over, I’ll welcome you. I’ll take care of the contents of your bag with pleasure.”

——Even if you only remember me a few times a year someday...

“Listen up: whenever you’re troubled, remember that I’m here. And then you’ll be able to go on a journey again anytime.”

——...I’ll ready myself to welcome you at any time of the year.

“Am I really supposed to leave my luggage here?”

——I’m the kind of man who can do that, and you need it for sure.

“Hm-hm, that’s not it. Y’see, this is about memories. All you have to do is to know. That I’m here. This is the way to make your luggage lighter. Whenever you’re having problems, bam, remember me. If you do that, the worries you have now will definitely decrease a little. Y’know, at the end of the day... people’s place to come home to aren’t places, they’re ‘somebody’. You should know that much. You’d have gone to any battlefield if Gilbert was there, right? Someday, yes, you might quit being an Auto-Memories Doll. You might not come back to Leidenschaftlich.”

——It’ll be great if this “someday” never comes, though.

“But your current memories are with me. I’ll be a representation of them. So that you, my dear... will be able to open your memories anytime. When this moment right now becomes nostalgic to you, come see me. I’ll always be here. Waiting for you. You’re feeling ‘lonely’ right now. But... Little Violet. You have me. You’re not alone.”

——I want you to remember.

“I do not understand very well... However...”

——I’m always protecting you.

“...you have always guided me.”

——Waiting for your return.

“I never doubt your word.”

——I’ll be waiting here.

“But, President Hodgins, I have only one wish.”

——I want you to show up when your journey ends.

Deciding to deal with the sobbing coming from behind the door later, Hodgins opted for staying like this for just a bit longer. Her lover might get angry if he saw it, but he had the right to do it, at least to some extent. After all, she was Claudia Hodgins’s dear employee.

Hodgins asked with a particularly gentle tone, “What would it be, Little Violet?”

Violet blinked and looked up at Hodgins. The last drop spilled from her eyes.

“If, only if... there comes a time when you will quit the postal company and start doing something else...”

“Hm.”

“...please call me. No matter where you are, I will rush to you.”

“Hm.”

“I will definitely be of help... Even if not, should your luggage become too much, please call me when you need someone to carry it for you. I shall hasten to visit you.”

“For real?”

“Yes. I, too, will carry President’s luggage. You should know it. I am strong.”

“Huhu, yep, definitely. One day, you’ll understand what I mean by ‘luggage’. Hey...”

No one would imagine that a single drop could be the start of something so big. However, it would earn itself great meaning after a while passed. Should it continue pouring, it could also summon boundless blessings and curses.

   “Hiya, I’m Hodgins. What’s your name?”

Silence.

“This kid’s such a taciturn.”

“She... doesn’t have a name yet. She’s an orphan with no education. Can’t talk either.”

“That’s so terrible of you. She’s such a beauty. Just give a name worthy of her.”

   “Little Violet, thanks for meeting me.”

Love was almost like rain.

[notmrskennedy]

Professor, pt 1

A/N - so i heard from like four of you which is enough to warrant me posting drafts that weren’t supposed to see the light of day - ANYWAY this was originally written in third person and let me tell you it takes a ridiculous amount of effort to change tenses like holy hell. 

(Technically the prequel Friendliness but can stand alone if you really want it to. There’s a part two to this so watch out for that tomorrow.)

Summary - Spencer meets a professor and falls in love for a few hours

W/C - 2k

Warnings - none-ish? there’s a small smattering of violence and horrible changing of the tenses 

-----

Spencer can’t help the irony that he’s in a freshman college class for the first time ever while protecting one of the students. Who knew that a tiny club of DnD players could incite so much rage out of an un-sub? So here he was, trying to blend in—even though he’s 25, he still looks 14 and there’s really no real reason why he should be worried about being caught—in order to protect a freshman who was more pimple than male specimen. 

Joesph—the poor kid in question—takes a seat in the front row and Spencer’s obligated to sit within tackling distance, though he hopes it won’t come to that. Hopefully, Morgan will have the kid the un-sub goes for and Spencer can just enjoy being in college again. The painfully familiar auditorium seats, the stale air, and bad fluorescents feel more like home than he cares to admit. 

College hadn’t been all too unpleasant. High school he’d gotten picked on mercilessly. College, however, had meant getting doted on by hot sorority girls and earning the protection of frat boys—they’d picked up rather quickly that he knew football strategy better than they did after Spencer had hustled a TV and 400 dollars from them. Sure, he didn’t drink, but every single drunk teenager had welcomed him with open arms and lots of ginger ale. 

There’s chatter and for the ten minutes before class starts, Spencer is torn between trying to figure out which song is quietly playing around the room and watching for a particularly rage-filled college student serial killer. Instead, he just finds too many bored faces. Most of the kids are drinking coffee like the best of them and he’s itching for his next fix just looking at it. 

The first two rows: a terrible vantage point to be profiling, but a beautifully defensible post. He watches absently as one of the TAs, who looks a little younger than him, organizes three stacks of papers on the front desk and flips through several different pages on the podium. His attention is focused solely on you for nearly a minute too long—he can hear the voice in his head chastising him for how often he gets distracted by pretty people. 

You look of the fragile sort, the in-the-lab kind of future scientist. There’s something about you that’s captivating. It might be the way you keep reorganizing the papers to perfection or maybe it’s the way you study the room so closely. And while he thinks that you might not be able to physically stop someone, you sure look like the kind of person that could crush him in chess. 

He’s 25 and is considering chess as a marriage proposal.  

Joesph shuffles his books around in the seat in front of Spencer and you, the beautiful TA in question, hold a watch up as you move to the centre of the room. Class is starting. Class is starting and he’s hopeful the professor never actually shows up. 

He notices your watch is on your right wrist—are you left handed?—as you smile widely and clap her hands together. First day jitters seem to keep everyone silent, waiting on baited breath for you to start. Spencer would stay on baited breath for the rest of his life for you. You were utterly captivating after all—he could see the drool from several students’ mouths a few seats over. 

“This is Anthropology 101,” you announce. “If this isn’t your class, you’re free to leave. Or stay if you want. Did you guys know that anxiety disorders affect more than 40 million US adults? Or 1 in 5, I guess, if you want the easier pill to swallow.”

Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat and he wants to raise his hand just to ask you to marry him. 

“Anyway,” you sigh, leaning back agains the front desk, “I spit out a lot of facts. Usually something that begins with ‘did you know’ won’t be on the tests. I try to be fair. Which brings us to ice breakers.”

The class collectively groans. You scoff. 

“Oh hush, I’m the only one doing the ice breakers so chill out. Jeez.” Spencer waits patiently for your soft breath and then your further announcement of, “I’m officially Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, but that’s like only if my boss comes in or for any emails you send. You can call me Y/N because that’s like normal. I got my doctorate in forensic anthropology a year ago and I’ve been teaching since I started grad school three years ago. You’re in safe hands, I promise.”

He almost kicks himself. You’re the professor. How many times had he been nearly kicked out of a classroom when he was in grad school for saying he was the professor? How many times had he been 18 and trying to get an ounce of respect for himself? 

You continue, waving your hands about like you could pull your ideas back down to earth. “Um—a fun fact about me is that I am not welcome in certain parts of the world for ‘violating’ what are called exhumation laws, which is silly in my opinion. I had the legal right to carry that head on the plane and—and I hope you did the reading because there’s a first day pop quiz.”

The entire class lets out one simultaneous frustrated whine that alights something almost wicked in your eyes. You wave over two students from the other end of the front row and they begin passing out test papers as you explain. 

“You’ll have a total of fifteen minutes to answer ten questions. We’ll start on my mark. If you have any trouble, give me a shout and I’ll help you out. After this, we’ll go over the syllabus and if you’re lucky, leave early.”

Spencer’s passed a test and immediately notices there’s no place for a name. Just a bolded “Student #21” at the top. Another girl raises the question and you snicker. “I like puzzles,” is the only answer you give before the time starts. 

Question four: what are the top three songs you’ve been listening to? Please list.

Question six: why are you taking this class?

A: This is a requirement

B: I heard it was easy

C: I heard the professor was hot

D: I really enjoy anthropology! (liar)

Question nine: Creationism or Evolution?

Question ten: Quickly. If you were going to have dinner, would it be with Bill or Hillary Clinton?

Spencer can’t hide the grin he’s got the entire test. It’s all ridiculous get-to-know-you questions. He can tell what merit you’re getting out of them. There’s one judging study habits, one judging religion, feminism, politics—you’ve created her own little innocuous questionnaire. Spencer was sure the students would just think you were strange, but he saw the cleverness. 

Spencer also notices that once you notice him, you don’t stop noticing him. He wonders what you see. You’re so obviously profiling him that it hurts. Do you see the FBI agent? The scholar? The doctor? The drug addict? The man in a boy’s skin?

Your timer beeps and you shout for pencils down. Your makeshift TAs are dispatched to collect the papers and you make the stacks perfect when they make it to the desk. You move to the whiteboard, a set of papers clutched in your hand, and lean against it to address the class. 

“Test go alright?” your grin is contagious and Spencer can’t help but mirror it. You glance at Spencer, turns back to the class, and tuck your hair behind your ear. You let the class chatter on for a moment, setting the papers down on the table, and readjust the undone cuffs of your white button down. He never thought that a sweater vest and jeans could look so hot. 

You smirk and check your watch one more time. “Let’s talk about tests because I know you all have questions. Everything on the test is either written on the board, on the notes, or in the study guide—if you fail after that, come to office hours. I’ve got Advil for the hangovers.”

#

Thankfully, Joesph is one of those students who has to speak to every single one of his professors. Spencer waits patiently behind the kid, trying to keep the smell from the lack of deodorant just out of range. 

He keeps a hard gaze on all of the students moving in and out of the auditorium. There’s nothing to see, just a lot of students with a lot of normal college apathy. No anger, no serial killer, no one to tackle. 

“Sometimes the BO is worse than a corpse’s expulsion of gas,” you joke from your place atop the desk. Spencer looks up, and furrows his eyebrows as his brain processes. Your face falls for a split second, but your curiosity replaces it just as quickly. Joesph’s jaw hits the floor, stumbling for some way to explain himself or maybe some half decent way to insult the pretty professor. 

Spencer laughs, probably a little more than he should have, considering he wasn’t supposed to out himself as an FBI agent. You tuck your hair behind your ear again and, for someone younger than 25, you are surprisingly wide eyed with perception and curiosity. 

“Do you like puzzles, Doctor—“

“Reid,” he supplies, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Spencer.”

You raise an eyebrow, chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation. You turn your focus back to Joesph—a boy worse at talking to those scoring higher than an 8 than Spencer was at the same age. “So, Joesph, why does the good doctor need to be within tackling distance of you?”

Joesph flounders, turns to hide his blush, and yelps like God himself has come down to kick him in the ass. Spencer takes one good look at the 18 year old girl charging towards a pimple of a boy and he launches before he can give much consideration to how much its going to hurt. 

But between the noticing and the launching, he makes a list: she’s got so much black eyeliner that Emily’s high school yearbook photos would be jealous; she’s about to inflict about a 9 on the pain scale if she’s left to her plan; there’s obviously no plan other to scratch Joesph’s eyes out; her nails are the size of tiger claws and Spencer desperately wishes he had a better pain tolerance; there’s no weapon. 

The tackle takes seconds. It’s a practised movement. Roll. Knee. Handcuffs. The girl is screaming and crying and kicking and biting. His arm’s on fire and she’s struggling enough that it’s taking more than ten seconds to get the handcuffs on. 

It’s calculated as he presses his knee harder into her back. She yelps and stills long enough that Spencer closes the handcuffs on her tiny, sliced up wrists. The cutting explains some things…

“Hence the tackling distance,” You sum up, bending down just slightly to look the killer in the face. Your nose wrinkles. “You had very distinct ideas on the cultural value of suicide.”

Spencer shakes his head, hauls the girl to her feet, and beckons for Joesph to follow. The entire world falls out of view as he manhandles the girl into an easy walk. The students step to the side to gawk, and he’s thankful for the wide berth. If someone got hurt, the paperwork alone—

“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Reid!” you call and he glances back over his shoulder. You’re waving around the stack of papers in your arms, utterly ridiculous, terribly adorable. He hopes his smile is more suave than love sick, but the fleeting flirtation is especially over when Miss Unchecked Rage kicks out as Joesph comes into her line of sight. 

Spencer throws his whole weight into keeping her down. There’s no room to fall in love after a day. Especially with someone on a college campus halfway across the country from him. There’s even less room to manoeuvre Miss Eyeliner even without Joesph waddling into her eye line every few seconds. Seriously, he thinks, how hard is it to keep behind me?

[sundove88]

Balan Wonderworld Headcanons (Part Two)

Jose Gallard

Surprisingly likes movie nights (With popcorn)!

Gives his corn to those who want it most.

Fiona Demetria

Is Obsessed with aquariums and marine parks ever since she was a kid.

