#I'm off to hunt for more blue swirls in the show!

[mollysunder]

I always liked this shot in the Firelights mv, and I didn't know why until I saw this storyboard draft of the same scene.

This shot is wrapped in Jinx and Silco calling cards! In the draft they were less subtle, the bullets had the kind of scratchy doodles that Jinx would draw, instead they went for the elegant spirals of Jinx's cloud tattoos. The tattoos that represent the smoke clouds of her hexcrystal bomb, of her first kills, both on purpose and by accident.

And the mask!

The firelight mask in the storyboard is fractured in a way that resembles Silco's scars! What makes it better is that the firelight, their symbol of hope, the future, who they are, crawls out of the fractured left eye.

Altogether this shot was probably meant to do two things:

It served to represent that without the Firelights' hope and optimism, you're left with people like Jinx and Silco. People that live like they're already dead and untether themselves from their own humanity to achieve their goals.

It was supposed to foreshadow the fact that Jinx would kill Silco! When the firelight (the soul) flew out of Eve's mask, we the audience understood that it represented her death. When the firelight not only comes out of the left eye (Silco's dying eye) but the mask was originally intended to take on traits that resembled Silco's features, you realize Jinx's bullets aren't just there to say she killed Eve, but that she'll kill Silco too!

It's great! It's awful! I need to find more!

[saekkas]

𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄

summary: rin's becoming more human the longer he's with you. he doesn't mind at all.

tags: f!reader, merfolk au, shark mermaid hybrid rin, human reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, falling in love, cultural differences, kissing.

wc: 2k

notes: i'm honestly very proud of this. i hope i did rinnie justice!

rin normally doesn't care about anything else but hunting, it's a given with how quickly he's growing. only months before his eleventh birthday, rin's already outgrown the other merchildren in his pod.

his tail is getting bigger, stronger, and he's starting to catch up to the wild orcas roaming the big blue seas which he calls home. it's a pretty thing, sleek and smooth but scaly.

black as the hair on his head with coralline blue and teal swirling up the limb, he looks like the fearsome predator he is. not only that, but his skin is also becoming thicker even his sharp nails can't scratch through them like they used to.

what he most prides in himself though, are his teeth. shark teeth are unique in the way they shred, falling out every year to signify their age. rin collects his, keeping every single one on his neck, wrapped around a long piece of netting he found near the shore.

he has ten wrapped around his neck, proudly showing off their sharpness and glimmer to anyone who passes.

the coral reefs are beautiful this time of year, they're teeming with life and growing into their colors. rin's laying among one, absentmindedly running his finger through an anemone, watching as the clown fish scatter at his motions.

the sun is bright ahead, casting a light that shines directly on him. he loves the feeling. basking under the sun yet not burning because of his skin.

minutes or even hours go by. rin can never seem to tell the time, not when the current flows through his gills. he almost falls asleep right where he is when a shadow passes up head. rin's eyes flutter open and it only takes him a moment to propel himself to the surface, his hands tightly gripping at what he assumes to be a seal.

he flinches when your scream pierces his ears. even though the sound is cloudy under water, rin moves back, letting his hands fall to his sides. his dorsal fin breaches the water as he circles you, keeping his distance before swimming closer.

only to receive a kick to the face.

rin grunts, feeling the telltale signs of a tooth shredding. he keeps it in one hand, letting his tail push him out of the water. his head pops out, bright teal eyes and messy flock of dark hair surrounding his visage. he's surprised you don't react as dramatically as you did.

rin isn't as interested with humans as the rest of his pod but he's followed enough fishing boats around to understand and speak their language.

he eyes you, stiff as a plank on your surfing board. you're a small thing, weak looking, and pruned. he wonders what you're doing out in the middle of the ocean all alone.

at first, all that comes out of his mouth are hums and growls. he's trying to communicate the best he can but when you start to lift a leg again, which rin thinks is meant to be a threat, he stops.

"are you a merman?" your voice is shaky at best, as is your entire body. your hands clench around the shells you've been collecting, ready to throw it at the unfamiliar creature. "my grandparents used to tell me about you. i didn't think you were real."

fascination replaces the fear in your eyes, and rin feels himself stiffen. you look to be the same age he is, and you have nothing to protect yourself with. he sighs internally, letting out a low chirp that you seem to perk at.

"can you talk?" you use your legs, kicking against the calm waters to bring yourself closer to him. rin leans back, cautiously flicking water at your face with his tail. you giggle at his action. "i won't hurt you. in fact, you're the one who could hurt me if you wanted to."

he calms a little at that. rin has always been the cautious one, especially with the way humans use their machines to trap his kind for amusement. he nods, pointing at you and then at himself, speaking lowly, "i thought you were a seal. please don't swim alone like this."

he dives back into the depths, only looking back at your form one last time when he hears you yell something at him. your name. rin smiles, clenching the tooth wrapped around his palm, and swims back home.

the seasons pass, the necklace around rin's neck becoming heavier as he grows. he's recently turned twenty-one yet there are only twenty pieces of his teeth dangling around his neck.

he doesn't wear the eleventh one because of you.

through the years, rin's become verily acquainted with your presence. friendship, you had called it. at first it was another accidental meeting between the two of you when he was out hunting near the shore. one thing led to another and rin finds himself too used to your laughter, the little quirks that you possess, and the differences between your worlds.

he's a full-grown shark now. his shoulders have broadened, his tail a sight to behold. he has the ability to roam the oceans, swim across the world, yet the waters feel empty without you beside him. rin has to shake the thought out of his head when he hears your voice calling out.

the waters of the open ocean ripple when you kick and slam your feet, and it has rin shaking his head. he launches himself at your board, hearing your maniacal laughter when he breaches the surface. he tips your surfboard, effectively sending you right into the water.

"that's no fair!" you push the wet hair out of your face, splashing rin when his head pops out of the water. "i never get to surprise you."

rin flicks his tail, sending a wave of water right at your face. he chuckles lowly when you splutter. humans and their need for air never seem to not amuse him.

"my brother can probably hear you at the bottom of the ocean with how loud you were being."

you snort, waving your hand nonchalantly. "i'm sure sae is comfortably unaware of my presence in his secret cave."

rin only chuckles at that, swimming closer to wrap a hand around your waist, pushing you up against his chest.

that's another thing rin has become acquainted with ever since meeting you. skin ship. the act of touching itself is uncommon among shark folk. gentle caresses and acts of service are reserved only for family or mates. with strangers and even friends, aggression is usually what he uses; play fights, hunting, preying.

and here he is, letting you touch him and take away all his time as if it were a normality.

the worst part about it? rin feels as if he wants it, needs it. he can barely spend an entire day without you, your smile and gentle touches soothe him in ways he can't understand. he hates to admit it, but sae was right. he's been too blind all this time, like a guppy threading through murky waters.

he just needs to own up to it.

"hello? earth to rin?"

his eyes come back into focus, solely fixed on you. there's a smile on your face, your feet softly kicking against the water. the sun is setting behind you, and rin feels his heart beat out of his chest at the sight.

he hums, a mere flick of his tail sending you both forward. he wraps his arms around your waist tighter, careful with his nails, and helps you stay afloat against the water.

he wonders if you can feel the thrumming in his chest against yours.

"someone's distracted today," you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck.

moments of intimacy between you are sparce but they're special, especially on days where you both want nothing but to float away in the sea. his nails, pointed and sharp, trail up your waist and settle on your lower back.

he's not sure what's making you shiver. the cold temperature or his touch.

"something special happen?"

rin nuzzles his nose against your neck, right where your gills are supposed to be if you were like him. a low rumble sounds deep in his chest, one you recognize to be a greeting. one he never forgets to gift you.

"i have something for you." his voice by your neck is low, deep as the ocean you swim in. you feel his hands roam down to your thighs, guiding them to wrap around his waist. when they do, you hear him sigh, his dorsal fin slumping in content.

you watch with amusement, lifting a finger to caress the limb. it makes him groan, wrapping his hands around you tighter, before suddenly diving down into the depths, bringing you with him.

his movement are fast, and you try to keep your eyes open, even when the salt stings. rin does this often. most times when he's flustered or something's bothering him. today, you assume, it's a combination of both.

when he breaches the surface, you inhale as much oxygen as you can. looking around, you see that he's brought you onto a small stack of land that's covered in sand, surrounded by miles of water.

"i have something for you," he repeats, his eyes unblinking as he stares at you. "i want you to have it."

you let him open your palm, watch as he drops a necklace decorated with pearls and a single tooth in the middle.

"is this," you gasp, looking at the necklace around his neck and back to, what is now, yours. "rin. you didn't have to."

"i didn't." he nods as he says his words, now shyly avoiding your gaze. his dorsal fin stands rigid against his back, his tail anxiously wrapping around one of your legs. he's so different yet so similar to you, in so many ways. "i wanted to."

"thank you," you whisper softly, leaning over to where he sits by the edge of the water. "i want to give you something too."

"what is it?" his tail flicks against your thigh, the texture smooth and scaly, hefty above the skin. it's a weight you're used to. a weight that grounds you. "i'd like anything you give me."

there's the beginnings of a blush on rin's cheek and you silently giggle, wondering whether shark folk are always so brash and obvious with their words.

"well, i'll hold you to it."

rin hesitates, freezing when you lift a hand to his neck, gently caressing the gills on the area. he blinks, as if in a daze as your hand moves to his face, lingering on his cheek.

he's never let anyone come this close before. you've never come this close before. it feels foreign yet so much like home. he sighs, closing his eyes and slumping most of his weight on you, nuzzling his face into your hold.

he feels you lean down and blinks his eyes open when there's a gentle pressure on his lips. it leaves him tingling and he looks at you with wide eyes. "what did you do? what was that?"

"it's called a kiss." you swipe the hair that's covering his eyes away, still keeping a hand on his cheek. "it's what humans do to express their affection."

rin tilts his head, his tail coiling around your leg tighter. "you have affections for me?"

"i do," you say before laughing when he coos suddenly. he dives into the water right after, hiding his blush as only half of his head pops out.

"i have affections for you too." the sound of his voice is muffled by the water, but his excitement is clear with the way he's shaking. almost like a fish out of sea. a rin out of his element. "i liked that.. kiss too. can we do it again?"

"we can do it as many times as you want," you answer with a grin, tapping your thigh with a hand. "i can't kiss you when you're all the way there, though."

rin waddles closer to you, pulling himself onto the sand. letting his tail curl around your body, he smiles with sharp teeth as you pull him into another kiss. he can definitely get used to this.

[whatitshouldvebeen]

Hi 💜 Can I request Johnny x fem reader? Johnny is a very handsome boy and some girls can look at him, blow him kisses and say nice things to him. Then her s / o feels upset and she decides to make Johnny jealous so that he feels the same way she feels when someone flirts with her boyfriend?

This kind of took a turn, I hope you like it!

Dumb Jealous Bitch

Pairing: Johnny Slaughter x Reader

Contains: Blood, murder, rape

The music was loud, but your thoughts were louder. Johnny was flirting with a pretty girl just across the bar. He wrapped an arm around the girl's waist, then looked over at you with a coy smirk. Your hand tightened around your drink, jealousy swirling in your eyes. 

He always did this. You were just so easy to toy with. Ever since you'd joined him on his hunts, he relished in the envy you would show when girls inevitably approached him. 

At first, you tried to act like you didn't care. But he could tell by the way you fucked him so desperately once he was with you again that you were trying to prove something. 

And it only got worse from there. 

Now, it seems like he seeks girls out just to make you seethe. Or maybe because he loves the way you try to reclaim him; your needy pussy squeezing as you desperately try to fuck the memory of the last girl off his cock. 

You were so fucking tired of being toyed with. Of being an audience to his self-absorbed narcissistic show of his power over your emotions. No. Tonight, you were going to be the star of the show. 

You tore your attention from Johnny, scouring the room. A set of blue eyes met yours just as he entered the bar. He was fit, brown-haired, and the moment you locked eyes he was confident enough to approach you.

"Hey," he said as he reached the spot beside you and ordered from the bartender. "You alone tonight, hon?" 

You had to force yourself not to seek Johnny in the crowd, instead holding the man's eye. He was handsome, and his smile was a good cross between alluring and friendly. Yeah, he was the perfect target. 

"I am. And I'm feeling a little lonely right now," you responded, smiling back. The bartender brought his drink over, and when he reached for the glass, you set your hand on his arm. His smile grew. 

"Well hon, I'd love to keep you company tonight. The name's Tim." His eyes drifted to the nearly empty glass in front of you. "Need another?" 

You nodded, stroking his arm, and he asked the bartender to refill your glass. God, you wanted to see if Johnny was watching. But this wouldn't work unless you kept your attention solely on your target. 

So, you batted your eyelashes and leaned closer, letting your hand drop to his knee and tantalizingly slide up toward his groin.

Tim's smile grew, and he chuckled. "You seem mighty needy tonight, darlin’. How's about we take care of that for ya?” 

You bit your lip and smiled, nodding shyly though you were anything but. Johnny always said how easy it was to get women to come home with him, but you also made it look like a piece of cake reeling in a man. You felt the burn of Johnny's eyes on you now as you stood and Tim's hand pressed into the small of your back, leading you to the bathroom where you slipped inside and waited for him to join you moments later. 

Within moments of the door closing, Tim's lips met yours. He pressed you against the wall as his hands traveled down your body. You couldn't help recoiling some; you were doing this for Johnny's attention but Johnny couldn't see you now, so your earlier enthusiasm waned. 

Tim didn't seem to notice as he ran his hands under your top and gripped your breasts in his firm hands. You whimpered against his lips, wondering when Johnny would come. You knew he would, he would have to, right? He couldn't just let this happen right under his nose, right? 

But things kept progressing, and you gradually got more anxious. You squirmed and broke the kiss, panting. 

“Stop,” you said under your breath, and when he didn't act like he heard you, you pushed his chest back. “Stop, Tim. I'm drunk, I don't know what I'm doing,” you said, panic flooding your system as his hands continued pursuing your body, getting lower and lower. 

“Don't go yellin’ now, or I'll haveta stuff your mouth sugar,” he said, his hand moving to his crotch and unzipping his pants. 

Your skin was on fire now, and you began to hyperventilate. When his roaming hand met your shorts, you were too afraid to stop him. You weren't ready for this, you were supposed to have the upper hand, and now you had lost all control.

Johnny, please! You thought desperately. Please help me! Tim was relentless, stripping you of your shorts in a hurry and stroking himself, using one hand to pin you against the wall. 

You couldn't help whimpering, to which Tim didn't take kindly. He stripped your panties off then shoved them in your mouth, muffling your sounds. You tried to take them out but he was holding you so closely there was no space for your arms to move. Tears flowed freely now and you felt his fingers dip into you. 

The doorknob jiggled, but you didn't see it. But you couldn't miss the splintering of cheap wood as Johnny barreled into it with his shoulder, busting the door off its hinges. 

Johnny was possessed; his eyes were aflame and he yanked Tim off you in a single smooth motion, throwing him into the sink which shattered into big shards of porcelain. Tim screamed, gripping his limp right hand that had been cut deeply when he impacted with the sink. 

You ripped the panties from your lips and pulled on your shorts as Tim tried to scramble to his feet, but his pants around his ankles sabotaged him, making him look pathetic as he slipped and slid in the porcelain shards, his own blood, and water spurting from the broken faucet. 

Johnny turned the handle of his Bowie knife toward you. “Wanna do the honors?” 

“No! No, please!” Tim screamed. Though the bar was sparsely populated, people were watching, and the bar owner was heading toward you. You only had a few seconds. 

You took the knife from Johnny and approached your would-be rapist, who looked like a pathetic cornered animal.

“Stop! What the hell is going on?!” The bar owner screamed, but it was too late.

You gripped his hair in one hand, and Johnny stepped on Tim's unharmed hand to keep him from fighting back. You brought the blade to his throat and stabbed straight through, only feeling resistance as your knife met the back of his spine through his flimsy neck. Tim slumped to the ground, the light fading from his eyes. 

The bar owner made it to you and Johnny holding a shotgun, but he couldn't bring himself to look at the dead man. Johnny took your hand and shoved past the man, rushing to his truck. No one followed, everyone seemed completely struck, but Johnny still peeled out of the parking lot. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” He growled, gripping your cheeks in one hand with a tense hold on the steering wheel with the other, his angry brown eyes flicking between you and the road.

“I was just jealous,” you whimpered, wincing at the harshness of his tone and the harsh hold he had on your face.

“You were a reckless dumb slut. If you were jealous, come hang all over me. We can let dinner go if you really need the attention. Maybe I should just stop letting you out at all, hm?”

“I'm sorry Johnny, I'm sorry,” you cried, shaking your head. “I'll never try it again!”

“That's right you won't. You're mine,” he hissed, then pulled your face to his, mashing his lips against yours while he barreled down the road. When he broke the kiss he pushed you back into your seat, his lip twisting upward. “Dumb jealous bitch.”

Your heart was racing a million miles a minute, and all you could think was that you'd been lucky. Thank God for Johnny.

[starboy-acer]

"outlaw, traitor, exile" (chapter one)

(this is longer than most because this is a full fic on ao3!! please go check it out there if you prefer to read there! but if you prefer to read here and want to keep track of the chapters, follow the outlaw traitor exile tag!)

Captain Black was infamous on the seas of Mana. He was one of the newest and youngest Pirate Lords and everyone knew of his name. They knew his ship and the black sails that cast a shadow over any ship that he approached. They didn't know his face. They didn't know his real name. All the people of Mana knew were his title and the fear that he struck into their hearts.

Admiral Jay Ferin, daughter of the revered Jayson Ferin, was known by everyone in the oversea. She was known to be a lot more empathetic than her family. She cared for people. She didn't want to be feared. All she wanted was to make a change in the world. After getting reprimanded for the millionth time by her father for showing empathy for "criminals" who were just fighting for their freedom, she was sent to the sea and tasked with hunting down Captain Black.

Gillion Tidestrider, "Champion of the Undersea, Hero of the Deep", was exiled from the only place he knew. Since then, he's done nothing but get in trouble with not only the navy but pirates too. One night, he stumbles onto a large ship after escaping a fleet of Navy ships. Only to be met by Captain Black's shadowed face and his glowing smile.

"What do we have here?"

Captain Chip Black paces around the short blue man who washed up on his ship, his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. His long red coat dragged behind him and his matching hat tipped down at the perfect angle to cover his eyes. Gillion glanced at his hand on his sword, then at his lack of a shirt. His eyes traced over the flame-like tattoos across his chest as they swirled and spiraled. In the dark, it almost looked like they moved. Maybe they did, Gillion couldn't tell.

"Hello there! I am Gillion Tidestrider! Champion of the Undersea, Hero of the Deep. Sorry about the... intrusion. I'm just passing through. You know how it is." Gillion rambled on. Usually, when he jumped on a ship, he was attacked right away by either the Navy or pirates. The fact that this man was simply circling him like a shark scared him a little.

The man chuckled slightly. He stopped in front of Gillion. "I know who you are." He said with darkness in his tone. His voice was like shadows; it was dark, slow, and seemed to creep up on you and send shivers down your back.

"Oh?" Gillion questioned and laughed nervously. "Well, I don't know who you are. I am curious about how you know me but I guess that being a Champion gets you that kind of recognition!"

Suddenly, Gillion was pinned to the ground with a sword to his throat. He had no idea how or when this happened. Chip had managed to, without a sound and as quick as lightning, push the heavily armored triton to the ground. Chip knew who Gillion was. He knew what Gillion had been up to since he had been exiled. He knew that Gillion had somehow sunk plenty of ships of pirates that he knew and plenty of ships that he was seeking out. Gillion had somehow caused a rift in some of Chip's plans against the Navy. However, Gillion had absolutely zero clue that he had caused as much destruction as he had. He just thought it was bad luck that the ships kept sinking after he showed up and was attacked by them. 

"You're the damn fish that's been sinking ships all over Mana." Chip's hat had fallen off in the altercation and now Gillion could see his full face. Gillion could now see his stubble that framed his mouth with shockingly white teeth along with his brown eyes that were now scowling at him. "Do you even know what you've done? All the plans that went to shit because of you? All the pirates that I recruited to my cause that lost their ships because of you?"

Gillion just stared at him, his eyes wide. "Uh. No. No, I didn't. Wait, what cause? Who are you?" Gillion was always moist, but now he felt like he was sweating. He had absolutely no clue how that worked, but it did. Chip looked at him in shock. Was this guy really that stupid? He had no clue what he had done. Was he lying? Did this fish not recognize Chip's ship or his sails? Chip leans up, still straddling Gillion so that he couldn't stand up. His arms drop to his sides and he squints at the fish man under him while a million questions run through his mind. Gillion just laid there like a rock. He, for once, had nothing to say. He didn't know what was going on.

"You really have no clue, do ya?"

Gillion nods and slightly shrugs as he replies, "I have no clue like most of the time." Chip scoffs to hide a laugh. Deciding that Gillion wasn't a threat, he stands. Chip puts his hat back on, but places it high enough where his face can be shown. Gillion stands up and brushes himself off.

Chip puts his sword away and crosses his arms, his entire figure lit up by the moon. Gillion took note of the swirling tattoos on his arms. They were definitely moving, no doubt about it. Chip noticed that Gillion was staring, hard. Chip walked up to Gillion and leaned down to look in his eyes. A light pink spread across the triton's face as he felt Chip's breath in his face. "What're ya starin' at?" Chip smiled.

"Your tattoos. They look like they're moving." Gillion stated as he took a step back. Chip looked down at the tattoos that flowed like water but were the color of fire. "Yeah, they're movin'."

"How?"

"You have an awful lot of questions."

"Yes. Now answer them."

"And if I don't?"

Gillion's jaw dropped and he looked in disbelief. This man was really testing his patience. "I, Gillion Tidestrider, will sink your ship!" He decided to declare.

Chip's eyebrow raised and he looked Gillion up and down. This was a 5'8 fish against a 5'10 pirate lord. Chip could not picture a timeline where Gillion would win this fight, and because of this, he did one of the stupidest things he had done thus far.

"Fight me then. The loser has to answer all the questions that the winner has." Chip smirked and Gillion's eyes lit up. If there was one thing that he was good at, it was battle. Gillion picked up his sword from the ground and then took off the glass bowl that he had at his side and set it to the side. "Pretzel, stay right there and watch, okay?"

"Pretzel?" Chip questioned while stretching.

"Win and I'll tell you who she is." Gillion took his battle stance.