Often works part time with animal trainers.

Yuri Brand

Got a butterfly net from her grandma.

The very thing that got her into bugs was a small caterpillar she found in the vegetable garden.

Haoyu Chang

Makes Paper airplanes in his free time.

Entered in a flying bike for the science fair and won first place.

Sana Hudson

Supports animal centers that help birds.

Has a pet green cheeked conure at home.

Cass Milligan

The name of her kitten is Twyla. She takes her everywhere she goes.

Her fave ice cream flavor is mint chip.

Cal Shuresh

Often teaches new players how to play chess.

Keeps his trophies on display and polishes them every day.

Iben Bia

Is a surprisingly good ice skater.

Her fave animals are penguins.

Attilo Caccini

Started hanging out with the princess more and more after he confessed his feelings.

He loves cotton candy.

Lucy Wong

Has a subscription to An art magazine.

Her favorite fruit to paint is grapes.

Eis Glover

Dreamed of being a firefighter when he was a kid.

His fave mythical creatures are dragons.

Bruce Stone

When he was young, he supported his local community.

Makes the best apple pie in the whole town.

[thestraggletag]

The Game, a Rumbelle Chess AU

Summary: Inspired by The Queen’s Gambit. When Arran Gold first lost a chess game against Belle French, he thought that nothing would feel better than wining against her. But the more he lost, the less he minded, and more eager he was for their next game.

AN: Look, it’s a bad summary but a good fic, I promise. Also both games described in the fic are real games that can be played. Here, for example, is their last game.

Rating: Explicit.

He couldn’t recall exactly when the tradition had begun. Long ago, when he had only owned about half the town and had yet to adopt his more refined image. A tenant, a once-wealthy businessman who had once had “old money” and had wasted it away in reckless business ventures, had challenged him to a game of chess in lieu of the rent. He had likely thought that Mr Gold, a lowborn Scotsman with a thick brogue and brusque manners, was unlikely to even know the rules of chess. He had trounced the fool in less than twenty minutes, and only because he had toyed with him first.

Chess, after all, was something he knew well. His aunties had taught him as a child, but it hadn’t been till university that he had gotten to love the game, after finding out there was a veritable underground circuit of contests and tournaments that could pay his way through law school. He had developed an irreverent yet aggressive style, completely unpolished but completely brutal. In spite of his quickly-gained reputation he had never lacked opponents. There were always posh idiots who were sure their sophisticated gameplay could beat his street smarts. They were never correct. He had developed a nickname, over the years, given to him in honour of his savage style of play and his ruthless approach to the game: Beast. He considered quite a compliment.

He had thought about going pro, entering formal tournaments and acquiring a ranking, but the life of a chess player, and even that of a grandmaster, wasn’t particularly profitable compared to practicing law or going into business and he aimed to accumulate wealth and power as much of it and as fast as possible. He had kept up with his secret hobby, though, sometimes catching televised tournaments or reading about them later, enjoying the process of dissecting a game, sometimes thinking of how he would have won against a particular opponent. But it had never occurred to him to play against anyone in Storybrooke till the challenge came. It had attracted lots of attention at the time and people had turned up at the library that Sunday to watch them play.

Though he won, other people sought to challenge him, to the point where he had decided to establish an event of sorts. A chess day, once a year, in which anyone could challenge him. If they won he would forgive their rent for an entire year. There was no penalty for losing, at least none outright, but the shame of defeat meant most people challenged him only once. Besides it kept everyone from complaining during rent day for the rest of the year. And, he had to admit, he enjoyed it. Enjoyed playing cat and mouse with people, exerting power over them, watching as people’s confidence shrunk down and melted away.

He always looked forward to chess day, though that year perhaps less so. Storybrooke had acquired a new librarian around eight months before and, in spite of all of his efforts, she did not think ill of him. Belle French was, apparently, immune to the gossip of the town about him and his own brusque manner and dark humour. She even seemed to enjoy the later, which made him uneasy and… nervous. A strange, unsettling form of nervous.

It didn’t help that she was insultingly kind, surprisingly sarcastic and delightfully witty. The sort of person that could spar with words and make it look effortless. And smart enough to know that though he pretended to hate it, he loved it. She was also, regrettably, gorgeous. Smaller than him, with reddish brown hair and electric-blue eyes. An accent that wrapped around his name like a lover and an actual sense of fashion, which was almost unheard of in Storybrooke and the only thing most people seemed to hold against her, the town matrons disapproving of her short skirts and high heels. There was also a disarming quirkiness about her, a sense that she was somewhat otherworldly, like she belonged half to the mortal plain and half to the realm of stories and fantasies. He had seen her more than once walk around town lost in a book, dreamy-eyed and clearly miles away from the little town. He was always fascinated by how dreamlike she looked, how otherworldly.

Though he had tried to make her hate him for the first few months of their acquaintance, he had grown used to failing, and admitted to himself that it felt nice to have someone who would smile genuinely at the sight of him, who would treat him with kindness, who would be eager for his company and did not consider talking to him to be a chore. So he wasn’t looking forward to Miss French being exposed to angry tenants who called him names when he beat them, and wasn't really looking forward to her seeing him dash people’s hopes ruthlessly.  

It couldn’t be helped, though. And perhaps it was for the best, to have her see what everyone else saw. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. So he washed and shaved carefully that day and had a hearty breakfast- chess day tended to take up all of his morning and most of the afternoon, and he did not like having to take a break to eat, knowing that his stamina added to the image of him as some larger-than-life monster. He dressed with care, picking his favourite purple striped shirt and matching paisley tie. He added his sleeve garters and square cufflinks, though he was not expecting those to be visible at any point during the day. It still felt nice, empowering, to be impeccably dressed. 

By the time he reached the library there was already a crowd there, as well as the customary barren table, awaiting his chess set. He always played with the same set, an ebony and boxwood one from House of Staunton. It had the classical Staunton look and the hand carved pieces had a nice heft to them. He had bought it years ago, one of his first purchases after beginning to make serious money, costing him well over a thousand pounds back in the day. Not by any means among the more costly of chess sets, but the price spoke of its fine quality. 

He set the board down and opened the box with his pieces, arranging the whites on the side of the board furthest from him and setting the blacks on his side, careful to properly align the knights and position the pawns at the centre of their squares. He took out his clock next, which he had cleaned and serviced the day before, and sat down on his customary, throne-like bergère, the one that usually was the focal point of the Ancient History’s reading nook. In contrast the chair opposite him was one of the plain, serviceable ones that populated the study room at the library. He hoped, for his own amusement, that whoever had set up the place had picked the wobbly one.

It wasn’t long after he settled that a crowd formed around him, but it took almost half an hour for the first challenger to present themselves. It was, surprisingly enough, Dr Whale. The good doctor was one of the few people in town that made a nice, tidy six-figure income, mostly from his private practice. Whale, whoever, did like to live above his means, and it seemed it had finally caught up with him. Though he did not rent a house from him, he did rent his private office from him. It was large and well-located, and likely to detract quite a bit from his overall profit. 

The doctor looked cocky, in spite of Mr Gold’s infamous reputation around town as a chess player. And he didn’t even have to speculate as to why. Victor Whale was the prototypical Ivy-league alumnus, likely played chess for Dartmouth, his undergraduate alma mater, or Brown, where he had acquired his MD. He may perhaps once been ranked, if his smug grin was any indication. He took pains to hide his own savage smile, not willing to give his prey any hint of the carnage to come.

He drew it out, both for the audience and for the sheer pleasure of watching all of the doctor’s confidence and arrogance melt away, leaving an increasingly obfuscated and delightfully sweaty mess behind. And once he knew that he had pushed him as far as he could go he had gone in for the jugular, watching in delight as his opponent toppled his king. The crow murmured, unhappy. When he dragged a game out sometimes people got the idea that he might be struggling, that his challenger might actually have a chance. He enjoyed dashing that hope every single time.

As he rearranged the pieces back to their starting positions he caught a glimpse of a tweed flare skirt swishing about a familiar set of tight-clad legs. Miss French, as always, was impeccably dressed, the black sheer floral blouse a bit daring, perhaps, but carefully hidden by the demure cardigan she had over it. Her hair was in a French braid, the end tied together with a lovely silk ribbon in the same muted plum colour as her cardigan. He wondered at her clothes, which he recognised as high quality, likely expensive as hell. It cemented his idea that she came from money, and likely worked out of a genuine passion for books rather than necessity. Just as he studied her earrings-lovely gold studs in the shape of blooming roses, she turned her head, catching his eyes. He saw interest and curiosity, but no fear or disgust. Perhaps Whale was too unlikeable a victim to elicit sympathy from her.

Frederick Knight was next, playing not for a reprieve from his own rent- his teacher’s salary might not be impressive, but his wife pulled some major money working from home for a law firm in Boston- but for the pet shelter he volunteered out. Briefly he wondered how it all worked, how he could volunteer at the shelter run by his wife’s ex-husband, who had cheated on her with one of Knight’s own colleagues, causing the divorce that would eventually leave her free and available for them to meet and fall in love. Gold thought it was all rather unseemly.

The lad was smart, he would give him that. All that strategizing for baseball clearly carried on to chess, to a certain extent. Mr Knight clearly saw at least a few moves ahead, even if he did not have the skill to plan and anticipate more than that. In the end, because he was a decent enough bloke, Gold put him out of his misery quickly. It felt bad to drag it out unnecessarily. The man was gracious about defeat as well, something that was rare, offering his hand for a quick, firm shake, before leaving the board, no doubt to sink into the welcoming arms of Ms Midas. Though married, she had chosen to keep her last name, after the hassle it had been to change it back after the divorce. And yet there was no doubt that she loved her new husband more than she tolerated her ex, which even the strictest traditionalist in Storybrooke had to acknowledge. 

More people challenged him, as was the norm. Out of all of them only Mr Prentice put much of a fight. Gold could tell he was a man of some talent, and an old hand at the game, but too by-the-book to beat him. He implemented moves and strategies well, but did not have a creative bone in his body. A pity, really. He was the only one after Mr Knight to be mature in defeat, sadly. By the time four o’clock rolled around three people had upended the board after they had lost and at least one had made a move as if to punch him in the face. 

He reset the board with little expectation of playing again. It was late, the crowd was thinning, and people’s enthusiasm had died down considerably. He excused himself to go to the restroom, enjoying the brief walk after hours of sitting down. When he went back to the board, however, he froze up. Sitting on the challenger’s chair was the librarian herself, carefully unbinding her hair as she half-listened to something Miss Lucas was telling her.

He hadn’t foreseen this, the notion that the librarian might wish to challenge him. He had become resigned to having her smiles dimmed when they were directed at him, but nothing more. Certainly not this. 

“Miss French, I didn’t know you played.”

His voice was, by some miracle, even. The librarian smiled, shaking her hair out and wrapping the now unused ribbon around her fingers.

“I used to, some time ago. Still do, sometimes. In my head.”

She said that last part quietly, only for his ears.

“Well, what are the stakes going to be? Rent forgiven from the library for a year?”

“Oh, not, that would be too much. And I’m not sure that would be good for the library. That much money would surely go to what the mayor considers more… lucrative pursuits. But I thought, perhaps, that you could lower the rent of the library by a certain percentage, enough to cover for my apartment. I could use the extra money to refurbish the children’s section, and replace some stock. I could do without another brawl about who gets the last copy of The Polar Express come Christmastime.”

He smiled in spite of the cold spreading across his chest, constricting his lungs. He would be quick, he decided, better to have it over as soon as possible, so that afterwards perhaps Miss Lucas could coax Miss French into a consolatory drink or a slice of apple pie, her favourite. It wouldn’t be too bad, he convinced himself, and it would endear her to the other townspeople, that she braved the beast in pursuit of better reading experiences for their children.

He started her watch, a bit surprised when she moved right away, dragging a pretty white pawn to e4. He counted with his opposing pawn, and in his next move he captured his first piece, another pawn she had likely moved unsuspectingly into the line of his attacking one. She took out her knight then, and later a bishop, but he played more conservatively, using mainly his pawns, waiting for the moment where he could unfurl some of his more devastating attacks. He was startled by her castling her king. It gave him a firm idea that she was no amateur, and he adjusted to this new insight accordingly. He advanced his pawns further, seeing little overall sense and reason to her movements. She had her queen out, as well as a bishop, but had taken her knight back in and her pawns were scattered about, presenting little challenge.

And then she moved her bishop, lightning fast, and suddenly he was in check and the game did not look as it had a second before. He studied the board more carefully, instincts telling him there was danger in there. What once had looked devoid of logic now seemed elegant and strangely coordinated.

Like a dance, he thought. And somehow familiar.

He moved his king, and noticed people suddenly paying attention. She took her bishop away, looking amused, and he pressed on with his queen’s pawn, losing his first piece one move later. Feeling his hackles rising he took one of his bishops out, losing another pawn a second later after she took one of her knights out again. He disposed of it in the next move, thinking he had finally seen her make a mistake, but her rook advanced, threatening his king and bishop. He moved the former, thinking he was sure to lose the other piece, but surprisingly she moved her queen instead. Far from putting him at ease it was that move that made him aware that he was in front of a person that could likely beat him. And, almost against his will, the thought rose the competitive beast in him. 

He went savage, increasing the aggressiveness of his moves to an obscene degree. A chance look at Miss French, however, let him know that she found it amusing. She leaned over the board with interest, head tilted to a side and the fingers of her non-dominant hand tangled in her hair ribbon. Her eyes, barely visible from beneath her thick lashes from the way her face was tilted towards the board, sparkled, letting him know she was enjoying herself. Thoroughly.

He, on the other hand, felt strangely angry. Defensive. Exhilarated. He watched her as she made her bishops dance across the board, forcing him into another check and into a few defensive moves with his rooks, before her queen made her presence known once again, sliding across the board with both elegance and devastation. He took off his jacket, feeling too hot, and looked at the board again.

It was all so familiar. The style of play, he had seen it before. Like a dance, spontaneous yet choreographed, forcing him to respond in a certain way, backing him into a corner. He took one of her bishops and then a rook, when it came sliding into his side of the board, but it only made him feel more anxious, more like a creature trapped. Soon he was without his rooks and both his queen and his one remaining knight were in peril. But as he focused on them he missed the slow advance of a white pawn along the side of the board, flanked by the white queen and the remaining white rook. He sent his own queen out, trying to regain some semblance of control, but there wasn’t much the piece could do. In the end it was the queen, aided by the unassuming pawn, that forced his king into a checkmate. 

“I believe the game is over, Mr Gold.”

The librarian’s accent softened the blow of those words. She looked up at him, happiness and excitement written across her face, as if she had gone through some marvelous experience. But it wasn’t the smile of a winner, but rather the smile of a conspirator.

“I believe the game was over ten moves ago, Miss French.”

He could admit that now, even as people cheered around him, rubbing salt on the newly-opened wound. He watched as Miss Lucas briefly enveloped the librarian in a side-hug before turning her attention to other people celebrating. Miss French, however, didn’t seem to want to join. She simply stared at the board and then at him as if this was their own private thing, their shared, secret joy.

It felt too intimate, and it made him even more angry, that she seemed to think that he had somehow enjoyed getting his arse thoroughly kicked by her. Brusquely he stood up, putting his jacket and coat on quickly before a well-placed snarl opened a way out from the mass of people gathered around the chessboard. He would go home and lick his wounds and figure out a way to repair the damage to his reputation after he reached the bottom of his half-drunk bottle of Balvenie Tun 1509. 

It wasn’t until he was well and truly hungover that he realised, with a shock, that he had left his chess set behind. He left a message in Dove’s phone to have him call him back on Monday, so that he could instruct him to retrieve it for him. No need to go into the library for a few days. Or weeks. Might as well not step foot in it for the rest of the year, really. And no need to ever again think about the game, ever.

But after a couple of Tylenol and a lot of water, he found himself rethinking that last decision. There was something nagging at him about that game, and it would not let go of him. He knew he had seen that style of play before, but he could not recall where. He pulled up his collection of saved games, recreated from tournaments and world cups, and began analysing each of them, trying to find the same dreamlike, flowing style of play, like dancing. It wasn’t in the latest World Cup, or the one before, or in any of the recent tournaments. Not in the London Classic, or the Sinquefield Cup, or the Tata Steel. Not in any of the major American or European tournaments, so he branched out, looking at the Asian championships, the ACF Grand Prix and-

Something about the ACF gave him pause, so he went back through the tournaments he had saved, year after year. It wasn’t until he hit the 2006 Grand Prix that he saw it, a match where the blacks moved like in a ballet. He saw the name of the player, I. Avon, and did not recognise it at first. Then he searched for the recorded video of the match and realised why: I. Avon was Isabelle Avon, and she was usually known in internet circles by her nickname, Beauty. And the 2006 ACF Grand Prix had been her last major tournament. She had disappeared shortly after, and had caused a bit of a stir, specially amongst Australian chess enthusiasts, who thought she had the makings of a Grandmaster and even a top five world player. 

And yet, somehow, she had ended up as a librarian in a small town in the middle of nowhere, Maine, living under a different name, for some fucking reason.

He wouldn’t let it go once he knew, trying to piece the puzzle together. He had never seen pictures of Beauty, there were no headshots to be had, likely because she had been an up-and-coming player at the time and a minor for most of her active years. He had seen videos of her playing, but her hair tended to obscure her face in most of them. She had not won her nickname on account of her looks- though how painfully fitting it was, considering how attractive she was- but because of her playing. People praised her for her beautiful moves, how she built this gorgeous ballet of a strategy that was as effective as it was enchanting.

She had been described, in the few articles that talked about her personality, as quirky. Odd. A calm player, given to the occasional smile and never able to lift her eyes off the board, a dreamy look on her face. Quite unsettling, some people had said. 

She had dropped off the face of the chess world at age twenty, in 2006, and no one had heard from her again. Some people claimed to have played against her in an online tournament, but there was never a way to know for sure. He was sure now that at least some of these people were likely right. He delved more into whatever he could find about Isabelle Avon, but there wasn’t much. Though she had been at the time considered a chess prodigy she had been sheltered from press scrutiny likely by her parents, and had not given many interviews nor posed for many photographs. The few that circulated on the internet were of her as a very young teen, likely fifteen, when she had made her debut. He recognised her electric-blue eyes immediately, but the librarian’s fine bone structure was hidden behind layers of baby fat still not ready to peel off and her hair was a few shades lighter than it was now. Her mother was always with her in the pictures, as good-looking as elegant as her daughter had grown up to be, but her father was only in one of the pictures, a rather portly man that was rendered striking rather than dumpy by his height, which was considerable.

He found nothing to explain her retirement from chess, at least nothing official. He did find, however, a funeral notice in The Australian for a Colette Avon, neé French, dated December 2006. He felt sure that he had stumbled across the reason for Beauty’s fall from the chess circuit, and the origin of her new name. Why she had felt the need to create a completely new identity was, however, still unexplained.

And it bothered him, he found out soon enough. The more games of hers he saw the more he could appreciate her artistry, her craftsmanship. He could not conceive anyone having such talent, such passion for the game, and quitting, even over a personal tragedy like the loss of a beloved parent. He remembered how she had looked when she had played him, alive and excited, her pleasure obvious, and it cemented the idea that there was something he was missing. And he didn’t much care for it.

That’s how he found himself in the library weeks after his defeat, confronting the librarian. She was wearing a pretty burgundy shirtdress, prim and proper if not a wee bit short, and her hair tumbled down her back in a mess of curls, which was to be expected, since the library hours had ended twenty minutes ago. She wasn’t surprised to see him, nor did she appear hostile or otherwise on edge. Quite the contrary.

“Mr Gold, I’ve been expecting you.” She smiled up at him, and it felt a bit different from her previous smiles. Those had been lovely but this one felt more… personal. Intimate, somehow. Like they shared a secret. He supposed, in a way, they did. “You left your lovely chess set here. I’ve been holding onto it for you, keeping it safe. It’s in my office, do you want me to go get it for you?”

“Why did you change your name?”

He didn’t mean to blurt it out. He meant to build up to it. But there was something about her that utterly unsettled him, made him anxious in a way that wasn’t wholly unpleasant. Her smile turned somewhat cautious and sad, and he hated himself for provoking that reaction out of her.

“That’s a rather personal question.” 

“You owe me.” He tried to stop himself, but he found he somehow couldn’t. “You played against me under false pretences. You owe me at least an explanation as to why.”

Miss French raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed at his emotional outburst or the questionable logic of his assessment. A moment later, however, she tilted her head to a side, biting her lip and narrowing her eyes, as if considering something.

“It’s a rather big secret. Would you play me for it?”

That sounded very much like a deal, and it made him feel more comfortable with the situation, more in control. Deals were his specialty, after all.

“And what would you wish for if you win, Miss French?”

She smiled, the picture of innocence.

“A secret for a secret sounds fair. Let’s say… your name.”

Nobody knew his first name. He appeared in all legal documents as “A. Gold”, which caused all manner of speculation around town. His name would be a high price, indeed.

“Oh, I wouldn’t tell others, just as I trust you would not tell others what I told you if I lost. I just want it for myself.”

Her words sent a frisson of something down his spine, leaving him tingling and on edge.

“That sounds acceptable. Do fetch my set, if you please, and I’ll get the board.”

They had the board set and ready in no time, flipping a coin to decide who would be whites. Miss French, having won, started the game, and from the beginning he read her moves differently from before, knowing they were those of a chess prodigy. He moved aggressively, trying to create too much chaos to allow her to build her beautiful moves, but soon began to second-guess himself, struggling between being too bold and playing it safe. He lasted longer, forcing her to pause and consider her next move once or twice, which she had not done during their first game. He took in those few seconds of uncertain contemplation with eager interest, watching as she bit her lip and furrowed her brow, the apple of her cheeks red with an enticing blush.

In the end, however, her rooks trapped his king too soon, forcing him to topple the piece. She smiled at him, offering her hand for him to shake. He did so, marveling at how delicate it was. And cold. The whole building was cold, he realised. Apparently the mayor demanded the heat be turned off the library the moment it closed, to save on the heating bill. 

“We can do this again sometime, if you still wish to know, Mr Gold.”

He nodded, leaning on his cane in order to rise from the chair, making no move to gather his chess pieces.

“I’ll take you up on that, Miss French. And the name’s Arran.”

.

He returned a week later, with a tin of oolong tea to keep the cold of the library at bay. Though the librarian seemed to have been expecting him, with the board and chess set already laid out at the customary table, she did not seem to be in the mood to play right away, inviting him instead to her office so she could prepare and pour them both a cup of tea in the adjoining kitchenette. Though she did not seem to want to speak of whatever had happened to her in 2006 she did not seem reluctant to talk about her chess career in general. She told him about learning the game at six from her mother, and playing in the park against adults as a ten-year-old, shortly before entering her first tournament, for children. She would soon outgrow those, reluctantly.

“Children are more creative players, I find, and I missed that in professional adult tournaments. It’s what I like about your playing.”

He told her in turn about his own chess experience, so vastly different from hers. It was a part of his life he had not shared with anyone before, and it felt nice to do so, especially with someone who could understand chess like he did, could see the beauty and the sense of it.

By the time their tea was finished over an hour had passed, and it was getting almost too late for a game. This one lasted a bit longer, and felt more… playful. Though he lost, he enjoyed himself more than he should have. He could make more sense of her playing style now, and it made him respond in kind, to soften his moves a tad, make them less savage and more complimentary to hers. It was the first time in years he altered his playing style, but it gave him more of a fighting chance and it seemed to amuse and thrill her to no end. In the end when he lost she asked about his aunts,  and he told her about how in love they were, even though the times were different and they could not express that love in the open like people could now. As he talked he realised how much he missed them and how nice it felt to share a bit of their memory with someone else.

Though he left the library defeated, it was difficult to conjure any negative feelings about the evening.

At some point, he realised he had stopped playing to win. Well, not necessarily. He still played with the intention of seeing her king toppled and extracting the secret of her retirement from her, but it was about more than that now. Perhaps it was their now customary tea break right before the game, which lasted up to an hour and now included cookies and several cups per person. It was a strangely-relaxing ritual and led them to talking about things that he would usually not discuss with anyone else, things that felt too personal. She shared in kind, with the exception of talking about her father, which he understood tacitly was a no-go subject. To be fair so was his, and she took pains to never ask him anything about him. 

Playing her, he had to admit, had become exhilarating. Once the sour taste of defeat had been taken out of the equation- it didn’t feel like losing anymore, or at least not the way losing usually felt to him, cloying and humiliating- all that was left was the thrill of the game, the excitement of thinking on one’s feet and seeing long strategies come to fruition on the board. He caught her chewing on her bottom lip more and more as he learned to thwart her moves and bring a sort of organised chaos to the board that she found difficult to navigate around.

He got so used to losing, and so comfortable in it, in the notion that losing only meant he got to return to the library, have tea and spend a few pleasant hours with someone who was interesting and treated him with kindness, that he did not consider the fact that he might win at some point. And when it happened, one evening he saw it, checkmate in two moves with his remaining knight and one of his rooks, plain to see. He had been working at leaving her king adrift, too exposed and with her queen distracted enough to not be able to stop the attack. She saw it too, he realised, and there was a bittersweet smile when she toppled her king. The sound the small piece made was deafening in the sudden silence of the library and he stared at the board for the longest time, as if he had been struck dumb by his win. In reality he was trying to process how disappointed he suddenly felt, how utterly unhappy he was about having won. It made no sense.

“As you perhaps know my mother died in 2006.”

“Miss French, please, you don’t have to-”

“Belle, please. I’d like to believe we’ve transcended such formalities. Especially considering what I’m about to do.”