Battered and bruised, Gillion stood over Chip. He pushed Chip's chin with the tip of his sword so that Chip was looking up at him. Gillion's lips turned up in a smile. "Still got it." He said triumphantly. He then pointed over to the glass bowl with the pink frogtopus spinning around and chirping happily. "That's Pretzel. My best friend and companion!" Gillion picks her up with his free hand and she squirms to rest on his shoulder.

Chip scoffed and pushed the sword out of his face. He stood up and brushed off the back of his coat. "I thought the loser answered the questions."

"Yes, that was the deal. I was just being nice." The fish man smiled and sheathed his sword. He was all bloodied and was breathing heavily, but he still kept a naturally positive aura about him. All Chip could think about was how useful this man would be as a part of his crew. He's strong and he's positive enough to boost morale on low days. It wasn't often that Chip got beat on his ship, but that fish somehow did it. That fish man, Gillion Tidestrider, beat Captain Black on his own ship and is still smiling. Frankly, Chip was amazed. He refused to show it, however, as he stood and adjusted his clothing. He gestured over to the starboard side of the deck where a square crate sat. Chip sat down on one side of it and Gillion sat on the other. Chip opened up the crate, pulled a dark green bottle out of it, and uncorked it as he took a swig. He closed the crate and set the bottle on top of it as it acted as a table between them.

"So, fish guy, what do ya wanna know?" Chip asked as he took another swig of the bottle. He offered it to Gillion, but he refused and looked up at the sky, pondering his questions.

"What is your name?"

Chip looked over at Gillion. He was almost baffled before he remembered earlier when Gillion very clearly had no clue who he was. "I'm Captain Black. My real name's Chip."

"Captain Black?" Gillion questioned. He had heard the name before, but he can't seem to remember where he heard it from (failed history check, obviously). Chip shook his head and chuckled quietly. It was almost refreshing to meet someone who had no clue who he was, but he found it funny nonetheless.

"Captain Chip Black. The lone survivor of the tragedy that struck the Black Rose pirates 'round a decade ago. Ring any bells?" Chip looked over at Gillion, still confused. "Youngest pirate lord in Mana at only nineteen years old? Seriously, that doesn't set off any alarms in your undersea mind?"

Gillion thought about it as hard as he possibly could. He looked to Pretzel and she chirped something at him that Chip couldn't understand. "You're right, Pretzel! That's where I heard that name last!" Gillion looked back over and Chip. "I've only heard your name on some of the ships we've come across. The last time I heard it was on a big Navy ship!"

Chip coughed as he fully turned his body to Gillion. "A big Navy ship? Please, do tell!"

"This big guy I had seen in the undersea right before my ex- I mean, before I left for my adventure! Yeah, that's what I mean. Anyway, big guy with orange hair and some other lady I had never seen before, also orange hair, were talking about you. Big guy seemed pretty angry at her. All I heard was 'YOU'RE NOT COMING BACK UNTIL YOU HAVE BLACK'S HEAD ON A STICK WITH YOU!'" Gillion stood and deepened his voice to imitate the voice of the man he was discussing. "But then these guys came up to us and tried to capture us, but Gillion Tidestrider refuses to be a prisoner! You can't imprison the champion of the undersea, after all. We managed to get off that ship before the big guy saw us. Few days later, we end up here!"

Chip's jaw seemed like it had hit the deck by the time Gillion had sat back down. Before he could come to any conclusions on who those people were, Chip had to ask some follow-up questions. "Wait, these orange-haired people, did you catch their names? Ranks? Last names? Any information about them?"

"I thought I was supposed to be asking the questions!"

"LISTEN, MAN," Chip yelled, maybe a bit too loudly. He collected himself and took a deep breath. "You can ask more questions in a second, but this is important. I need you to answer me. Do you have any information on who those people were?"

Gillion thought back to his surroundings on the ship. He remembered seeing a plaque beside the door to the room those people were in, but he was having a hard time remembering what it said. "There was a plaque next to the door. It said... Ad- Admiral? Admiral something..." Pretzel chirped up and then flapped her tentacles like wings. Chip didn't understand what she said, but he definitely knew what those motions were. His face went cold. "Ah, that's right! Admiral Ferin! And there was a bird engraved under it. The big guy also had a pin with this bird on it. Good eye, Pretzel!" Gillion stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of fish to feed to Pretzel.

"Oh. My. God." Chip stood up and laughed as he ran his hand through his hair. Gillion felt his face slightly heat up at the sight of it, but he shook it off. "Hah! Admiral Ferin! THE Ferins are sending someone after ME!" Chip turned and crouched down to Gillion and squeezed his face. "You gorgeous fish, you! You just gave me SO MUCH information." 

Chip stood upright again. To other pirates, having the legendary Ferins after you might seem scary. To Captain Black, it was nothing but good news. He's spent the past ten years trying to be the best pirate in Mana. He's been working his hardest to live up to the hype that came with the Black Rose pirates. He wanted nothing more than to make the late Arlin James, his mentor and almost-father figure, proud. Chip wanted to be not only a legendary pirate but a helpful one. His infamy comes from the liberation he's spread along his way. He's freed hundreds of people and handfuls of towns from the grasp of the Navy as they've encroached on neutral- and even outlaw- land lately. He saw the beginnings of tyranny bloom and decided to try and stomp it out before it bore fruit. Having the Ferins say his name, to have the Ferins hunt him down? That was his opportunity. This only proved to him that what he was doing was right. This proved to him that he was on the right path.

"I'm a little lost here," Gillion spoke up, snapping Chip out of his trance. "What is happening?"

"Gillion Tidestrider, do I have a story for you!" Chip smiled as he looked back over to Gillion. His smile then fell as he looked out to the dark horizon. "Oh, fuck."

Gillion stood up and looked in the same direction with a quizzical look on his face. "What? What do you see?"

Chip then quickly put his hat back on and rushed to the door to the below-deck cabins to gather his small crew of ex-Navy turned to his cause. "JOHN, GET THE CREW AND GET UP." Gillion could hear some mumbling before Chip started yelling again "IF THIS IS WHAT I THINK IT IS, THEN WE NEED TO BE READY TO EITHER FIGHT OR GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE."

"Chip, what can I do? What is happening?" Gillion asked with his hand on his sword as about five men came out from below deck. The first of them was a big, burly man with a tattered Navy uniform and what seemed to be tribal tattoos across his arms. The man looked at Gillion and then at Chip.

"Who is this, Captain?" He asked, his voice deep and gruff.

Chip looks at Gillion and back at the man then back at Gillion. "Gillion Tidestrider, meet my first mate, Marshall John. He's ex-Navy, lookin' to make a change in the world. John, this is Gillion. He washed up on the ship and beat my ass in a one-on-one then told me about how the Ferins are after me now, so he's stuck with us for now. Now, John, get the crew ready." Chip pulled out a spyglass and looked out to the distance as he spoke. "It looks like she's alone, so we're not gonna run just yet, but be ready to hoist the sails as soon as I say the word."

Marshall John nods and runs to direct the rest of the crew as Chip walks to the edge of the starboard. Gillion follows. "What is going on?! I'm so lost."

"Gillion," Chip gestures for Gillion to stand beside him and hands him the spyglass before pointing out in the distance. Gillion holds the spyglass up to his eye and Chip moves it to where he's pointing. "See that ship? Does that look familiar to you?"

Gillion took a second to look over the ship before spotting the Jolly Roger that was flying high. It was none other than the Navy's flag. He then caught a glimpse of orange before Chip took the spyglass from him. "Navy ships."

"Bingo." Chip just stared out at the ship as it got closer.

As it got closer, Gillion could clearly spot more orange. Then, he saw a face. Then, a shiver ran down his spine as bright blue eyes pierced his soul, even though they weren't looking at him directly. He looked at Chip, who had a cocky, bright smile across his face.

"Gillion Tidestrider, you're about to meet my very best friend," Chip said, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

"And who would that be?" Gillion asked, still clueless as to who this was.

"None other than the youngest Navy admiral and youngest of the most ruthless Navy lineage." He waved as the only other crew member on the Navy ship put down the anchor as the ship was now within range of Chip's. He cupped his hands around his mouth to project his voice farther.

"Jay Ferin! Good to see you, sureshot!"

[m1d-45]

(anotha one.)

To Mr. Alberich,

I can see your smirk permeate through this page, so I'll keep this brief.

I'll take up on your offer on that meeting at Angel's Share. I sure hope your government won't kill me if I step foot in that tavern, haha.

Anyway. Onto more serious matters,

How are you? It's been ages since we met. The paperwork is boring you as usual, I presume?

I'm fine, i guess i can say that much. Still in hiding, but loads better than last time. Thanks for rescuing me.

Ah, one last thought. This letter has some trinkets you remind me of, along with a personal item of mine i'd give to you as a token of my gratitude.

Angel's Share, 19:00. I'm the woman with the dark blue cloak.

See you soon!

[The letter contains a silver ring, finely wrought with silver and entwined with white wood from a certain tree. It also contains a peacock's feather and a small silver brooch, swirling with Cryo energy inside.]

kaeya, as a knight, is a rather busy man. despite his habit of evading paperwork, preferring to spend time on-field, that doesn’t mean he slacks off that much. he just… appreciates break time, and maybe delays his work a bit more than the average knight.

(in his defense, his reports always turn out the most coherent. most of the knights are… lackluster, he’ll say, in their field of work. at least he’s direct and concise)

and it’s because he’s so busy that he spends a large portion of his time in his office. granted, he’d be outside more often if he stopped staring out the window so often, but as of now he can’t find himself regretting the habit as much as he normally would.

not when he knows for certain that the glow of lanterns from the city below would have prevented him from noticing the star outside his window, even as dusk darkened to twilight.

his pen drops from his hand, his exposed eye flicking over the panes of glass as if making sure he’s seeing the right thing. when the star refuses to fade, he finally stands, carefully making his way over. he fumbles for a moment with the latch, but eventually pushes open the window, letting the floating ball slip inside.

after a cautious moment, he reaches for it. it’s closer than he realizes—a con of constantly wearing an eyepatch, he supposes—and his finger makes contact with the surface of it faster than he meant to.

the point that he bumped caves in, the rest of the shell crumbling away, and he hurries to cradle the remains in his hand. he didn’t mean to break it, he swears, he just knows there’s only one place it could have came from and-

oh. there’s a envelope in his hands. it… was meant to crumble.

…his paperwork can wait a few more minutes, can’t it?

he rips open the envelope with a bit less tact than he should probably show to a holy object, but his curiosity washes away any guilt. there’s objects within the letter, and he wonders what they are as even as he reaches for them.

one is a ring, simple silver twisted around a thin beam of stark white wood. the other is a pin of some kind, the icy gem as cold as the vision on his hip. a bright feather is the last item removed, and he sets all three items on a shelf before he can get too excited.

they’re probably not for him. he’s done nothing to deserve such gifts. not when he’d done so little to stall the hunt for you, not when he’d barely done anything to protect you, only managing to lead his patrol in the other direction.

he reads your letter with haste, ignoring the comment about his or the knights’ attitude in favor of what follows.

you’re safe. the hunt in mondstat has mostly died down, as current reports placed you somewhere in sumeru, but he can see that isn’t the case from your final message.

kaeya skims the letter once more to ensure he hasn’t missed anything, then slips the ring on his finger—it fits, he’s not surprised—and fixes the pin to his vest.

he debates, for a moment, on finishing the paper he was working on, as it’s a bit earlier than your meeting time…

kaeya eventually decides against it, shutting the door to his office with a decisive click.

it can wait.

[forthedancingandthethriving]

"Okay, time to GOOOOO!" Lil Coding shouts, picking up Lily and running out of the room.

"I TOLD YOU THIS COMPETITION WAS TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE!" Lily shouts as well, clinging onto her friend as he sharply turns a corner. Behind them, thugs from Azura's gang chase after them, shouting and yelling.

"BUT THE CASH PRICE!" Lil Coding whines.

His feet pound against the floor as he runs through the halls of the overly-complicated building. He quickly accesses memories from a few hours ago and grits his teeth.

He instead turns left instead of right, making Lily gasp. "What're you doing?!" she cries. "This isn't the way we came in!"

"Yeah, but this is the quickest way out!" Lil Coding informs her, moving to the side to avoid daggers thrown their way. He briefly sees them hit the floor, a strange liquid coating them.

He marks the memory.

After what feels like hours of running, Lil Coding finally sees the exit door. He rushes forward and punches it open, not even caring for the fact that it falls off the hinges. He runs out of the building adjacent to the arena and continues running.

The wind blows around the two, swirling and blowing. It pushes and nudges them forward, in a safer direction. One they can't be easily followed.

Lil Coding takes that direction, muttering a thanks to the universe as he does.

Finally, they get to a stopping point, and Lil Coding sets Lily down. He leans against a tree, panting softly as Lily looks back at the building and arena, now small specks in the distance.

"Azura.. seemed afraid." she finally says.

"You noticed that too?" Lil Coding blinks, looking at her.

Lily nods. "Yeah.. she.. she seemed fidgety and nervous, even when disgused as that announcer.." She looks back at him. "And she kept giving us bogus points so we could win. That's.. That's not how Azura goes. She's been hunting me for a while now and.. she's crazy about honor and doing things honorably. She's messed up in the head for hunting me, don't get me wrong, but.. this just.. isn't like her."

Her eyebrows furrow. "This isn't how Azura works."

Lil Coding is quiet before he pulls out a folded note from his pocket. "This fell on the floor when she was confronting us. I thought it was maybe from her. She passed it out and then took it back. But.. now I'm not sure."

Lily takes it and opens it.

The orders are simple. Capture the girl and the boy, then bring them back. Don't fail.

The young girl swallows a growing lump in her throat. Her mouth feels dry. "This isn't Azura's handwriting. It's too neat.."

Lil Coding looks back at the arena in the distance. His eyes narrow as he thinks about it for a moment before shaking his head. "Let's talk about it when we're back at the kingdom."

Lily nods and pockets the note, jogging after Lil Coding as he jogs off. But she can't help but throw one more glance back at the two structures in the distance before continuing to follow him.

...

"What are we going to do, boss?" one thug asks Azura as they stand on the highest wall of the arena, gazing in the direction their two targets went. "Lady Rose.. she'll kill you!"

"Better me than you all." the blue haired woman scoffs. Her face then softens, a resigned expression showing. "But.. You're right. I'm absolutely dead."

"Maybe we could hide you somewhere. Or we could-"

The thug falls quiet as she places a hand on their shoulder. She smiles bittersweetly. "You know as well as I do that Lady Rose is going to send Anton to find me. And I don't want you guys getting in the way of that."

Azura pushes them towards the door. "Head back to the base. If you don't hear from me in three days.. let Anne know she's in charge, okay?"

She watches as, reluctantly, the thug nods and walks away. She looks up towards the sky, watching as storm clouds began to gather. Thunder cracked and the wind began to howl, almost cutting at her like knives.

Azura let out a laugh. "I never thought this would be how I go out, killed with no defense, but hey! Who am I to judge?"

She crosses her arms behind her back. "There was just.. no honor, in this. Those kids didn't have a chance."

The bounty hunter wasn't stupid. She knew she was a horrible person. She had killed so, so many people. But in the end, it wouldn't affect her life, so she didn't care. Who cares if other people got hurt? The only way she was affected was by money, and that's it.

But she still cared for honor. She wanted her victims to have a chance. It what made it fun. At the very least she gave them a choice!

Azura closes her eyes, blonde hair blowing with the wind. "Well.. I guess this'll be the last time I have these thoughts. Better get going to the boss."

She turns and leaves, just as the sky flashes with lightning and rain pours down.

[hobipaint]

Graffiti and Chalk- two

summary: You thought you knew him. You thought him gone. Kim Taehyung was part of you that you had carefully suppressed, keeping his memories to one box near the wall of your mind. That was your fault, though - empty walls demand for art. And who other than your own neighbourhood vandal?

↳ pairing: ex police student turned vandal! taehyung x officer! female reader

↳ genres: angst, fluff

↳ word count: 9.6K

↳ disclaimers: pg15!, vandalism, police officers, criminal past and heavy discussion of it, mentions of character deaths.

one | two

a/n: FINALLY AFTER A MONTH IT'S HERE! This took me really long to write but I'm pretty satisfied with how it turned out : it's my longest work yet, and I feel like it would be among my best as well hehe. a massive thank you to @kookiestarlight because i swear i completed this in the first place because of tasha, @swcetnight who pointed out exactly where I need to elaborate stuff and places in which I was loosing parts of the plot because did I forget the whole storyline while writing this 🤡, @vaekth because this bby is absolutely amazing. she's supported me throughout the process of writing this, thank you so much!! thank you to @taecup-fics for beta reading this at the last minute and pointing out a bunch of grammatical errors because otherwise this would be a mess to read 😭 to everyone who has waited - I'm so sorry that it came this late, I suddenly had a bunch of exams that were announced and had to focus on those. Hopefully this lives up to your expectations!! Enjoy reading :)

Morning often dawns with a feeling of hope. With wistful sights of sunrise. Flowers open up to the golden haze that thaws the frost of the night. Birds roam the skies that had been but mysterious domains in the dark. People wake up with groans about the impending day, hopeful for it to end soon. You hoped for your mornings to always be similar to this- some constants were needed in places where you had cases as bewildering as missing pumpkin plushies piling up in your office. 

Your morning today, though, was much different. Much to your annoyance. 

You held the coffee you had brewed for yourself - another espresso, the universe knows you needed it - and handed one to Taehyung just as the cuckoo perching on the clock shrilly announced that it was eight in the morning. 

"Do you still have no answers for me, Y/N?" Taehyung looked at you. His eyes were sullen - no signs of the cheekiness that had peeked at you last night. Scattered rays fell across his body, highlighting the sunken cheeks, brooding eyes and tight smiles you could now see better in the daylight. 

You sighed- probably for the millionth time this night. "I do not understand your question, Taehyung." 

"You remember it. I've asked you thrice since I saw you again, Y/N. Do you not remember anymore? Do you not care for me? Was our idea of us nothing for you?" He looked at you with a myriad of emotions written all over his face- you looked away, not wanting to see them. 

Sighing, you gathered your thoughts the best you could. "Like I said, Taehyung." You looked at him- looking at the person you once fell in love with. The feeling you felt today, though, was much different. There was a feeling of running towards him, taking him in your arms and remembering who he was to you all over again, but it was overwhelmed by the confusion you felt - should you prioritize a past that wanted answers, or a future that was unsure? For now, you chose none pushing the time to make that decision further ahead. "We were an 'us' for only a few hours. Until you stood me up."

He rolled his eyes."That wasn't intentional, Y/N." 

"And how was I supposed to know that, Taehyung? I thought it was, since you had never told me anything beforehand."

Taehyung's eyebrows bunched together, as if coming to hear the stories that his eyes longed to tell- stories of events that you had never seen and never known. "Would you not hear me out, even once? For the sake of our old love?"

You bristled. "What love, Taehyung?" You got up to stretch your legs out, looking at the patchwork blanket that was stuffed in the corner. You had taken that for your first date with Taehyung, planning to cuddle with him and watch the stars - a date that never happened. "What love? A love where you don't speak to me for weeks, and then vanish for some crime? We were young then, and I got hurt then as it is. There's no need to go over this right now." 

"That was not my fault, Y/N. You know that." Taehyung seemingly sunk back into his chair, eyes downcast. "I had said I loved you. Before I ever went out with you." 

"Like that matters,” you scoffed, “what's the point in reminiscing promises from an old love?"

"At least, hear me out?" He looked up at you with hope sprinkled in the abyss of his eyes. "I don't want you to forget me."

You turned back to your chair, tearing your eyes away from the blanket that was now a pale blue in the sunlight - a few shades lighter than the cerulean colour it would be in the afternoon. "Not now, Taehyung." 

Taehyung sighed, looking at the floor, tension exhaled into the room. He sat silently for a few seconds, the ticking clock announcing each moment clearly to you. "That's fair. It's just.." He looked back at you. "I'm used to thinking of you as the person I loved." He nervously let his eyes pan around the windows, gazing at the sunshine that streamed through the window, before turning back towards your gaze. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I'm just really grateful for your presence-" 

"Taehyung." You sharply interrupted him. "Two years ago, when your case was reopened for investigation. Who did that?" 

"They told me that it was a well wisher in the neighbourhood. Another jailor said it was for good behaviour." He shrugged. 

You scoffed aloud, more loudly than you would have liked him to hear. 

He frowned, lips drawn in a tight line in annoyance. "Don't believe me? I'll have you know, Y/N, I was among the most well behaved at prison. Absolutely no tantrums. I even ate the salt-less, disgusting food they'd give there. No crying. Nothing. I can show you later on if you want, I think I have a report stuffed somewhere here," He got up, shuffled towards his bag and checked the last zip, hunting for a report you had never heard of. 

"It was me." 

Taehyung whirled around to face you, unruly hair swinging like the seats of a carousel at a carnival, and raised an eyebrow. "What were you?" 

"I was the one who insisted on opening the case for reinvestigation, the case of your stepfather's assault. Went around collecting evidence, searching for people who knew about your family better, getting their voices recorded, finding about the whole deal to frame you and stuff. Nearly got fired." You shrugged, sipping your espresso and wincing- too bitter. "You're welcome, by the way. The coffee is getting cold." 

"I don't care about the coffee." He moved the cup aside - nearly spilling the liquid, roughly settling back into the seat he had been occupying for the last few hours. "You were the one who asked for re-opening the case?" 

"Just said that." 

He slumped back in his seat, and your eyes took in how he spread himself out on the chair, tiredness lacing his figure. "I didn't know that." 

"Now you do." You said, sipping your coffee and watching Taehyung do the same. 

Taehyung stared blankly at you, and you couldn't fathom what was swirling in those ebony orbs of his. "Why did you do that, Y/N?"

"Honestly," you smile softly at him, "I was expecting a thank you."

"You should have expected questions, Y/N. Why did you help me?" Taehyung's blank expression made way for a confused one, eyebrows furrowing and lips pouting. 

"I did what I had to do as a-" You paused here, unsure of what to say. "As a friend, Taehyung, nothing more. I knew you were innocent-"

"How were you so assured?" He pressed on."I could be a complete 180 from the man I met you as. I could be fake. I could be an impostor. I could-"

"You could do a bunch of things, Taehyung." You stared him straight in the eye, trying to keep your emotions at bay. "But you could never tell a lie." 