She paused, letting the silence stretch between them. Though she seemed determined to tell her tale, whatever it may entail, she did not seem to know where to start, or even where to look. He thought about getting up and downright refusing to listen to her, anything to take away the sudden air of vulnerability about her, but stopped himself. She was a grown woman who would not appreciate him trying to decide things for her.

“You must know my mother died in 2006. It was very sudden, a stroke, and was very hard to accept. We were very close, especially because my chess career kept me from socialising much with my peers. I was sad for a long time after her passing, kept recreating some of our favourite matches on the chessboard she had given me for my twelfth birthday. I didn’t want to eat, or go out much, and I guess… My dad grew worried. We had always struggled to communicate, never had much in common. He didn’t get chess or me, so he didn’t know how to reach me, or talk to me, or even understand what I was going through.”

She paused, picking up a white pawn and staring intently at it. He itched to reach out to her, though he was not very good at comforting people.

“He thought I needed professional help. And he was right, I did need to speak to someone. But he thought it best to-” Another pause, where Belle looked like she was trying to find the words to explain, or excuse, what came next. “He had me hospitalised.” He did not need to ask what kind of hospital she was referring to. “It was a nice place, on spacious, green grass and under the supervision of an order of nuns. I’ve read that other places can be more… unpleasant, and less safe. Still, I don’t remember much of it. I was drugged most of the time, they were pretty liberal when it came to medication, and I hated it. Took me a while to figure out how to behave in a way that was considered normal, how to grieve within the bounds of acceptable behaviour.”

He was surprised by the white-hot rage that took over him. He tightened his grip around the handle of his cane, eager to hurt someone with it. Belle’s father seemed like a prime candidate, or any of the doctors involved in her care, who could not see that what they had in front of them was a woman trying to grieve in her own way. He ached to do harm, to hurt, in a way that unsettled him, that spoke about primitive instincts he had spent years mastering, or at least trying to. He tried to calm himself, focusing instead intently on her, watching her walk the pawn across the board and exchange it for the white queen after it reached the other side.

“Once I was out I changed my name and applied for university in the US. My chess career and my mother’s care of my finances gave me financial freedom, so I went to school, then did my masters at Columbia, and took on as librarian here when the position opened. And I never participated in a tournament again. At first it was because being active in professional chess circles left me exposed, made it so my father would likely know where I was, but later on I discovered I just did not have the temperament for big tournaments anymore. Crowds of strange people looking at me make me nervous, and playing chess in public makes me feel… unsafe, I suppose.”

Her fingers closed over the white queen, as if testing the strength of the piece.

“I still love it, though. Used to play at Bryant Park when I was a college student, though never in tournaments. And I still play online, sometimes for money, because it’s safe. But it’s been nice, playing face to face against someone again. I’ve enjoyed it immensely.”

She put the white queen back with the rest of the pieces inside its box, closing the lid securely before offering the set to him. Instead of taking it he stood up, taking a few steps backward to make sure she knew he had no intention of taking his chess set home. 

“I thank you for your candor. I will keep what you have told me in confidence, of course. Same time this Saturday?”

She looked up at him, confused for a second before a wide smile spread across her face.

“It’s a date.”

.

Though he had made the journey to the library dozens of times in the past couple of months it felt different that day. Instead of the customary tea he brought he clutched a tote bag with an unopened bottle of Highland Park 18 and two crystal tumblers. It was a particularly cold afternoon, which he told himself called for something more bracing than a strong cup of tea.

Belle did not seem against the whisky, though she did warn him that she had no affinity for it and would not know good scotch from bad.

“You’re calling it scotch, so that’s a good start.”

She seemed more intrigued about the tumblers, running the pad of her thumb across the designs on the glass.

“Thistles.”

“I’m nothing if not a walking stereotype.”

She laughed, telling him to pour while she set the board. By the time they sat down to play it was dark out, and Belle had turned off the zooming fluorescent tubes, leaving instead the soft, warm light fixtures in the reading room on. It was a cosy, relaxed setting, and yet the air felt strangely electrified, like something was going to happen, something big. His nerves felt raw, exposed, but the feeling wasn’t exactly unpleasant.

“So, what should we play for tonight?”

He startled, the tumbler halfway to his lips. She was right, there were no preconceived stakes anymore. Before he had wanted to know something about her, something valuable, so they established an arrangement whereby whoever won could ask a question of the other. That arrangement no longer applied. A sudden flare of panic travelled down his spine. What if he couldn’t think of anything? What if they both discovered that, without stakes, there was no sense in playing again at all? What if-

“I have an idea. It’s… a bit unorthodox. Always wanted to try it, but never got the chance to.”

The librarian looked intently at her glass of whisky, running a finger across the edge, but there was a sort of mischievous air about her. Playful.

Flirtatious, almost.

“Do tell.”

“Well, I’ve read about strip chess. Obviously I never actually played strip chess before because for most of my years playing chess in front of people I was a minor. But I always thought it sounded… fun.”

She chanced a look at him from beneath her eyelashes, biting her lower lip the tiniest bit. He must have looked rather stupid to her, sitting ranmrod straight and wide-eyed, with the look of a rabbit that has just spotted a wolf nearby. A man a few years shy of fifty looking stupidly terrified of a woman more than ten years his junior.

“What would be the rules?”

“A piece of clothing for every captured piece. Something small for pawns is allowed, but bigger pieces merit more important sacrifices. Things in pairs are to be removed in pairs. Jewellery and such are considered pieces of clothing. We play until either someone wins, or someone is completely naked.”

He took a gulp of scotch, hiding a grimace as the liquid burned a path down his throat. He took a quick stock of the librarian, taking in her few pieces of jewellery- earrings, a ring, and a simple necklace-, and her clothing. A skirt, no belt, a shirt tucked into it, a cardigan, stockings and a pair of booties. He imagined all of it on the floor at his feet and his blood simmered.

“That sounds… acceptable. You got the coin?”

He was glad he sounded unbothered by the new arrangement they had just entered into, nonchalant. He lost the coin toss, so it was Belle who opened, moving the queen’s pawn two places. He moved more conservatively, a pawn to c6, and a couple of moves later she took her first pawn, leaving the piece to be taken by another pawn of his.

“My earrings for your cufflinks?”

It was a fair exchange, so they paused to relieve themselves of their pieces of jewellery. Belle’s next move gave him a chance to capture another pawn and he discovered that he had to physically restrain himself from making the move, reminding himself that he was supposed to be playing for win. It added something extra to the game, the tension between what the best move was according to whatever strategy he was struggling to make, and what could get him more pieces. It made the game tense, as they both considered their moves and braced themselves for the possible occurrence of another piece taken. 

When it finally happened, a white pawn taking the place of a black one, he surrendered both his shoes, but not before using one of his knights to take the place of the newly-moved white pawn. Belle bent down to unlace her booties, removing them and placing them to the side with care, letting him know that she did have a thing for shoes, as he had always suspected. 

Nothing else happened for the longest time, the game unfolding without much action. They both moved their bishops and castled their king, pretending for a while that there wasn’t a likelihood that one of them would end up naked before the night was out. He kept the scotch nearby, refilling the drinks every now and then to give himself something to do other than think about all the exposed white pieces. Finally, when he thought he was going to crawl out of his skin if he didn’t do it, he took a white pawn with his knight. 

“Wondered when you were going to do that.”

He watched her as she shimmied out of her cardigan, letting him see more of the blouse she was wearing. It was slightly sheer, letting him know she was wearing a black bra. He wondered if he would get to see it.

“It’s a pity about your knight, though.”

She moved one of her own knights to take his, making it the first major piece to be taken. She held it in her hand for a while, studying it.

“I’ll accept your jacket and tie, if you have no objections.”

He reached automatically towards his neck, tugging on the silken knot around his throat. He must have drunk more than he realised, because his fingers felt clumsy, uncoordinated. After a few ineffectual tugs and some choice expletives muttered under his breath Belle rose from her chair, gently pushing his hands away and untying the tie herself. She tugged on it until it was off and tossed it on the back of his chair. She then wordlessly prompted him to remove his jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair as well. 

“That’s a lovely colour on you.”

She ghosted her fingers across the silk of his shirt. It was one of his favourites, a deep navy blue silk jacquard with a contrasting pattern of leaves. He had worn it because he had noticed she tended to favour blue, which had felt stupid at the time. Now it felt inspired. Emboldened by the touch and the compliment he dragged his bishop across the board, knocking her knight off its place.

“I’ll take your necklace and stockings, if you please.”

His voice was rough, with little of the cultured diction he usually employed, but between the alcohol and the simmering sexual tension there was little he could do to change that. She took her necklace off without much protest, making sure to fasten it close before she looked at him right in the eye, smiling innocently and extending a leg till her silk-stockinged foot found his knee. 

“Help me?”

It was embarrassing how fast he dragged a hand across her leg, pausing only to notice the quality of the material, and reached beneath her skirt, till his fingers came across the scratchy lace of the top of the stocking. With slow, steady precision he peeled the stocking off her leg, letting the tips of his fingers slide across the soft underside of her thigh and calf, trying to memorise how soft and warm her skin felt, so he could replay it over and over again each night. He repeated the process with the other stocking, delighting in the goosebumps the dim light of the room revealed in Belle’s skin. After it was done he folded the stockings neatly and presented them to her.

She moved her bishop next in a direct challenge to his castled king, meaning he had no other choice but to take it. He did it with shaky hands, trying not to look as eager as he felt.

“Shirt or skirt, I suppose. May I choose?”

Her voice was soft, playful, undeniably coquettish. He nodded, following her movements as she stood up, unzipped her skirt and let it fall open around her legs. Her shirt was long enough to cover anything but the barest hint of her underwear, something black and lacy and the slightest bit sheer that had him reaching for his glass. A second later she sat down, dragging her queen to take his bishop.

“Quid pro quo?”

With all the grace he could muster he stood up, refusing to show even a hint of apprehension or shyness as he undid his belt and pushed his trousers down, carefully stepping out of them before sitting down and reaching for the scotch bottle, filling up their glasses again. He took a long, fortifying sip and moved his knight to take her remaining one.

“That lovely blouse is gonna have to go, dearie.”

Belle smiled, looking bold and strangely pleased, and made sure to look at him square in the eye as she plucked every little button free of its hole. It was an invitation to watch, and he accepted it greedily, leaning forward and holding tightly onto his cane to keep himself from doing something stupid like try and touch every new bit of soft, pale skin that was slowly revealed to him. When she reached the last button she shimmied out of the shirt and carelessly tossed it at him. He caught it one handed and tried to not notice how the fabric retained the warmth from her body and the scent of her skin. 

“Don’t get too comfortable, we’re about to get even.”

She moved her queen to take his knight and leaned back on her seat, one hand cradling her tumbler of scotch and an expectant look on her face. He reached up and unfastened the buttons of his shirt with practiced nonchalance, trying to keep the shaking in his hands from being too obvious. When that was done he paused for a second, trying to gather up his courage, before shrugging out of the shirt. With a gallant little gesture he handed it to her.

The next few rounds were intense, but no pieces taken. Arran was having a hard time concentrating on the board and not on the way Belle’s fingers caressed the silk of his shirt, tracing the pattern of leaves absentmindedly. It was a safer bet than focusing on her balconette bra, a delicate, impractical little thing made almost entirely out of leavers lace, with dark flowers woven into the pattern to keep him from seeing the rose pink of her nipples. He wondered if she had worn the set with their game in mind, if she had selected it just so he could see it.

At some point he took his queen out, and she did the same with one of her rooks, both of them seemingly in agreement that the status quo was not to be borne. It wasn’t until her rook put pressure on his king, forcing him to set his queen in the middle, that he began to feel cornered. When her bishop got too close he had no other option but to take out her rook. Though from a strategic point of view that was a desperate last-ditch effort, he could not help but feel strangely ecstatic over it.

“Oh, dear.”

Belle moved her hands towards her back, seeming to struggle with the fastenings of her bra. 

“I think one of the hooks is snagged on the lace. Will you help me?”

He narrowly avoided biting his tongue. He managed a croaked, barely-intelligible “aye” before she stood up and turned around. He tried not to look down, but it was almost impossible, taking into account the panties she was wearing were made almost entirely of sheer black lace- leavers as well, clearly she was wearing a matching set-. With hands that felt clumsier than usual he felt around the clasp of the bra, delicately pulling the offending hook from the lace before unclasping the bra altogether. Slowly he lowered the straps from her shoulders, noticing the red indents they left behind on her skin. Then she was turning around, bra safely in her hands and her glorious breasts bared. He hoped that she wasn’t expecting him not to look, because it felt impossible to avert his eyes. As he had imagined- and he had not realised how often until then- her nipples were the perfect shade of dusty pink, framed perfectly by pale skin a shade lighter than the rest of her. 

“I know I’ve lost on the board, but right now I feel like a winner. Like the luckiest bastard on Earth.”

His accent was shot to hell, thick and incomprehensible, as if he had never left the dodgy part of Glasgow. But it did not seem to be a problem for Belle, who kissed his cheek, tugged on his hair a bit, called him a “sweet boy”, and thanked him for the compliment.

“Let’s finish this, Arran.”

Her Australian lilt turned his name, which he always thought rather charmless and rough, into a soft caress. He sat down, something considerably uncomfortable to do all of a sudden, taking into account his painful state of arousal, and struggled to focus in the game. He was done for, he knew it, but he owed it to her to try. To lose with as much dignity as possible. Or so he thought, till her queen took his in one simple move.

“I’m afraid your underwear must go.”

The silk boxers were doing a pisspoor job of hiding his raging erection in any case, but it still felt uncomfortable to peel them off and be naked in front of another human being for the first time in years. Well, nude, technically, since he still had his navy socks on.

“Let’s finish this, then.”

He took his rook out, forcing her queen to retreat and then getting his other rook to cover for his king. For the next few moves they danced around each other on the board, with Belle trying to close her trap and Arran fighting tooth and nail to remain standing. His moves weren’t elegant at all, more like the savage swipes of a cornered beast, but they were effective. He managed to snag a rook, which gave him the pleasure of sitting down and staring intently as Belle shimmied out of her useless little panties. She flashed her watch at him to remind her she was not completely naked as per the rules of the game and continued to press him. She had only her queen and a few pawns, but the board was laid out in her favour all the same. Still he gave her a run for her money, and it took her twelve more moves to checkmate his king. Feeling irrationally expectant he toppled the piece, watching it roll around the board for a few seconds before coming to a stop.

“That was exciting. Though I’m afraid we forgot to agree on what the winner got. Quite an oversight on our part.”

He watched her as she reclined on her chair and stared at the board, a rosy tinge on her skin that he realised travelled past her neck and to the tops of her breasts. She looked at ease, comfortable in her own skin, and surprisingly he noticed that he did not much care about his own nudity either. In the low, almost romantic light of the library his skin acquired a golden colour that he thought rather becoming. He was tanned for a man who spent most of his time indoors, a direct consequence of his propensity to laze about in the sun whenever possible in the privacy of his backyard or his cabin. And in such a light his wrinkles were less obvious, his scars less visible. He felt anxious, yes, tense, but it was not an unpleasant sort of tension.

“What is it you want, Miss French?”

He affected the persona of the devious dealmaker, noticing the spark of heat in the librarian’s eyes when he called her by her last name. She made a show of thinking about it, though he had the distinct feeling she had thought about something ages ago.

“How about a kiss?”

He took her left hand, kissing the back of it.

“Like this?”

When she shook her head he reached further, kidding the underside of her elbow.

“Higher, Arran.”

He tugged her closer, trying to disregard the rapid beating of his heart, and softly kissed her shoulder. Her skin was soft and smelt faintly of something citrusy, something that somehow managed to tug both at his heart and his groin. 

“Higher, please.”

She took his head in her hands, tilting it upwards till their lips met. It was a soft, tentative press of the lips at first, unhurried and unassuming, but it grew firmer and more insistent. When he pressed her she opened her mouth to him readily, letting him curl his tongue around hers with a moan of approval. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders at some point, fingers sinking into his hair to pull him closer till he was flush against her, skin against skin. His hands roamed her back, tracing the ridges of her spine, pleased at the way it made her shiver.

Reluctantly he let go of her lips, pressing his mouth against her sharp jawline, down her long neck until he was tracing her collarbone with his tongue and dipping down further into the swell of her breasts. He felt her fingers dig into his scalp, pressing him closer, tugging on his hair to guide him towards a puckered nipple. He accepted the unspoken invitation gladly, closing his lips around her flesh and sucking with embarrassing enthusiasm. His hands roamed the rest of her, one caressing her back while the other pressed against a soft, round thigh, aching to move just a few inches and cup her sex. 

When she stepped backwards, out of his arms and the reach of his mouth, he felt a flare of panic that she was having second thoughts, or he had done something wrong. It was on the tip of his tongue to apologise- for fucking whatever, he didn’t care- when she tugged on his arm, urging him a little ways across the room to a reading nook next to the folklore session. There was a faded divan in there, usually full of pillows and throw blankets meant for readers to take to their seats if they were uncomfortable or chilly. It was old and likely uncomfortable, the type of couch that looked like it had lost most, if not all, of its padding and most of its support capabilities a long time ago. At the moment, however, it looked to Arran like the most luxurious of beds. He let her push him onto it, glad when the springs beneath him groaned but held steady. A second later she was on top of him and all thoughts of structural stability fled from his mind as he kissed him thoroughly, asserting a dominance he was more than happy to submit to.

He had to struggle to concentrate between the kissing and the groping to understand her when she asked about protection, muttering that she was clean and on the pill but she had condoms just in case, from the sex-ed talks Miss Blanchard gave every now and then. Briefly he contemplated the notion of using one of those condoms, thinking of Miss Blanchard’s absolutely scandalised look if she ever found out, but the idea of being bare inside Belle was too good to pass. He told her he was clean in as clear a voice as he could muster that he was clean too- he recalled his last annual check-up, which he drove to Boston for, since he would rather die than let Dr Whale anywhere near any part of him- before she was straddling him, grabbing his stiff, aching cock with one hand and guiding it to her entrance. He could barely register the sudden wet heat on the tip of him before his entire member was engulfed in it. He sunk his blunt nails on Belle’s back, trying to call forth every last shred of self-control he possessed not to come then and there. Thankfully Belle didn’t move, looking overwhelmed and in need of a moment to adjust.

“You’re big.”

“Fuck, sweetheart, you can’t tell me something like that if you want me to last.”

It was taking everything he had not to come like a fucking schoolboy. Later, much later, he might me in the right frame of mind to replay her involuntary compliment. Over and over. He tried to recall the names of all the subs of the Celtics, in fucking alphabetical order, till he somehow felt more in control. Slowly, lovingly, he captured her lips with his own for a long, lazy kiss, feeling as her own tension melted away, leaving only a simmering sort of excitement. Tentatively she began to rock, trying to find a comfortable angle and motion in the restrictive confined of the divan. He tried to help her as much as possible, holding onto her hips and trying to thrust up as much as he could, given his precarious perch on the furniture and his lame ankle. Slowly but steadily they found something that worked, a rhythm that had him hitting a sport deep inside her that he could tell was, blessedly, the right one, given how Belle sunk her nails on his shoulders and tried to muffle her cries against the side of his neck. He tried to talk, to tell her how gorgeous she was, how wet and warm and perfect she felt around him but it all came out as unintelligible grunts and low, feral moans.

When he felt himself near the edge he gritted his teeth and gathered all of his remaining willpower, dragging his right hand down her stomach to the small nest of curls that framed her dripping cunt, delving inside till he found a spot that made her gasp when he touched it. 

“Come for me, sweet girl.” He didn’t know whether she could understand him over the thick mess of his accent, but he hoped at least the cadence would convene his meaning. She keened in response before he felt her flutter around his cock, the rest of her tensing with the force of her release. When he muffled her scream against the side of his neck he let go, his own orgasm almost uncomfortable at first, too much at once. He clutched her close, hoping against hope he would not send them both toppling to the floor, feeling like he was walking a fine line between pleasure and pain. Pleasure won out in the end, sizzling on his veins before slowly fading into a pleasant simmer. Tiredly he wrapped his arms around a barely-awake Belle, feeling the cooling sweat on her back and grunting in protest. He looked around, spotting a throw on the floor in his reach. He grabbed it quickly, managing to wrap it snug around both of them. Later, much later, when he could remember his name or how to walk, he would insist on them finding some better place to sleep, for her sake. At the moment, however, that seemed beyond him, a faraway concern to be dealt with at a later time. He was loath to give up his queen too soon into the game, in any case.

[naralanis]

To learn to want (and to love)

“What is it that you want, exactly, Hermione?”

Hermione has to blink, bleary-eyed and not entirely alert. She’s been reading the same paragraph on Transfiguration Today for the past ten minutes or so, and her reading glasses are practically dangling off her nose she’s so out of it, so Ron’s question takes her by surprise.

“I--uh, what?” she stutters, pushing the spectacles up and turning to face him. The lamp on his side of the bed is still on, and it illuminates the circles under his eyes, his slightly receding hairline, and, most importantly, his frown.

“What do you want out of this, Hermione? We’re not--” the words seem to elude him for a moment, so Ron opts for just vaguely gesticulating around the space between them, a gulf in their bed that has been steadily widening for the past decade or so. “We’re just going through the paces here. What are we doing??” He finally huffs out.

It takes Hermione by surprise, but it also doesn’t. She’s not an idiot, she knew the signs were there; she had just chosen to ignore them because they didn’t necessarily bother her at all. She hadn’t thought they bothered Ron either, because he certainly never thought to bring them up -- not when the sex stopped, or when their casual, affectionate touches seemed to fizzle out, not even when they went most of their days not saying anything other than ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ to one another.

Maybe she had been a little too willfully ignorant.

She wants to answer him honestly, she does, but instinctively she knows that’s not exactly what he wants to hear. So Hermione shrugs  her shoulders and blows out a weary sigh.

“I’m not unhappy.”

Ronald visibly deflates, as she had predicted. He runs a hand over his hair -- it’s mussed and sticking out at all angles -- and he sighs so low and defeated Hermione can’t help but feel terrible about it. It isn’t his fault -- it isn’t hers, either, which somehow makes this worse.

His gaze meets hers and he looks so sad, but there’s a little smile tugging at his lips, like he’s trying to be happy for her sake.

“But you’re not happy.”

Well.

The divorce comes easier and quicker than anyone ever expected, and Hermione is simultaneously surprised and a little bit miffed that it doesn’t seem to catch any of their friends and family off-guard. Even Rose shrugged when she and her brother came by during Easter, saying something along the lines of “honestly, I saw it coming” and going back to her crème eggs.

Hugo, on the other hand, had been inconsolable and angry, and he unfairly directed all of that emotion towards his father, who did nothing more than take it and tell Hermione they would deal with it. Hugo returns to Hogwarts still acting a little cold, but he gives Ronald a hug at the platform and deep down Hermione knows they’ll be OK.

She lets Ron keep the house, because she never really felt any huge attachment to the place and knows he has some pride in the brick walls he erected himself, in the picket-fence he painstakingly paints over every summer or so. They still meet regularly for family dinners, they go out with their friends, and somehow it’s easy, like pressure had been lifted.

Ron helps her move into her new flat in the heart of Muggle London, grumbling all the way about the five floor walk-up where magic is not allowed. Rose enjoys the little reading nook Hermione made for her in her room, and Hugo thaws considerably at the brightly decorated bedroom full of Chudley Cannons posters.

It’s better, for them. Different, but better.

Hermione finds herself enjoying her work more. With no husband to come home to, and the kids away at Hogwarts for most of the year, she stays later, looking over complex runes and equations with more gusto than she’s experienced in years. She almost feels like a student again.

Sometimes -- when Ron goes on dates, or maybe when Ginny needles her enough after a round or three of Butterbeers at the Leaky Cauldron -- Hermione wanders if there’s anything she should be wanting. She’s content, she’s fine. She’s not exactly thriving, but she can’t figure out what on Earth she could possibly want, so she pushes it aside and laughs along whenever Harry jokes about her settling for things too easily.

It’s random and undeniably odd, when it happens. Hermione’s focusing hard on a tricky little rune she came up with while mildly intoxicated with Ginny last week, and now her sober brain cannot make heads or tails of it. She’s so entranced she misses the three insistent knocks, her door swinging open and a harried woman rushing into her office.

“Goodness’ sakes, Miss Granger! Hello!”

She jumps when a hand is impatiently waved right in front of her face, and then she almost falls out of her chair when she finally sees Narcissa Malfoy staring up at her. 

Hermione has no time for a greeting, because suddenly Narcissa tosses a loud, buzzing object at her and practically hissing as she speaks. “Please make this bloody thing stop!”

Hermione’s reflexes barely kicked in time for her to catch...

“Is this an iPhone??” She manages to squeak as the device buzzes and trills, the screen going absolutely nuts with colours.

“I don’t care what it is, will you please silence it without destroying it?”

Eyebrows shooting up and jaw snapping closed, Hermione dutifully turns it off, and Narcissa’s breath of relief is loud and heavy.

“Thank you,” she says, taking the thing back from Hermione between thumb and forefinger, as if touching it disgusted her. “Draco gave me this bloody thing, I have no idea...”

Somehow, Hermione hears the whole story about how Draco is “in” with Muggle technology and gave his mother a smartphone to help her “keep up with the times,” a statement that offended Narcissa to no end, and Hermione laughs as the blonde tells her. Somehow, she forgives Narcissa’s blustering intrusion and even teaches her how to turn the contraption off when walking into heavily warded areas such as the Ministry, because that can make some Muggle technology go haywire. Somehow, they end up talking for about an hour and Hermione forgets all about her runes, because wouldn’t you know it, Narcissa is a surprisingly easy person to talk to.