Taehyung scoffed. "You sound like one of the wishy-washy pick-me kind of girls in the movie. No, I don't lie, but I could." 

You sighed. As much as you cared for Taehyung, you had never really cared for his argumentative attitude. "I went with the assumption that you were the same person I knew, Taehyung. The one whom I respected and trusted. I acted on that feeling." 

"That wasn't trust, Y/N. It was naivety. You were naive to believe me." Taehyung paused, uncertainty lining his forehead as he spoke. "You shouldn't have trusted me." 

You rolled your eyes- you couldn't understand why he was so desperate to make sure that you remained aloof from him. What had you done to be treated like that? What had he done to force everyone away from him? 

You tried to play off his remaining doubts and frustrations as insecurities he developed while in jail, and moved on."Alright then, you impostor. I was naive to trust you. And even more naive to believe you. Happy? Now shush. I don't want to talk about this." You tried to clear your mind of any doubts you had about Taehyung, but his behaviour, the way he interacted with you - it couldn't help but increase the worry and confusion in your mind.

Taehyung leaned forward to look you in the eye before smiling softly at you - you couldn't understand why. You were going to give him a criminal record, maybe arrest him. You were potentially ruining his life again, and he smiled at you. "If you say so, officer." Taehyung said, settling into the chair - leaving your mind reeling with questions you weren't sure you wanted the answers to. 

You opened the laptop again, wearily. "Let's get back to the questions; the sooner we finish this, the better. Where did you source the paint from?" 

"You mean the graffiti? And chalk?" You nodded. Taehyung sighed."Terminology, Officer, terminology. Make no errors." He raised a finger to wave at you, as if to say no. You rolled your eyes -it seemed that you were the only one concerned about what would happen to him after this, because Taehyung quite clearly was not. "I bought it with the allowance money that was kept for me in the bank- as much as I hated that man, his cards proved to be useful."

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "You didn't steal it." 

"No. Took it from my step-father's account. Technically, now mine. Apparently he left everything to his children, and I'm the only one alive that I know of. Maybe he had other children- I wouldn't doubt it for a moment if he had, but that doesn't change my right to his money either." 

"Any other members of your family who had been granted access to that account?" You asked, wanting to make sure that there were no loopholes - you didn't want a future possibility of Taehyung being entangled with the wrong side of the law again. 

He rolled his eyes, leaning further. "Curious little thing, aren't you? Like I'd told you last night, most of them are dead. Mom had died a few months before I was arrested - thanks to my stepfather being an alcoholic and taking everything out on her. Grandmother already had massive health issues - she passed away after two years of me being in jail - they had let me come out for her funeral."

"My siblings - a brother and sister, if you remember - were taken in by a distant relative, and the last time I spoke to them was three years ago. I'm not allowed to contact them because I might end up being a 'bad influence'," he air quoted the words, laughing mirthlessly. "Guess they won't be too delighted to see me again. You probably know about my stepfather - got drunk and passed out. Permanently. But yeah, that's all. I'm pretty much the sole benefactor from that account."

Hearing how nonchalantly he spoke about it, you were forced to maintain a strong face and be professional. You couldn't possibly think of even wanting to comfort him in any way. "So, you were absolutely not stealing."

"Nope. No. Not at all. Want any further repetitions?" 

"That won't be necessary," You said, having typed out the information - tracking his expenditures would also be necessary now, apparently. "Any expenditure you make shall be monitored, now. Be careful."

"Always have been." He chuckled, getting back to spinning the glass on the table. "You know me." 

You ignored him. "Your cards will be tracked, and any loose cash will be checked by us. If we feel that there's any room for suspicion, you will have reason to be monitored." 

An odd silence filled the room while you tapped away at your laptop, filling in more details about the incident. Taehyung would be having a criminal record again, you thought to yourself. It was the only thought that echoed in your mind. It made you feel uneasy in a way, but you swallowed your unease down. There's a promotion to focus on. 

"Taehyung, something has been bugging me since I caught you vandalising." You shifted a little bit, before deciding to spit out the question. "Why did you do it?" You leaned forwards on the table, elbows digging into the wood as you tried to grasp the answers from him. 

Taehyung looked you in the eyes, and then looked away. "I don't know."

"You don't know." You raised your eyebrows, leaning back incredulously. "Taehyung, that's not an answer." 

"I did it because I wanted to. It was fun. I'd see kids in the morning pointing at my graffiti work and they would like it. There would be people claiming it looked good. I felt acknowledged and I just-" He pleaded, unable to continue without pausing to recollect his calm. "I felt like doing it. After years of having questions raised at me for committing a crime I never did, I finally had people talking about the work I did. Even if it was just chalk drawings." 

You exhaled in confusion. The Taehyung you had known - he was never like this. Confident, assured, independent. That was what he seemed to you when you were younger. And now, to see him want to be validated by others who never even cared for him- it felt ridiculous to you. Why was his only way of feeling validated involving something against the law? "Okay, then." 

You went through the complaints that had been registered against him, hand resting against your forehead as you asked him the most commonly asked question. "Why the insignia 'V'?" 

"V for victory?" He made a 'V' sign with his fingers, "I liked to think that I won against the world by rebelling against its sense of black and white. I saw everyone talk about it, and I felt like the same people who had once pointed fingers at me, blaming me for something I hadn't done, were now pointing fingers at something I had done - I felt victorious. I didn't need to show myself and possibly want more than I had already let myself have - this was enough for me." 

You pulled your lips in a tight line, and hummed in response - there were two places that together had put in about twenty complaints, so you had to respond to all of them. You kept reminding yourself that neither did you have the space to feel sorry for him, nor did you have the power to say sorry to him. You simply kept your head turned to the screen, typing in answers to all the complaints. 

Taehyung leaned forward after a few seconds. "What punishment do you think I'll get, Officer?" 

"If the chief is feeling good, maybe you'll get community service, with a fine," You looked up at him. "Or maybe some time in jail." 

"How much time?"

"Maybe a month or two?" 

"Oh." Taehyung slumped back into his seat nonchalantly. "Cool then." 

How was he this calm? You thought to yourself. He might be going to jail. For a second time.

"Yup." You shut the laptop, finally, after hours of typing information and recording it. Sighing, you lifted the porcelain mug once again to absolutely drain it of coffee, your rather loud gulps echoing in the silence of your office. 

Taehyung tapped his fingers on the table- probably some old tune he had learnt before. You remembered that he played the saxophone - from nights of serenading tunes that he had played for you with his beloved instrument. "How long do you think the chief will take to reach here?" 

"A few hours, maybe? I'd expect him around ten, to be honest. Nevertheless, let me check." You quickly called the chief on your phone, hearing his ringtone play some old Korean trot song before it was picked up. 

"Hello, yes, yes, Y/N. I expected your call." A gravely, rather rough voice responded to you- like it hadn't been used for a few hours. "I shall be reaching the office around eleven. Keep Taehyung with you." 

"Yes sir," you said, keeping the phone on your table and turning to Taehyung.  "The chief said he'll be here by eleven." 

Taehyung nodded in acknowledgement. 

"It's nearly eight thirty now." You looked at the cuckoo clock again. "Would you like to freshen up?" 

"Where?" Taehyung asked, eyes widening. "Shouldn't I just be at the office?" 

"Yeah, you should. My place is right here- the back of this office is where I live, so you'll be fine." You look down at his clothes, grease, paint and metal shrapnel all over them. "Besides, you look like you need a change of clothes." 

Taehyung stepped into your house with an air of curiosity, to see how his once classmate was living. His head stooped low to enter through the small door you had, eyes widening in surprise when he found that the hall of your house was larger than he had anticipated. 

The house was quaint, a hall with an old couch which doubled as a bed when needed. There was a table in the middle of the room, too low to be a dining table and too high to be a center table. For coffee, maybe? There were maybe five or six magazines scattered haphazardly over it, covering nearly every inch- except for one corner, where Taehyung spotted a shining acrylic blue. 

You, however, spotted what page you had left a magazine open at. Squeaking, "I'm sorry!" you ran to shut the booklet close, afraid that Taehyung would spot your love for shirtless men. 

Picking up the magazines, you grinned sheepishly at him. "Just a moment! I'll be back, a bit of cleaning to be done, sit right here!" You patted the couch, trying to convince Taehyung. 

Taehyung turned away from the pictures he had been observing- was there one of you both? - and nodded, eyes widening in surprise as he saw how you scuttled away to hide the magazines. He looked around again, taking a feel of your house- it seemed like the old you. There was some patchwork embroidery you had left in a corner, atop what seemed to be a showpiece? Taehyung stepped closer to see it in detail, and was amazed at the way you had managed to drag the red thread over and over the pink fabric to make floral designs. It reminded him of the rose he had been trying to complete the previous night, and he grit his teeth. He shouldn't be thinking about that now. That shouldn't be what he does anymore. No more.

You came back, looking quizzically at him. "Take a seat, Taehyung! It's alright." 

"Uh, yeah." He shuffled over to the couch again. "Did you make that?" 

You looked in the direction his finger pointed to. "Yeah. Tried doing embroidery for stress release purposes." 

Taehyung grinned at you. "Stress release?" He asked, bemused. 

"Yup." You said while making sure that the magazines were well hidden. "The department I wanted to be in was forensics, you know?" Taehyung nodded, he had been privy to most of your discussions about the advances in forensic technology and analysis - even if he didn't understand anything, he knew your love for it. "Well, they didn't allow me. So the whole 'stress' thing began." You walked back to him, making air quotes as you emphasized on stress. "My mother suggested embroidery would take my mind off it. So, that incomplete piece you see there?" Taehyung nodded, concentrating on every word that left your mouth. "That started a few days ago." 

"It looks like it's complete, though- are you really good at it?" Taehyung looked at you again, turning back from the embroidery you were now rising to get. 

"Pretty much? It's easy once you get the hang of it." 

"Ah." Taehyung said, a dull silence settling into the room for a few moments as Taehyung looked around your room.  

"That picture." He pointed, and you turned your head around. The picture he was focusing on was on your mantelpiece, resting happily. The frame had butterflies stuck on its corners, two large and two small. The border was white, now off white, and had pink dots in certain places. It was a picture of fireworks- red, yellow and blue mixing together in a dull sky to breathe life into the picture. And right in the middle, surrounded by this liveliness, were you and Taehyung. Beaming. 

Taehyung turned to, finger still pointing at the picture. "That's our picture, right?" 

You hummed in affirmation. "That's us, freshman party. We had known each other for a few weeks at this time."

"And I had stopped someone from asking you out, right?" Taehyung reminisced. "That was fun." 

You snort. "You had punched him in the face when he asked for my name, Taehyung." 

Taehyung smiled. "I didn't want anyone to harm you, Y/N, and he seemed like he would harm you." He spread out his arms and grinned smugly at you. "In a way, I rescued you. That night." 

And so many other nights, you wanted to say. For all the time you had known Taehyung, he had been fiercely protective of you - for reasons he never truly told you. You didn't question it either, basking in the feeling of being wanted by someone. 

You cleared your throat, hoping to clear your mind as well. "You should go take a shower, Taehyung." Glancing at the clock, you noted the time and motioned towards the washroom. "It's nearly nine. Go take a shower, call for me if you need anything. I'll go get some clothes for you."