And so, Hermione accepts her offer of lunch the next day as a thank-you for the whole iPhone incident. 

They meet in a swanky little bistro at Covent Garden and Hermione almost walks right past Narcissa, because the woman is wearing dark wash jeans and a bloody t-shirt, with her hair up in a sleek ponytail and cat-eye sunglasses perched on her head. She does a double-take when Narcissa waves her to their table, and Hermione teaches her a bit more about the phone, genuinely impressed to learn that Narcissa has now got FaceTime down pat.

Hermione doesn’t remember how exactly they end up making plans to meet again the following week, but it happens. And then, the next week, and the week after that, until Hermione just blocks out her lunch-time every Wednesday on her calendar. Ginny comments on the meetings with a laugh and a raised eyebrow, but Hermione brushes that off.

They talk, a lot. About everything and nothing, all at once, and Hermione comes to find that Narcissa is not only smart, she’s wicked smart. Like, knows complex arithmancy smart, like ‘I invent potions for fun’ smart, like ‘yes I know basically all the constellations, what of it?’ smart. Narcissa has a wealth of knowledge to share and seems happy to do so with Hermione, who soaks it all up like an eager sponge, leaving their lunches happy and sated from more than just the food.

That isn’t to say Hermione doesn’t teach Narcissa a thing or two, either, iPhone incident aside. Hermione talks her ears off about Muggle authors (Narcissa is absolutely enamored by anything of Agatha Christie’s and the thought tickles Hermione to no end), and she also teaches her all about the Muggle painters of centuries past (Narcissa is inexplicably fond of Vermeer). Once, on a whim, Hermione presents two tickets to Les Misérables in the West End, and Narcissa just sobs the entire time while Hermione just hands her tissue after tissue.

Narcissa learns that Hermione puts her milk in before her tea and they have a spirited argument about it, because the blonde is simply affronted, and it ends with Hermione not-so-begrudgingly vowing to switch it around. Hermione learns that Narcissa has never been on a roller-coaster, so Hermione takes her to The Big One in Blackpool and learns the hard way that Narcissa gets motion sick very, very easily.

Before she knows it, this thing with Narcissa has lasted over a year, and both Rose and Hugo ask her if she’s planning on inviting the woman over for Christmas, and that’s when Hermione’s thoughts grind to a halt, because she had not even considered it, but now that the idea has been planted in her head, she wants, wants, wants.

She wants to invite Narcissa over, so she does, and the Slytherin comes bearing gifts that make Hermione’s children and her ex-husband squeal in delight (to be fair, the dragon-ivory chess set Ron received was lovely, if a bit excessive). And as they eat their roast and drink wine, Hermione gets lost in the vibrancy of Narcissa’s smile and the glimmer of her eyes in the candle-light of her dining room and suddenly she wants, wants, wants.

She wants their parting hug to last a little longer, she wants the kiss Narcissa bestowed upon her cheek to be a few centimeters to the left, she wants to hold on tighter and ask Narcissa to stay the night because she can’t bear to part with her just yet.

And, like that, something suddenly just clicks in her head; a feeling slots itself into place inside her chest and Hermione is a bit overwhelmed, because she’s never quite wanted so much before and she doesn’t know how to deal with it.

It’s Ron who helps her, in the end. She calls him up (on his brand new iPhone -- Merlin those caught on fast) and he comes over immediately, finding her pacing her living room thrumming with manic energy, and once she relays her predicament he just laughs until he can hardly breathe.

“‘Mione,” he says, shaking his head with fondness. “You fancy her. Of course you want to snog her senseless; frankly we’ve all been waiting for you to do something about it.”

Oh.

‘We all’ entails, apparently, literally everyone Hermione has ever met, including her landlady with whom she hardly talks but who somehow knows all about how often Narcissa comes by her place.

So Hermione makes a plan, because she wants, wants, wants to tell Narcissa about her recent discovery at New Year’s. She prepares accordingly, because she’s Hermione Granger and she won’t do anything by halves, so she writes out her confession in about sixteen inches of parchment and carries it nervously with her all through the party.

And Narcissa is absolutely radiant, enough to make Hermione forget all about those thoughts carefully penned to parchment. Hermione wants to dance closer and closer to her, she wants to rest her hands on her waist and sway with her, she wants to tilt her face just so and breathe the same air until their lips brush together.

Narcissa looks at her like she can read Hermione’s mind, and maybe she can; maybe she can see all the want shimmering through Hermione’s eyes, because Hermione never had a great poker face to begin with. And, to her surprise (not to mention relief), Hermione sees that want reflected on beautiful, beautiful azure, so she follows Narcissa beckoning finger until they’re pressed together and the dance-floor fades away to nothing.

Hermione wants, wants, wants, and finally, finally, Hermione gets it.

[thorne93]

The Stars Made Us (Part 27)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 1722

Warnings: angst and language throughout, seizure/medical complications

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter​​​​  and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @dontshootmespence​ thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes​​​​​, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong​​​​​ and @arrow-guy​​​​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Charles got you up to your shared bedroom, getting you laid down on the bed as he laid down behind you, wrapping his arm around your waist and kissing your shoulder. 

You weren't sure if he'd read your mind yet, but it didn't matter seeing as you couldn't speak anyway. 

The sobbing continued for another few hours before you fell asleep from exhaustion. You didn't have anything that replenished your loss of blood. You were still wearing the outfit that had been torn up. When you finally woke up, it was late night, after midnight. 

Charles was still awake, waiting to see if you were alright. 

"Darling?" he softly addressed. "My love? Are you okay? What happened?" 

"Doctor Stephen Strange happened," you informed angrily. "Have you already read my mind?"

"You know I never do that purposefully," he reminded gently as he delicately put your hair behind your ear. You were on your side, facing the large windows of the bedroom, with him behind you, propped up on one elbow. 

You rolled over to see him. You wanted to see his fantastic face. 

"It's so good to see you," you breathed, reaching up to stroke his face with your hand. He peered down at you lovingly, but with concern.

"What happened to your leg?" he wondered. 

"I was stabbed. Some form of mystical, evil, magic. Stephen and I accidentally got caught in a mystical war..." 

"That... I'm sorry, what?" he asked, alarm in his voice. 

You waved him off. "It's fine. He killed one guy, we stranded the other woman. But the other guy, he did this to me." You rotated your leg and he looked at it. 

"My god. You nearly lost your leg." 

You nodded. 

"That's not the pain that hurts though," you informed. 

He lied down next to you, still in his suit.

"You didn't change," you noted.

"Of course not. I couldn't bear to leave you in this state." He gave you a soft smile. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I don't want to push you." 

You shook your head. "That's not it." 

"What is it, then?" 

You looked at him and sighed before going into the whole story. You explained everything in detail from the day you arrived to getting on the plane. Charles listened intently, trying to keep everything straight. 

"So he just... he sent you back to the temple after telling you to get out of his life?" 

You nodded. 

"Charles... it hurts so bad. It's almost as bad as when I thought you were dead. How could he do that to me?" 

He shook his head. "I don't know, my love. I've loved you for a very, very long time, and we didn't even meet. He had almost a year with you. He's your other mate. I honestly don't know how he could turn you away." 

You nodded. 

"But hey," he tried, his finger trailing your cheek as tears quietly poured from your eyes. Your eyes shifted to look at him. "I love you, you know that right? And while I wish he didn't break your heart, I am so happy to have you home." 

"I know," you said with a smile. "I'm so happy to be home, to see you again. I've missed you so much." You pulled him down to you, to give him a firm kiss. "Also, I have a concussion," you informed.

"Never a dull moment, hmm?" he teased before booping your nose ever so gently with his index finger before laughing. "I suggest we get rest, and then in the morning, we get you a proper shower, hmm?" 

"What about work?"

"You come before everything else, always. You know this. I'm clearing my day. It's the least I can do for you, after everything you do for everyone else." 

"Thank you, Charles. I have no idea what I'd do without you."

"Perish the thought, love, perish the thought." He smiled at you before the two of you got ready for bed and slipped into a deep sleep. 

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

The next morning, Hank and Charles treated you to breakfast. 

Charles kept it to himself that at this point, he hated Stephen. It had nothing to do with the fact that you lived with him for several months. Or how hard you had to work to get in his life. 

No, he resented him because Charles knew how much you loved him, and he threw it away. He broke your heart. He could forgive everything. Even if Stephen ultimately stole you away from Charles -- at least you were happy.

But this? Treating you so horribly after everything you'd done? No. That was absolutely unacceptable in his eyes. 

"Do you need anything, love?" Charles asked as he eyed you sipping your coffee, barely touching the food on your plate. Hank looked at you then at Charles, his face concerned. 

"No, I'm fine." You took a deep breath before looking at the two men. "Really. I'll be okay. There is no point in moping about this. I need to get back to work anyway. I'll be in your office if that's alright, darling?" you asked, getting up from the table. 

"Of course, whatever you need." 

He grabbed your hand as you walked by and gently squeezed. You squeezed it back and went on your way. You got your suitcase full of work related items into the office, closed the door, and started to set your things up. But then the darkness closed in. The sorrow wrapped you in a tight cocoon. And you couldn't for the life of you, get out of it.

How could he throw eight months away? As if it were nothing? He opened up to you. He was starting to really believe in you two. And now... you were nothing to him. 

Tears wracked your body as you held your face, trying to keep your sobbing volume low so you wouldn't alert the others. But it was hard. 

Meanwhile, Charles looked defeated in the kitchen as he rested his elbow on the table and put his hand to his mouth.

"I don't know what to do, Hank," he confessed. "She's so broken-hearted."

"Why did he do that to her?" Hank asked. "From what I'd heard from you two, things were fine." 

"They were. She explained it all to me, and I can't quite put it together either." 

"So, what are you going to do?" 

"I have no idea. Support her I suppose, and never mention his name again. That will be easy. I just have to try not to mention how much I loathe the man." 

Hank nodded. He knew his friend well enough to understand what he meant. Even Hank was feeling a bit of animosity towards Strange for breaking you like this. 

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

After Stephen had defeated Dormammu, he worked with Wong to get him set up properly at the New York sanctum. He had realized that he could save lives doing what he did there, being a Master of the Mystic Arts. He was surprisingly okay with this and accepted his new form of work. 

"Where is Y/N?" Wong asked as he got to work, helping Stephen clean up the sanctum.

"Gone," he replied casually.

"Odd. She isn't the type to leave. Especially you. What happened?" 

Stephen looked to Wong. "You're never a talker, and now suddenly you won't shut up about Y/N?"

"What can I say? I liked her. She made you bearable." 

"Thanks," he muttered. 

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" Wong pressed. 

"Nothing to tell. She was here. Now she's not. She was in the way." 

"Yes, because she seemed like a true inconvenience when she was helping you train and learn."

"Sarcasm now? Fantastic. Look, she has her life to lead. I have mine. She has Charles, her other mate. She's fine and I'm better off without her."

Wong stared at him, eyeing him while he cleaned. He knew he wasn't telling the whole truth but getting emotions out of Stephen Strange was like pulling teeth. 

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

"Care for a game?" Charles asked as he walked up to you in the library. A fire was going, as fall was in full swing. He gestured to the chess board next to you. He thought he'd find you reading and was a bit surprised that you were just staring into the fire. 

"What? Hmm, oh, sure," you said, adjusting your seat to the chess table between the two seats. He sat opposite of you, eyeing you.

How he desperately wanted to break his vow to you and get inside your head, but he couldn't. He shouldn't. He cared about you too much to violate your privacy, but he also cared about you too much not to.

Ultimately, he remained steadfast and decided to not breach your mind. He didn't ever want to disrespect you like that. 

He watched you play the game, feeling so powerless. It'd been two weeks since you'd arrived back at the mansion and you were clearly putting up a front. Sure you smiled, laughed, and got back into the swing of things quickly, but when the others weren't looking, your face would fall, you'd get a far off look in your eyes. Charles heard you crying in the shower on more than one occasion. 

He hated that he couldn't do anything for you. But what could you do for someone with a broken heart? Nothing. The pain would have to ride itself out. Much like grief, there was no getting around it.

But this wasn't some summer fling.

This was a soulmate you'd lost, one you weren't sure you'd ever get back. 

But you remembered how incredibly blessed and lucky you were to have two mates. Never before seen in the history of the world. 

So you tried your best to push Stephen Strange from your mind, and focus on the epitome of perfection that sat across from you, playing chess. And you knew him, and you knew he was fighting his powers to read your mind. You knew he wanted to help. You could see him mentally scrambling to find ways to cheer you up and distract you, and you loved him all the more for it. 

Both of you were painfully aware that this was something not even a soulmate could fix.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forever Tag:

@essie1876​​​​​​

@magpiegirl80​​​​​​

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​​​​​​

@iamwarrenspeace

@marvel-imagines-yes-please​​​​​​

@superwholocked527

@missinstantgratification​​​​​​

@thejemersoninferno​​​​​​

@rda1989​​​​​​

@munlis​​​​​​

@thefridgeismybestie​​​​​​

@bubblyanarocks3​​​​​​

@igiveupicantthinkofausername​​​​​​

@kaliforniacoastalteens​​​​​​

@feelmyroarrrr​​​​​​

@kaeling

@friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo​​​​​​

@damalseer​​​​​​

@heyitscam99​​​​​

@yknott81​​​​

@sorryimacrapwriter​​​​​​

@glitterquadricorn​​​​​​

@xxqueenofisolationxx

@little-dis-kaalista-pythonissama

@bittersweetunicorm​

@alyssaj23​​

@sea040561​​​​​​

@princess76179​​​​​​

@thisismysecrethappyplace​​​​​​

@sarahp879​​​​​​

@malfoysqueen14​​​​​​

@ellallheart​​​​​​

@breezy1415​​​​​​

@marvelmayo​

@lyniboy​​​​​​

@paintballkid711​​​​​

Charles Xavier

@bohemianrhapsody86​​​​​

@lenawiinchester​​​​​​​​

TSMU

@tilltheendwilliwrite​​​​​​​

@allinhishands​​​

@solaramoonset​​​

@halfofwhatisayismeaningless​​​

[enviedear]

that damn american ᶠᵒᵘʳ

you seem different

DESCRIPTION ⌙ in which draco shows y/n the room of requirement, and she realizes she likes him more than she thought

PAIRING ⌙ draco x fem!reader

WORD COUNT ⌙ 1.6k

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

chapter four, i hope you all enjoy! let me know if you do :) also gonna rec some some songs from the playlist

f**kin’ love songs - awa and 505 - arctic monkeys

“i’m a slytherin prefect y/n, if we get caught, i know how to lie. but flitch is an idiot squib so don’t worry. now shut up and follow me.” draco grumbles.

your newest friend has proved to be surprisingly fun. in the last three weeks he’s taken you on countless adventures and tonight is no different. this evening, he’s showing you the room of requirement. 

for the whole day, he’s been impatient and ready to show you this room. you can’t blame him, you were practically bouncing off the walls all day too. it left april and sophie a little annoyed as you refused to take them along. but you’ve found it was best to hang out with draco alone, or else he gets moody.

“here we are. now, think about the room, envision it, be specific in what you want.” draco tells you.

you do as you’re told and after a minute you see a door form in the stone.

“this is amazing..” you mutter, tracing the handle.

draco grins, “well, go in.”

you open the door and step into the room, draco right behind you. you’re amazed, the room is exactly as you thought. exactly.

“is this your room? really? you could have made it anything and you make it your bedroom. i knew i should’ve picked.” draco chides.

“oh shut up. i thought you’d like it. you’ll probably never get to see the real one. and now we could do what all friends do, have a sleepover.” you say, hugging his arm.

“fine, but i expect to be shown around.” the boy retorts, stiffening a little at your touch.

you nod and let him go, making your way to the far left of the room.

“this is my desk, where i cry over summer work, mindlessly scroll through twitter, and read. i once snuck a boy over and he begged to fuck me on this desk. of course, i couldn’t do that to her, and i told him to leave.” you chuckle, stroking the wood.

“i didn’t need to know that.” draco grimaces.

you shove him, “next is my shelf of plants. these are my babies and i swear to god if they’re not being watered while i’m gone i will hex my mother. which reminds me, i should text her.”

“right beside it is my picture wall. it’s kind of embarrassing, i have super old pictures up there. i should warn you, april used to dress like a farmer.”

draco pauses at the pictures, looking at them all.

“who’s that?” draco asks, pointing to and old picture of your grandparents.

“my grandma and pa. i think they were seventeen in this picture.” you reply, looking at your grandparents smiling young faces.

“that’s cute that they were together even then. my mother thought that pansy and i would be like that, but pansy is too, well, pansy.” he mumbles.

you smile at him, “whatever you say draco.”

he sits on your bed, “i’m being serious, i have someone else in mind.”

your eyes bulge and you look at him with a smirk, “and who might that be?”

he rolls his eyes, “i would love to tell you, but i’m not ready the tell the loudmouth american.”

“i can keep a secret!”

“i’ll tell you when the time is right. for now, i want to learn how to google.”

it takes an hour. a full hour just to explain the concept of google to draco. throughout the process he keeps asking stupid questions.

‘you’re sure there’s no magic involved?’

‘you can learn anything from this?’

‘what do you mean i can’t search that?’

like you said, stupid questions.

but it didn’t really bother you. it was nice seeing the platinum haired boy learn about modern living. and it was even nicer to see him begin to enjoy yet another muggle invention.

you stare at him at he types in a search, his eyebrows furrowed and hair unkempt. he looks different than the boy you first met. almost happier and more carefree. his pale complexion has some sun from the countless hours the two of you have spent at black lake. his fingernails are also now coated in a layer of light green polish.

“stop staring at me.” he grins, turning his face toward you.

“i can’t help it.” you say, fighting back a smile.

his cheeks turn a light pink shade, “and why is that, l/n?”

“you seem different.”

“is that bad?” he asks.

“no, it’s actually really nice.”

draco bites his lip and looks back down to the computer, “i think we should head to bed, don’t you think?”

you nod your head and close the laptop, placing it on your nightstand.

“did you bring pjs?” you ask him, reaching under your bed for your own bag that holds your sleepwear.

“um, no. why would i have brought them? i didn’t know i was sleeping here, l/n.”

you stick your tongue out at him, “i think i have some of quinn’s old clothes in here. hold on.”

you rummage through your drawers, trying to find clothes to fit draco, until you finally come across an old wampus annual bake sale tee and some black and orange flannel bottoms.

you turn around, only to find your friend shirtless.

your mouth opens, ready to tease him.

“oh please, i can’t sleep in a shirt.” he groans.

and you can’t help but to look at his chest and torso. he’s so muscular and lean. but before you let yourself be sucked into fantasizing about your friend, you throw him the pj bottoms.

“i’m gonna change in the closet, you can stay out here. just let me know when you’re done.” you say, rushing into the closet.

you change quickly, but stay inside for a bit longer, thinking about draco. 

your sweet, sarcastic, quidditch loving, spontaneous dickhead of a friend. and it’s then you realize that draco is not just your friend. 

you actually like the guy. 

and you’re about to share a bed with him. 

this should be great, but you’re too scared to ruin the friendship between the two of you. the one you’ve worked so hard for. 

when draco shouts that he’s done changing you quickly compose yourself and slip into your bed, right beside him. he turns off the lights with a simple flick of his wand and eases next to you.

“you don’t snore, do you?” he asks.

you feel his legs, wrap between yours and for a second you forget to answer.

“oh um, shit, i don’t know.”

he huffs and pulls you into him, pulling your curls away from his face and onto the pillow.

“goodnight draco.” you whisper, suddenly deathly aware of the close proximity between the two of you.

he rubs your back, “goodnight l/n.”

__

when the you wake up, draco is still beside you, arms around you and face nuzzled into your neck.

it takes a few minutes but he finally wakes up, separating from you. 

you miss his flushed face as you go to the closet to change, and he doesn’t pay attention to your stuttering each time you look into his eyes.

“i have to study for charms today. i’ll see you after lunch though, i think blaise wants us all to head to hogsmeade.” draco says, as the two of you slip out of the room of requirement.

“alright, sounds good. i’ve been meaning to try butterbeer.” you smile, avoiding eye contact.

when the two of you enter the common room, you’re greeted by april and blaise, who are playing a game of wizard chess.

“hi y’all! did you have fun last night?” april asks, staring down blaise’s king.

“um, yeah. it was really cool. i’ll have to show you and soph sometime.” you say, taking a seat on the armchair.

“merlin april, hurry up, you play like my grandmother.” blaise chuckles.

the dirty blonde smirks at him before making a move, “checkmate, zabini.”

blaise gives her a smile.

“come on zabini, let’s head to the library. i have a bloody charms essay due.” draco tells him.

blaise rolls his eyes, “sure, but i don’t know why i need to come.”

draco scoffs, “if you want to do your essay with crabbe then be my guest, i was just trying to be nice.”

blaise looks over to the fire, where crabbe is burning the tip of his wand. the brown eyed boy scratches the back of his neck before getting up and following draco out of the common room.

“he’s so cute.” april breathes out, staring at the door the boys left out of.

“zabini?” you ask, confused.

“yes girl. and he’s so funny. and sweet. i told soph last night that i wanted to take him out on a date. and i think i’m gonna,” she looks at you, eyes begging. “will you pretty please double date with us this evening at hogsmeade. sophie said no.”

you furrow your eyebrows, “i’d love to but i don’t have anyone to take along.”

she gives you a deadpan look.

“what?” you question.

“you’d take draco. i know you’re just friends, but if you talk to him i’m sure he’d be fine with it.” she says.

you sigh, “i’ll ask, but no-”

she interrupts you, “oh thank you honey! i love you y/n.”

you don’t tell her about your crush on the grey eyed boy. even though you’re dying to get it off your chest. 

but it’s probably for the best. he said himself last night that he has someone in mind. and what good would it do telling him, it might ruin the friendship. even if he did like you, there’s only so much time in a year until you’re back in american. i just couldn’t work.

even if you really want it to.

‘fucking great.’

[wendimydarling]

Ground Sparring

Title: Ground Sparring

Summary: Log lines are the hardest part of writing. Just read the damn story.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x First Person Reader

Word Count: 2k-ish

Warnings: 18+, heavy innuendo, partial choking (though not sexual)

A/N: Had a dream inspired by @littlefreya​‘s lovely story “Sand Castle - Lines in the Sand”. Decided to write it out and embellish it a tad. If it gets enough interest I’ll write part 2 (which’ll be HEAVY on the smut, cause yum). Constructive criticism is always welcome, so long as it’s done nicely!

P.S. If you want to visualize the moves/chokeholds, google is your best friend. 👀