Taehyung nodded, rising up slowly to go in the direction you pointed. "Towels are inside," you shouted after him, and he yelled in response to say he understood. In some ways, too many ways, he felt like the Taehyung you once knew. 

You went to your room to pick out some clothes, opening your meager collection to salvage something that would fit Taehyung. Your eyes scanned over your uniforms, jumpsuits, jeans, t-shirts and finally landed on the hoodies- probably the largest collection in your wardrobe. Thankfully, you loved large, loose hoodies. You started pulling them out, holding each one up and imagining Taehyung's proportions in them. 

The red one, with blue paw prints. "Nah. Too tight." 

The black plain one. "That's mine, I'm not sharing that." 

The grey ones- nearly three. You skipped over all of them, not understanding how none of these oversized hoodies would seemingly fit Taehyung. He'd gotten humongous, broad shoulders and everything. 

You picked out a few more, trying to see whether it would be a fit. None worked. 

When you picked up the next one, you could already picture him wearing it. It was the hoodie you had taken from Taehyung during the first year you knew each other. You looked at its loose sleeves, stretchy from you tugging Taehyung behind you with it way back then. The green fabric of the hoodie was slightly pale in a certain spot - you had spilled soda all over him in a fit of anger.

During your forensic chemistry class,  the teacher didn't recognise their mistakes in the procedure (they used the wrong test for detecting the sample, and blamed it on you), and you were pretty miffed the whole day. Taehyung had bought sodas for the two of you, having planned to go stargazing later on. And you, in a terrible mood, flipped him off in a way that had the soda spilling over him. You cried, Taehyung laughed, but the hoodie was still stained. You took it with you later on to clean it - but the stubborn stain never left. You were agonized, Taehyung amused, but the hoodie- it was still stained. Taehyung had laughed it off, telling you to keep it with you for as long as you wanted- he could buy a dozen more hoodies to last him till then. 

When you left to head home that winter break, you had taken the hoodie with you. You had taken it on your date, crying on its sleeves when you were stood up. And when you came back, Taehyung was suddenly a criminal. 

You shook your head to remove the memories of that time, holding the hoodie in your hand and gently caressing its sleeves. So many memories were held in these threads that meshed together to form the fabric of your youth. Good or bad? You didn't want to dwell on that. 

"Y/N? Could I get the clothes now?" Taehyung called from the washroom. You picked up a extra large pair of cotton shorts and a hoodie, and passed it to him without really thinking- you'd done it before when he got drunk at college too, having him come over at your place, shower, change, and practically behave like a couple- at least, that's what you had thought of it then. 

Get it together, Y/N, why are you thinking about that? 

"Thanks!" he shouted again, grasping the clothes with his fingers and whisking them away to the confines of the washroom. 

You gripped at your hair and pinched your cheeks. You couldn't keep thinking about the old Taehyung. You didn't know if it was truly him anymore. 

"Uh, Y/N?" Taehyung stepped out of the washroom, the previously oversized shorts clinging to his thighs for dear life and the hoodie snugly fitting his figure. "I think it's a bit tight, but I'll make do." 

Your eyes widened in horror; Taehyung looked like he was moments away from bursting the shorts. "I'll get you new pants, wait a second. These ones don't fit." 

You turned back to your cupboard, looking for the loosest bottoms you could find. "I think the hoodie still fits though, right?" 

"Yeah." You heard Taehyung right over your shoulder, scaring you. 

"Jeez, when did you get this close to me?" You turned to face him, crossing your arms, looking at his hair which still had droplets sticking to its edges. 

"When did you get this far from me, Y/N?" His eyes bore into yours, sweetly intense eyes gazing at you like it was the first time he saw you. "What happened?" 

You shrugged, not wanting to answer it. You picked up a loose pair of denim jeans that you had found stuffed away at the back of your closet. Pushing it into his hands, you told him to go change. 

Apparently, your instructions fell on deaf ears. "What happened, Y/N? Answer me. Please."

You moved your gaze to his clothes, not wanting to focus on the thoughts that rushed back when you thought of him. What had happened? You moved your hands to your sides, resisting the need to hold him and know him all over again. "The hoodie looks good on you. Would you-" 

"So do our hands." He held yours, snugly fitting his palm- your calloused fingers against his calloused ones, heat burning in the sleeping embers of your palm. His eyes gazed at the joint fingertips almost reverently. "They fit well."

"Taehyung, now is not the time-" You begin, cut off by his frantic breathing.

"When is the time, Y/N? When will I get to live? When will I get to feel like a human? When will I be innocent?"

His hand caressed your palm, touching your forearm, your elbow, your shoulder, and your cheek -leaving a burning trail behind him everywhere he touched. You shivered. "Do you know how long I have wanted you, Y/N? Years. Seven years, now. I have loved you for years. I have wanted you for years. I did all sorts of things to remember you while in jail- kept asking for you, kept calling for you. I didn't want to forget you, Y/N. Not you. I couldn't forget you, no." 

He pressed your palm to his chest, and you could feel a dull thump echo through the clothes, reverberate in your palms. "That fire, Y/N. My passion in the promises I'd made to you. It never went anywhere. I always loved you. I always will. You can't make me leave again, not again. Please, no." 

He held your palm up to his cheeks, not regarding the tears that were streaking your cheeks and his. "You feel me, right? It's me. Taehyung. I am the one you trusted. I'm the same. Trust me again. Please." 

You tried to hold back the tears that threatened to slide down your cheeks, not wanting to pain Taehyung anymore. He held your forehead to his, pressing on the back of your head to meet his - upclose, you could see the redness that clouded the shine that his eyes would normally have. You couldn't hold back your tears anymore, nearly whimpering when you saw how broken he was- sirens swimming in the whirlpool of his eyes, singing songs of misery. "You know me, right? Do you know me? Do you recognize me? Kim Taehyung, police cadet. Your friend. Your classmate. You know me, right?" He asked, nose nearly brushing yours. "Do you know me?"He cried, eyes washing over the fire that ignited behind his pupils. You didn't see a vandal, or a criminal, or a friend. You saw a broken man. 

"Taehyung, oh, Tae," you cried, putting your hands on his shoulders, watching him slink down to the ground as his body trembled and shivered. You wrapped your arms close around his figure, unable to understand his pain but just wanting it to go away. 

You sat like that for a while, coaxing the tears and short whimpers out of him as he held onto your fingers, wanting to remember something he once had: you. 

"I always asked for you, you know that?" Taehyung shivered as he spoke, even if the chills of the weather outside barely seeped into your home. "I always loved you. I don't know why they kept me there for so long, Y/N. I didn't do anything wrong. I don't know why I'm made to feel like this…" he trailed away, tears gathering at his chin as they endlessly flowed down his cheeks. 

You glanced a nervous eye at the clock, wanting to make sure that you get to the station- no matter what happens. The bubbling of water distracted you from the ticking of the clock, and you turned off the stove. Scouring your cabinets for a chamomile tea bag was hard, but you knew you needed it. Taehyung always seemed to calm down with tea - you had used it multiple times before. Times of which you have multiple memories. Times you wish to forget. 

Why did I ever love Taehyung? The question kept echoing in your mind as you leaned on top of the kitchen counter top. Things would have been so much simpler if simply looking at him wasn't so hard. His smile, his behaviour, his tears - it was all but a painful reminder of what you could have been if things had gone different. If only. 

You poured the hot water into the mug you had settled on the kitchen top, watching the water bloom into a serene shade of yellow as you dipped the tea bag into it repeatedly. You prepared one mug, then another, hearing the soft declarations Taehyung kept repeating while he was seated. 

All you had wanted to study was forensic science, and that was simply for one reason: you didn't want to interact with people. 

People are complicated, over emotional beings. and you couldn't help but feel helpless every time you had to encounter a suspect. You would constantly be told by your professors to see them as lawbreakers - but all you tried finding was signs of humanity in them. That even the most vicious killers had scope for reform. That's why you stuck to the subjects you wanted - you were good at finding signs of life, not squashing them. You consistently failed those classes, without any doubt. And today, it seemed like all those classes were laughing at you. 

"Here." You handed the mug to Taehyung, who muttered thanks. He rubbed his hands once or twice on the pants you told him to change into and took a sip from the warm tea. You resisted the urge to reach out and wipe the tears that lined his face, and try and wipe the scars of the past that had scarred him so badly - but you couldn't. You were a mere spectator in the game of his life. You couldn't possibly do anything other than hurt him more. 

"Thank you. For letting me express all of it. I could finally say everything that I wanted to before I was forbidden from speaking about it again." Taehyung tapped against the mug, fingernails resting on ceramic as the sun slowly headed westward. "I'm sorry that I've been such a burden to you, Y/N. I wonder if I can do anything to reduce the pain and confusion I put you through - I doubt I can." He looked at you carefully, though you couldn't tell what he was thinking. "Thank you." 

You let his words echo in the room, preoccupied with your thoughts. It hurt you to see him so broken, and you couldn't help but worry about him. 

"Taehyung, I-" You opened your mouth to respond, watching Taehyung pay attention to every move you made - only to be interrupted by your phone loudly ringing. 

"Sorry, this must be important." You got up to get your phone, watching Taehyung slump in his seat from the edge of your vision. 

"It's the chief," you announced, picking up the phone. 

He got straight to the point. "Come to the station, soon. Bring Taehyung with you." he told, his voice laced with a rather sharp edge- a tone that you had recognized in the years you had worked under him. Things were- most probably- not good. 

You responded with a simple "yes", mind dwelling on the impending result that Taehyung would get. You felt that it would be unlikely that he would be going to jail- at least, you hoped so.

Turning to Taehyung, you tried to hide the fear and shakiness that lined your voice. "Let's go." 

Taehyung sighed, playing with the mug as he rose up. "It's time, isn't it?"

"Good morning, Sir." You greeted the chief as he hurried into the small office, giving Taehyung a glance and then facing you. 

"Morning." He gruffly responded, turning to your laptop. "We found an eyewitness for the vandalism, so we are getting them for the interrogation as well." 

"Another interrogation? We've already done it, sir, and all the information is recorded here. I doubt it will be necessary-"

"Please, Y/N," He calmly said. "Leave the decision about it being necessary to me." 

You stepped back, subconsciously edging closer to Taehyung - a move noticed by the chief as well. 

"Y/N," he began, "I need to speak to you. In private. Step outside for a few moments, please." 

You nodded, briskly walking towards the doors and yanking them open. There was a warm gust of wind that blew across your face, and you turned to face the chief. 

"Y/N," the chief began, before pausing for a moment, "Officer Y/N. I'm going to need you to think clearly now." 

"Yes." You set your features as tightly as you could, not wanting to seem distracted in any way. 

"Do you have any type of bias in this case, perhaps due to your past relation with him?" he looked quizzically at you, as if trying to decipher an enigma scribbled onto your face. 

Your blood chilled, for some reason. Were you having any bias? "No, sir." 

The chief hummed - you couldn't make head or tail of his reaction. He kicked at a pebble before continuing. "From the recordings I heard the previous night in the office, and the way you let him come with you to freshen up a bit, one particular thing has struck me: you were trying to find reasons for Taehyung to be justified as a victim, weren't you?" 

You gulped before responding. "Yes, sir. I believe the culprit committed vandalism as a coping mechanism to get over the hurt caused over the years." 

The chief sighed heavily. "Well then," he said, "I suggest we continue with our investigation, and find a way to make sure the culprit in the matter is stable as well. We can't have repeated cases like these - we have a reputation to uphold for the police as well." 

You nodded stiffly. "Yes, sir." 

The chief sighed again, glancing at the street. "Our witness should be here soon." He turned to you again. "Funnily enough, she volunteered as a witness with CCTV backup to claim that Taehyung had vandalized her shop too. Apparently she heard you arrest him last night - so we have to hear her out." 

The chief turned again to the road, eyes narrowing in hopes of spotting the witness soon. "The investigator whom she contacted has said she is a reliable witness, but I'm going to need to verify her statement nonetheless." He turned back, heading into the office.

You stared at the road that the chief was looking at before - the direction from which the supposedly reliable eyewitness would come, before heading back inside. 

Taehyung was still slumped in his seat, fingers tracing drawings all over the pants you had given him. The chief was shuffling around behind the desk, pulling two spare chairs ahead - one for Taehyung, you presumed, and one for the eyewitness - whoever that would be. 

"Mr. Kim Taehyung," the chief began, "there has been an eyewitness who has offered their testimony - whether it is to defend you, or further establish evidence of you vandalizing public spaces, I'm not yet aware. We shall be interrogating them - and maybe you, as well, now." 

Taehyung rose up from the corner he had settled into, and shuffled into the seat the chief had set for him, wordlessly. 

The door opened to reveal an older lady, dressed in a purple shaded hanbok, hair delicately pulled back into a tight bun and eyes peering around the whole office in curiosity. She found the chief, walking closer to the desk where he was arranging the records. "I'm here as the eyewitness..?"She said, looking at both you and the chief. 

"Ah, yes. I presume you're Ms. Park?" The chief asked, pulling the chair out for her to settle into it. Under the light that shined across her face, you could make out the wrinkles that lined her skin and the greys in her hair - not that that was relevant to what would happen. 

"I saw him vandalize the outside of my store a few days ago," she earnestly began, pulling out pictures that she had taken of the design on her window.  "I'm a florist, you see. His designs are clearly inspired by that, aren't they?" She pushed the pictures in front of your vision, and you could see what she meant - the designs of orchids, hibiscus and asters stared back at you, intricately painted onto the glass windows of the florist's shop. 

She pulled out more pictures. "There's been similar instances all over the neighbourhood- the other florist had a rose, the school received drawings full of children's stories and fairy tales, and had their walls painted with similar stories. In fact, the restaurants around here even said that their menus were drawn onto the streets, right in front of their doorstep." 

The chief looked at the pictures carefully, with you peering at them as well, taking in the detail that Taehyung had while he worked while making each of his works- no, vandalising, you corrected yourself. He raised an eyebrow at the eyewitness, who seemed to shrink into her seat. "What does this bring forward as evidence for or against the culprit? We already know what the crime is, and its details. We just have to determine a punishment- either a hefty fine or jail. Do you have anything that can justify him getting exempted from either?"

Ms. Park looked at you and the chief before turning to Taehyung apologetically, placing a hand on his knee - as if consoling him. "I think that at the end of the day, all he was doing was beautifying the neighbourhood, wasn't he? And most of the residents here don't have a problem with it-" the chief looked at her incredulously- "so please, don't punish him or something. A lot of people appreciate his work in our neighborhood, you know?" 

"But we have been receiving complaints about him since the past few days," the chief said. "Why the sudden change in opinion?"

Ms. Park fidgeted with the hem of her hanbok for a few moments, shaking her head nervously. "Some of us shopkeepers were really bothered by it at first, yes, but we also had some customers come over to inquire about the artwork. It looked professional to them. So we came to an ultimatum : we will let this young man paint and draw for us, on our walls, as much as he wants - as long as it's pretty," she emphasized, one hand patting her chest, "we'll pay him to do it." 

You held back a sob as you saw Taehyung's eyes glimmer - a ray of hope shining in them.His knee bounced up and down- a habit you knew was something he had had since years - and he smiled softly when Ms. Park squeezed his hand. You felt like things were finally going to go well. The chief exhaled roughly before rubbing his forehead, glancing at Ms. Park, who smiled at him in the hope that he would understand her reasoning. 

"The law, honestly, doesn't care about intentions- I don't think I really understand why I should even let him go. Vandalism is a punishable offence, and the perpetrator has been aware of its consequences. Why the sudden feeling to save him?" The chief questioned, eyes steely and tough. 

Ms. Park hesitated for a few moments. "I believe he deserves a second chance." She pulled her chair ahead, the metal ends scraping against the tiles, and pleaded once again. "He was arrested for years for something he hadn't even done - and now, might face a few more months in the same place for simply being artistic. I don't think it deserves punishment."

"That's for the law to decide, not you, madam." The chief sternly said. "I suggest you leave such decisions to us."

The room remained tense and quiet for the next few moments, and your eyes were trained on Taehyung. You noticed the quiver in his hands, the way he shrunk into his chair - as if to hide away from whatever the upcoming decision would be. 

Ms. Park was the first to interrupt the loud silence. "Oh, come on. Let me just pay for the boy's bail." 

The clock chose that moment to loudly announce the next hour: was it eleven? Twelve? You weren't paying attention. You only saw the way Taehyung rose up from his seat - in happiness, you thought - with fists sticking to his sides. "No. I won't accept it." 

You felt the chief look with just as much disbelief as you did. Why was he so hellbent on being a perpetrator when he could be free? 

Ms. Park laughed. "No. I'm not listening to that whole self righteous thing that you probably have," she swatted the air with her hand, as if to push away any explanations Taehyung could give.

"Look, ma'am. I have the money to get a bail, or even pay the fine. I don't want you to pay for me and then hold it above my head like a massive favour you have done for me." Fire blazed in his eyes as he spoke up, rather indignantly. "I can take care of myself." 

"To hell with that attitude," Ms. Park said. "I decided to help you because I didn't want you to suffer once again because of misunderstandings." She pulled Taehyung back to sit on his chair, clasping his hand between her wrinkled ones. "You had to go through so much pain at such a young age - no one deserves that. I was a mere bystander at the time you were arrested, and I regretted it then. I still regret it now." 

She sighed before caressing the back of his hand lovingly, thumb gently pressing on the skin- as if to feel the pain those hands had to go through, and you thought you saw a hint of a tear on his cheeks. "So don't question me for 'saving' you, or something - what you did was perfectly fine for me. I love the way my street looks now, and so do the neighbours. All that really remained was the artist's identity- and now that I know it's you, I don't feel any sort of guilt in justifying what you did." 

You were right. Taehyung was crying. It wasn't silent tears that rained gently down his cheeks, it was a whole thunderstorm. You saw the chief turn away, from the corner of your vision, but you couldn't bring yourself to do the same. He was biting on his bottom lip to hold back any of the sobs or whimpers that came, head lowering to hide the tears. 

Ms. Park simply caressed his hand, over and over, till he calmed down enough to wipe his tears with his free hand. And when he raised his head up, you saw him like a new person. The wound up Taehyung you had met again a few hours ago was slowly vanishing - in his stead, there was a free Taehyung who smiled like the world's burden had been lifted off his shoulders. "Thank you," he murmured. 

The chief sighed again. "I still don't understand how it came to this." 

"Neither do I," Ms. Park laughed. "But it is what it is. We'll pay the fine."

"I'll do it," Taehyung started, only to be shushed by the elder lady. "I want to do it. Let me do it." She turned again to the chief, the bubbly happiness giving way to seriousness. "You can make sure he pays the fine, right? Withdraw the complaints for us too." 

The chief looked at you and nodded, and you got to work - carefully opening the laptop again and making sure that you transferred the report from 'investigation' to 'resolved', and that the complaint was withdrawn. 

The chief, meanwhile, made physical records of it, and informed Taehyung of the fine - which, despite his insistence, Ms. Park paid off, whipping out a cheque she had kept ready, somehow. You added the details to his resolved record as the chief dictated them to you, keeping them for future references - which you hoped would only be needed to prove his innocence in any situation. 

Nearly twenty minutes of details, questioning, and a written assurance from Taehyung that he would be liable to arrest if he continued illegal activities, it was done. Taehyung was free. 

The chief read over the details once again, thoroughly, eyes getting heavier and softer with every document he checked. Once it was all done, filed, and you had stacked the records back in the drawers they were placed in, the chief sagged into the chair, hands clutching the steel arms for support. 

"Thank God," he whispered, eyes closed. "You're fine now." He got up shakily, hands wiping at his eyes to erase any traces of the tears that had possibly leaked out. He walked around the table, reaching for Taehyung - as if beyond the lines of that desk, his duties as an officer stopped and those as a teacher resumed. "Don't you dare do that again, Taehyung. Never again." He held his student by the shoulder tightly, gripping him and shaking him a little - like a parent would scold a kid. "Live a good life, please." 

Taehyung nodded frantically, eyes still wide in disbelief as he ignored the grubby tear streaks on his face. "I will, sir." He had his hands placed politely in front of him, trembling fingers clutching onto the rough denim fabric of the old, loose jeans you had made him wear. 

"Live well," the chief repeated again, thumping Taehyung's shoulder once and then turning around to collect the documents he would need to take with him. He bowed to Ms. Park, who acknowledged him before something at a corner of the small office caught her eye, and turned sharply to you. "Officer Y/N," he began, and you tensed a little bit more. "There was an opening last night in the forensic science department that I got notice of," he said, a smile tugging on the edges of his lips when he saw how your demeanor brightened. "Reach the head office tomorrow in the morning at ten, and I'll give you the details. All the best." 

You hastily held back the sudden smile that threatened to split on your face, smartly saluting your senior before he turned around to leave the office. As he opened the door, you felt a burst of warmth all over your body - the heat of the sunshine rushing into the room. 

Ms. Park walked from her corner to Taehyung, taking his palm between hers and squeezing. "I'm happy that you're free now, Taehyung." She looked carefully at his face - sternness making way for soft concern, and said, "Live wisely. If you need money, or a job to get you started, come to my shop - it's the one you painted with orchids. You remember it, right?" 

Taehyung responded with a rather choked 'yes', nodding his head frantically. He placed his other, trembling hand upon the lady's hands, and solemnly thanked her. 

"That's not needed, I told you." She smiled, before patting his cheek. "You deserve to let yourself live, so use this chance well. Work hard." She turned her head to look through the window behind her, groaning a bit at the sight of the brightly burning sun. "I better leave now - it seems that I'll end up getting a sunburn the nearer to twelve it is." She turned back to Taehyung, smiling softly, and patting his cheek. "Turn up at the shop tomorrow morning, we'll figure something out." 

"Oh, and officer?" she faced you, pointing in the corner where she was standing a few moments before. "I think my grandson had left his plushie over here a few days ago - it's this one, right?" You followed where her hand was pointing, finding a pumpkin plushie left casually on top of a table. "Sungwoo told me he had lost it some time ago, so I just thought it was this one," she laughed awkwardly. 

"I think it is his, he had come yesterday to file a missing complaint for it too," you said, causing Ms. Park to laugh. "He really loves it, doesn't he?" 

"He's not slept well since it went missing. Anyways, I better take it with me, if that's all."

"Just a moment, ma'am," you stopped her hastily. "He'd left a note for the plushie too - I believe Peter?" 

The elderly woman laughed at her grandson's antics, taking the note you offered her and grinning as she read it. "Yes, yes, Peter. I'll take the note with me. Thank you so much for everything, officer."