 GIF originally posted by @daydreamingwintertrees​.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was losing. Sy had one of my arms locked in the crook of his elbow, and I knew if he got a hold of my other arm, it would be a simple matter of hooking his legs over mine and I’d be successfully subdued. I could not, could NOT let that happen. Not when I’d been so close to winning. 

~~~~

I’d wanted a chance to spar with Syverson ever since training started. There had been more than a few looks between us, and even a couple of flirty exchanges as we drained our water bottles during break. I’d watch him and only him during his matches with others, and the amount of strength that man had never ceased to amaze me. His ability to subdue his opponent with ease had my body shaking with a desire to be underneath him in a room full of people. He’d only seen me spar a couple of times, but I knew he watched me. Even then I must admit, when the commander first called our names, I was nervous... Syverson is a big man. But, I’m wily and have a keen knack for slipping out of even the tightest holds, which I’m guessing was why we’d been paired. As I entered the circle, I watched Syverson’s friends ignorantly laugh and make jokes, telling him to take it easy on me. My friends laughed too; they knew how agile I was. Sy, however, was not as stupid as his friends; he knew if we’d been paired then I must be capable of something he wasn’t aware of. He sized me up, looking for a weakness, and I did the same. Neither of us found anything. We drew near the center of the ring and shook hands. Sy’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly at my grip; I’d impressed him with my confidence. Entering stance, his hands rested surprisingly gently on my neck and elbow. I knew this was a false pretense; I could see the muscles in his biceps and forearms rippling in anticipation for an immediate strike. His gentility was simply an attempt to get me to let down my guard before we’d even started. I didn’t fall for it. The moment the commander yelled “spar!”, Syverson executed a full-strength tug downward on my arm and neck, but I was prepared. I side-stepped his tripping leg, ducked swiftly under his arm in a half-pirouette and smacked him lightly upside the back of his head. He spun around and eyed me hesitantly as he crouched, circling me as a hunter would its prey. That move was his equivalent of Blitzkrieg in chess and had taken down many of his mates in the past, I was sure; he had clearly expected it to work this time. I flashed him a grin while he did some recon, unable to help myself from flirting a little. “What’s the matter there, Captain? Don’t know what to do next?” I taunted. I kept his foot placement in my peripherals, locking my blue eyes with his as we danced. He said nothing. I noticed his weight fall to his left leg, but his right leg was quivering; he was going to feint right but spin left, so that he could catch me as I attempted a dodge. I pretended to be clueless, feinting my own spin so that when he turned, I wasn’t in his arms as he had anticipated but I was once again behind him with a high side kick to the back of his head, harder this time. I laughed as he whirled around, somehow managing to raise his eyebrow and scowl at the same time as he sized me up. I could tell he was enjoying this challenge, and my body was humming at the close contact and the ability to show off. After the third evasion--and subsequent head smack--Sy finally caught on to my game. He growled as our onlookers heckled him, and he refused any longer to play offense. Ah, shit. This forced me to move first, and I’m not as good at floor combat. As I contemplated my options, trying to figure out what my best move was and how on earth I would possibly take this colossus of a man to the mat, he rushed me, using my distraction to his advantage. He grabbed my arm in less than a second, and I knew if I didn’t think fast I would end up on the ground. I pulled against Syverson, using his hold to brace myself as I planted my foot on his rock-hard torso and swung around his body, mounting his shoulders as if he were a horse. This nearly backfired, as the taught muscles of his shoulders were now pressed deliciously against my sex. I closed my eyes for a second, relishing the sensation that it brought to my core. Focus! I reminded myself. Since he was still holding onto me, I pulled his arm behind his head for balance, then squeezed the leg I’d swung around his neck. Instantly, Syverson dropped to his knees. I chanced a look at his friends; not one of them was laughing anymore, they were now desperately cheering on their mate to beat me at any cost. Sy reached his free arm back behind me and tucked into a roll at the same time, flipping me over his head onto the mat. Smart, I thought, he gave up the high ground advantage to get me to the floor. His tactic worked, and he gained the upper hand for the first time in the match as he shoved me off of him.

I scrambled to roll over and get up but Sy caught me first, hooking my leg with his and pinning my wrists to the floor. I wrapped my legs around what I could reach to gain some ground, but we were at a standstill. We took the moment to rest, staring at each other as we panted. Inside, I was on fire. His knee just barely brushed my groin, and I’m certain he could feel the heat radiating from it. I knew he’d have to bring my wrists off the floor if he wanted to get me in any kind of lock, so I waited. Sure enough, Sy sat up and pulled my hands with him, and that was all I needed. I twisted my wrists out of his grasp and immediately wrapped his neck in a Guillotine Headlock, pressing his forehead into the mat with my elbow. He grunted, trying to get purchase on the mat by anchoring his knee in my groin. I groaned softly and bit my lip; his thigh felt amazing against my body. If he couldn’t feel the throbbing desire I had from this, then he was simply the most unobservant man on the planet. Syverson tried to get up but at this angle my wrapped legs were enough to hold him down. “Poor baby,” I teased, squeezing harder, “The only way for you to get out of this is to concede, and that must be so embarrassing in front of your mates. Had enough yet, Captain?” A frustrated growl was his only response, to which I laughed, egging him on. I wanted him angry, wanted to see how far I could push him. The power was turning me on like mad, and the near thigh-riding wasn’t helping. Just when I thought I’d won, I felt fingers dig into my rib cage.  “Syverson no, that’s cheating!” I squealed as I tried to shy away from his hands. ��All’s fair in love and war. And this is war, honey,” Sy finally spoke, the mat muffling his voice. I did my best to hold on to his neck but damn, the man had nimble fingers. I let go, and in one swift motion he rolled over and I was pulled onto my back on top of him. Just like that, I was losing. Sy had one of my arms locked in the crook of his elbow, and I knew if he got a hold of my other arm, it would be a simple matter of hooking his legs over mine and I’d be successfully subdued. I could not, could NOT let that happen. Not when I’d been so close to winning. I tried to pull my arm loose but Sy knew me now, knew how capable I was of slipping free. He grabbed my wrist and pulled my arm behind my head in a Half Nelson. Shit! I was struggling hard, elbowing him in the gut and squirming against his body every which way I could to try and throw him off his game. There was no denying it now: Syverson was just as aroused as I was. I could feel his length pressed against my ass, growing harder by the second every time I squirmed. “You better watch what yer doin’ down there, little lady,” he murmured in my ear, low and authoritative. “You wouldn’t want anyone to learn what yer doin’ to me, now would you? Otherwise they’ll know exactly where we went and what we’ll be doin’ after we’re done here.” Sy’s tone sent a zing straight through my body, lust coursing through my veins at his suggestive words. The thought of how his hardness would feel inside me after this was over was too much. His distraction worked and he grabbed my other wrist, turning the Half Nelson hold into a Full. “You’ve got her now, Syverson, finish her off!” I heard one of his mates yell. Not on your life, pal, I thought, showing him just how flexible I was. I put my legs on either side of Sy so he couldn’t pin them, then kicked off the mat as if I was doing a back walkover. Thank god for those gymnastic lessons. My head was still bent with my arms still behind it, but now my knees were spread on either side of Syverson’s head. I could see everything, and should he have chosen to, he could have reached out and licked me, I was that close to sitting on his face. I watched his eyes close, and the look on his face was so sexual, so pained, I could only imagine that he was trying to ignore the smell of my wet heat being so near, trying to prevent his arousal from showing. It was one of the most erotic things I’ve ever witnessed. The shock of the new position and his attempt to control his body loosened his grasp on my arms enough that I was able to break my head free and I quickly threw him in a reverse triangle choke before he could react. From there, I knew I had him. His arms flailed as he tried to find some part of me to hold onto.

 “Give up, Syverson?”  He bit my pussy in response. I yelped and squeezed tighter. “Give up, Sy?” He knew he was beat, but he was so stubborn. He tried to get up, tried to find some footing on the floor, grunting and howling in frustration every time he was unsuccessful. He even tried to tickle me again, but I ignored it. I applied further pressure, letting him know I was done playing. “Give up, Sy.” With one final growl he tapped out hard, slamming his hand twice into the mat in resignation. I released him at once and he shoved me off none-too-gently, but he had a smile on his face and damn it all, if it wasn’t the sexiest thing ever. He stood up, offering a hand to help me, which I graciously took. “Well I’ll be damned,” he said, “You’ve got a few things you could learn, but I’d hate to be the one on the receivin’ end of yer wrath. Well fought, Ace.” He pulled me in for a congratulatory bro hug, and while everyone else clapped and cheered I heard two words that sent a chill down my spine. “Showers… now.”

[cynthiaandsamus]

Custom Toonami Block Week 71 Rundown!

Code Geass: Lelouch establishes the Black Knights floating iceburg country complete with representatives and shit and somehow no one on the team monitoring Lelouch notices he disappears right when Zero is exiled, like yeah half of them are in Lelouch’s pocket anyway but you’d think him just yeeting himself out of the country would be difficult to hide from the oversight committee. Anyway Brittania being Brittania is going to have a political wedding with the Chinese Disturbingly Loli Empress and their literal oldest Prince, like they couldn’t even pick a slightly younger prince to make this less creepy, it’s literally the First Prince who’s like 40, I’m sure Charles has fucked more recently and they have a younger prince but no we have to really hammer home how creepy this is. So yeah now that Lelouch’s new band is under the Chinese banner, having them make peace with Brittania and sell them out would be bad so Lelouch decides to crash the celebration and… challenge Schnizel to Chess, because reasons. And both of them just proceed to completely ignore the rules of Chess for shit that’s thematically appropriate before Nina tries to stab Zero and Schnizel says he has all he needs about who Zero really is. Also Milly’s here and I feel bad for her because all of her friends are several degrees down the sanity cliff now and she’s just there trying to hold their cliché student council group together while wondering if she really will have to marry Lloyd or not because it’s been a year and they threw together this Chinese marriage in like two days so who knows anymore. Anyway Xingke crashes the wedding because of his adorable backstory with the Empress and Lelouch crashes Xingke’s crashing of the wedding by literally appearing out of nowhere which is pretty good for a guy as shitty at athletics as Lelouch and also Jeremiah is on a chair in a desert and this is important or something.

Inuyasha: So we start the Panther Deva filler arc and it’s pretty good honestly, we have an array of Captain Planet Panthers to fight with elemental powers of varying strength to give Koga, Miroku, Sango and Sesshomaru something to do so it’s not just the Inuyasha Wind Scar Power Hour and we have some good foreshadowing/fluff of Inuyasha eating steak in the modern era and fucking around with Kagome’s cat and pissing it off which is a good thematic throughline about how petty cats are and the whole thing has this sunset coloring and it’s really pretty. Anyway Kagome gets captured, you know how it goes, Koga’s pissed because Inuyasha is always letting Kagome get captured and he has a fucking point, bitch is captured more than Princess Peach at this point. But turns out the Panther Demons run behind a barrier and too bad for them Inuyasha just got a new anti-barrier sword to try out.

Yu Yu Hakusho: So Suzaku’s kind of broken, he can dispel his clones to heal himself which apparently gives him all of his energy back because he went from exhausted to just being able to re-do the clones again and start blasting Yusuke so he heals and rests indefinitely as long as one of the clones is alive that’s fucking insane. Anyway apparently despite just healing, Suzaku got his guidance system damaged by Yusuke’s first attack and his aim has been getting progressively worse so he just has to sit there with stormtrooper aim winging Yusuke now and then to torture the poor guy despite going Super Saiyan last time Yusuke only had one shot in him but now he does the whole Life Chakra deal and gives his life for one more even Super Saiyan-yer burst and Shotguns Suzaku’s clones into dust and somehow transmits energy to Keiko through the tv to protect her. It’s pretty convenient that Yusuke learned an AOE attack right before fighting someone that needs all of their clones to be killed at the same time to stay down but yeah, arc over, pretty fun, Yusuke pulled so much power out of his ass he literally dies but some spirit mouth to mouth with Kuwabara saves him with surprisingly little consequences for either of them while Hiei says he’d never drag himself down to save anyone and I’m sure that won’t come back to haunt him. Also Yusuke FINALLY tells Keiko he’s a Spirit Detective given this is like the third time she’s been held hostage by a demon she probably should’ve figured this out sooner.

Fate Zero: Caster’s sitting there talking about how Saber is his waifu and like dude Saber is EVERYONE’s waifu but apparently it’s not actually Saber he’s after but a Saberface so he’s not wrong but he’s also not right. So yeah, he orders more child murders which knowing this guy there isn’t a situation that calls for less child murders. Also Lancer’s teacher asshole dude is cheating by using two E-Tanks for his servant after being all ‘haha old magician families are just better lol’ he has to use two dudes to make his servant fight and still got rolled by Iskandar. Also Kiritgusu bombs the fuck out of his building which given this takes place in 1994 is probably in very poor taste. Also Kirei meets Kiritsugu’s battle maid and shit goes down but everyone’s like “Okay Caster’s more insane than usual so we should probably take care of that” and Gilgamesh claims he’s gonna teach Kirei about pleasure while shirtlessly drinking wine so there’s that.

Konosuba: So Dio-voice Dullahan is back and he’s pissed because Megumin keeps getting off to destroying his home. Though through a combination of luck, Darkness being a meatshield, Aqua’s absurd water/holy power and Kazuma’s dumb luck along with Megumin blowing up the henchmen, everyone plays a role in defeating him in the most ridiculous manner possible. Despite not actually getting any money from it, it’s nice to see the group come together and actually accomplish something in their own way. Makes me think maybe this series won’t just be dicking around about nothing forever, which is fun don’t get me wrong but I don’t think I could stand 52 episodes of one note character jokes with absolutely no progression.

Sailor Moon Crystal: Tuxedo Mask blows the load on the whole Silver Crystal deal to the whole town so now everybody knows about it and can keep an eye out for it. So despite Tuxedo Mask being nothing but helpful Luna assumes he still may be bad and has the power to brainwash a whole town despite his only notable skills thusfar have been standing on telephone poles like Itachi Uchiha and cheerleading. Anyway Luna takes everyone to Zordon’s Morphing Control Center under the aracade which you think would’ve come up by now and reveals she’s a moon cat which you think also would’ve come up by now. Luna’s really just been “We gotta do the thing cause I say so” this entire time. Anyway they wreck the tv broadcast and kick the King’s ass but we have a Disc One Final Boss as Queen Beryl shows up and uses her Conqueror’s Haki to knock out the other Guardians without touching them while Usagi has an existential crisis about her crush maybe being problematic. They give motivational speeches to each other, basically Usagi telling him that they both have to try harder despite feeling powerless and them immediately wilting and saying she’s hopless so he can have a turn giving her a speech and then she gets surprised when he knows she’s Sailor Moon despite literally just telling him she’s the leader and has to help everyone and shit. Anyway, you know how this goes by now, Ancient Moon Laser Beams, bad guys fall, Queen retreats and Usagi wakes up in Mamoru’s apartment ready to reenact Fifty Shades of Moon. Hey an actual fucking cliffhanger for once, that’s kinda neat.

Durarara!!:  Mikado’s plan finally comes together and he meets with Ms. Yagiri while Celty confronts the girl with her head who says her name is also Celty. We get Mikado’s backstory about basically creating Reddit to make The Dollars a Stand Alone Complex, a gang that doesn’t actually exist outside of the rumors of its existence, man this kid’s been watching too much GitS. Still despite it going predictably awful with guys doing shitty things in their name by some miracle some of Mikado’s wide-eyed optimism gets through and his belief in the good of humanity makes the Dollars a gang that’s good at its core. And now they use that good to outnumber the Yagiri goons and let Mikado get away while Celty jumps off a roof on her bike and has a mental breakdown which people seem to hear for some reason. Also Seiji broke out and is using his yandere energy to hunt down Mikado.