Thank you, you wish to say - unable to understand how she volunteered to be an eyewitness and defend the one person you cared so much for. Maybe words wouldn't be enough for you to convey how grateful you were to her, so you simply bowed to the woman. 

She took Taehyung's hand again, gently pressing on the back of his hand. "Your mother used to help me out in the shop, you know." Taehyung nodded, and she smiled. "Your hands are like hers. Delicate, yet strong. You can craft beauty with this hand, Taehyung." She squeezed his hand, smiling. "Don't just let that beauty slip away from you." 

She patted his hand again, before turning to you and smiling, and heading out. The sunlight bounced off her gray hair to shine on Taehyung as you looked at him - even with a tired expression, he looked more alive than you had seen him in the last few hours. 

"I'm free," he said, saying it aloud and letting himself feel the sensation for a few moments. 

He turned to you, watching the way your eyes told him that you understood everything you wanted to tell him - even the things he himself didn't understand. "I'm free, Y/N," he repeated, carefully examining his wrists that were once bound with handcuffs - no. There were no restraints there. 

His eyes panned around the room. There was no investigator who questioned him about why he simply couldn't admit his crime. No one who made fun of him for seeking comfort in his art - even if it was illegal. "I'm really free," he murmured again.

Taehyung leaped towards you, pulling you close and holding you tight, as if unable to believe that you were there with him: and that he was here with you for as long as he wanted to be. You let your arms circle around his neck, one curling through the hair at his nape and pulling him further into your embrace, and the other spread out over his back - trying to remind yourself that yes, he was here, with you. 

"Thank you," you felt him murmur into your shoulder. 

"For what?"

"Just being here. With me." He sighed, further tightening the hands that rested around your waist. "After so many unfamiliar faces over the years, seeing yours feels like a reward of sorts for behaving well." 

You laughed at him, slapping his back light heartedly. "Don't talk like you did anything wrong all those years ago. It's not good." You let your hands pane across the expanse of his skin, feeling him cling on to you as you tried to calm him down. "I'm happy for you, Tae." 

He held you like that, for a few more moments - like you were slowly pulling him back into what could be his new normal life. Waking up every day in a room that doesn't have steel bars as a door. Not having to crash at the old house that had haunted him for years. Not having to hide his face in the fear that someone would taunt him for his past. Actually doing something that made him feel happy, confident, and alive. 

"I'm happy too," he murmured into your shoulder. You hummed as he looked beyond your frame to see the streets outside the window - seeing how they were illuminated in daylight. How animatedly people were talking about what their plans for the day were. A kid kept hopping on a chalk drawing of hopscotch he had drawn on the footpath, clutching onto a plushie that oddly seemed like a pumpkin. Someone walked around their stall, setting things up for the day. 

You pulled him away from your grip to look at him again - not wanting to forget any part of him in any way. "I still care for you as much as I did all those years ago, you know." You put your hands on his biceps, just as you used to do when you had to knock sense into your friend. "You better not hide anything from me now." 

"I have no intentions of," he grinned. "Thank you very much." 

You giggled, a feeling you hadn't felt in years fluttering around your stomach like butterflies. 

"About us," Taehyung began, holding your hands in his, "You know that I love you, right?" You felt yourself tense up, and probably Taehyung did too, as he squeezed your hands. "I'm not in any hurry. I want to take some time to understand myself and what I want to do before I think of anything with you. But when I'm settled, and I'm someone I can be proud of, I want to come back to you. Be with you forever." He let go of your hands to hold your cheeks, smiling as he saw your big eyes peer at him. "You'll let me, right?" 

Your eyes softened. "Of course, Taehyung."

"Tae." He corrected you, coming closer to press a kiss on your forehead. 

You smiled when he moved back, glancing down at all of him and laughing. "For beginners, how about we get you clothes to change into?" 

He looked down at his clothes, laughing with you. "Let's go, then?" 

You nodded at him, pulling him out of the office, and locking it securely before turning to a widely grinning Taehyung. "I have a feeling I'm going to love the daytime. It's just so positive, and nice, don't you think? Really warm all over." 

"You're just saying that because you lived like a night owl," you laughed at him, watching his eyes sparkle in the sunshine. 

"Yeah, that wasn't the best way to live, was it?" He clicked his tongue and frowned. "Guess I better start living well now. To new beginnings, then, Officer!!" He grinned and poked your forehead. 

You watched Taehyung skip over the pebbles that were lined outside the office, walking freely on the streets, feeling the dread that you had let build up in your heart for so long slowly drain out of you. "Wait for me!" You screamed behind him, running to catch up to him. To new beginnings, you thought. 

a/n: hopefully, this piece of writing was worth your time 😊 thank you so much for reading graffiti and chalk!! I'd love to hear any feedback you have. Feel free to send it in as a comment, reblog, or as an ask! love, hazel 💞

taglist: @taejinnies (the torture is over bahaha), @xiaokoo, @thedarkwinterrose, @shatzkrinslinzki

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[chocolatecakecas]

Rockin' the Suburbs: Chapter 3

Chp1   Chp2   Chp4 or read on ao3

They were finally done after midnight.

As soon as Sam showed up they spent an hour tearing through the house looking for hex bags, sigils, EMF, sulfur, on top of Cas' mojo, which didn't sense anything. So they've got nothing. At least they can rule out witch, ghost, or demon, for now anyway.

Then they, unfortunately, spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking, trying to put on a show for the neighbors, and whatever thing was out there. Dean had sent Sam back to the motel after they finished the pizza they ordered, and he left with a smile and promise to call in the morning.

And Jack was already tucked into his new space bed, that he's absolutely over the moon about, hours ago. He thankfully conked out quickly, exhausted from all of the excitement of the day.

Now Dean was alone, leaning on the kitchen island. Cas had disappeared upstairs a while ago, so he only can assume he went to bed.

But it's not like Dean's gonna go upstairs to check that theory, even though every inch of his body was screaming at him to go to sleep. Because upstairs was their bedroom. With their bed, and the comforter Cas picked out.

For them.

(Read the rest under the cut)

And in a flash he pushes off the island, deciding to clean the kitchen instead. First night in a new house, can't start leaving a mess already, right?

But the only problem was, there wasn't really anything to actually clean. They ate pizza off of paper plates, (even though Dean bought brand new circle plates that afternoon), and drank soda and beer from cans and bottles.

So he settles for wiping off the dining room table, three times, until realizing he couldn't justify wiping it off a fourth. And Dean does what any logical, extremely exhausted, person in this situation would do.

He restlessly paces around the foyer instead.

Not because he's avoiding the bedroom, of course, he's just got a lot to think about, and besides he thinks better when he's moving. It also serves as an excellent explanation for his ever-increasing heart rate.

But it's fine because it's just a stupid room.

Dean pauses, staring at the stairs for a moment, ignoring the pounding in his chest.

It's not like he and Cas haven't shared a room with a bed before, they do it all the time on solo hunts. But this is different.

Cas wasn't sleeping before. And now Cas eats a little, sleeps a little, takes showers, wears normal clothes. And Dean doesn't know if he just does it to do it, to fit in, or if his grace is fading, or what. It's not like they've talked about it, things are awkward enough between them, but it's not exactly an unwelcomed change. A change that makes everything about a billion times more confusing for Dean sure, but it's jus-nope too tired to go down that road.

So with a shaky breathe he lets his eyes wander up the white carpeted steps.

He can do this. It's just a room, with a bed, that Cas is currently laying in. And he'll have to lay next to h-

Dean snaps his head towards the living room, ripping his eyes away from the staircase and stopping on the wall clock.

Quarter to two.

"Fuck" Dean whispers to himself in the empty room.

The exhaustion washes over Dean, instantly weighing down his limbs. His eyes subconsciously trail down to the couch.

It looks comfortable enough he could just sleep there, and it would be fi-no it would be pathetic. And he'd probably wake up in pain, he's not exactly twenty-five anymore, plus he-

This is pathetic. Dean's ready to pass out on the floor, and he's definitely gonna need his four hours if he's gonna make it through the trials of meeting the neighbors and pretending to be marri-

And it's just a stupid room.

Then suddenly, he's climbing the stairs, and finds himself standing in the bedroom doorway before he even realizes it.

Dean's eyes immediately land on Cas, who stares right back, head tilted in question.

And Dean continues to silently hover in the doorway. Like an idiot.

His mouth goes dry when he really registers the sight before him, the swirling feeling is back, creeping around in his stomach. Because Cas is sitting up against the headboard, on top of that blue comforter, reading a book and looking so-

"Dean?"

Cas' voice snaps him from his thoughts and successfully gets his heart rate going again. Wonderful.

"I'm uh...I was gonna sleep on the couch" Dean manages to choke out.

Cas' face falls, and Dean immediately feels like shit.

"It's not becau-"

"I can take the cou-"

They both start at the same time, effectively cutting each other off.

Dean sighs, clenching his hands at his sides to stop his shaking hands.

He knew he'd have to sleep in the bed with Cas, they bought the comforter and everything, so of course, he knew. But actually doing it, is a different story and he ju-

"Dean, I don't mind. I waited because I wasn't sure what you wanted t-I can take the couch. I don't want to make you uncomfortable" Cas continues before Dean's brain even has a chance to reboot.

Cas quickly pushes off the bed, grabbing his book as he goes.

"No wait" Dean half-shouts, mouth moving without permission.

Cas stalls, clearly surprised, and hell Dean can concur with that.

What is wrong wi-

"Dean, I promise I don't mind, I barely sleep. You shouldn't have to sleep on the couc-"

"Cas, no that's not fair to you, we can-"Dean starts, cutting himself off.

They can what? Is Dean actually going to say they can-

 He's too tired for this shit. It's just a stupid bed in a stupid room, with Cas. He can stow his crap.

Dean unclenches his fists, taking an unsteady breath.

"Cas it's cool, we can both-it's a big bed, it'd be a waste" Dean finishes weakly.

Cas hesitates for a moment, looking unsure as he fiddles with the string of his sweatpants. And Dean's heart twists at the sight.

God, he's such an ass.

So he's gonna fix it.

"Of course it's fine Cas. It's a big bed, I'm not uncomfortable I swear. Just lay your ass down-and actually get under the covers this time you, weirdo" Dean says, trying for a joke. And whether it was for his own sake or Cas', he'll never tell.

Cas worries his lip between his teeth for a moment with a frown, then a small smile replaces it. Which Dean finds himself easily returning.

And before he can freak out again, he snatches a pair of sweatpants, and a tshirt from the drawer designated for his clothes, which he tries very hard not to think about, and hurries into the bathroom to change.

  After a brief staring contest with himself in the mirror, where he tried to regain control of his lungs, Dean finds himself slowly pulling back the covers of the bed.

Cas is rolled onto his side, buried under the blankets, and Dean can only see the mop of his hair peeking out. So assumes he's asleep. Dean lies on his back, afraid to move while he tries to not think about the warmth radiating next to him under the covers.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will away the panic crawling up his throat, as the day's events flash behind his eyes.

He's in a house in the suburbs, with a ring on his finger pretending to be married to Cas, while he lays in a bed less than a foot away from him.

The swirling feeling, that Dean is now refusing to identify due to self-embarrassment, is twisting in his stomach again.

What was he thinking? How is he going to do this? They haven't even done anything yet and he's alre-

"Goodnight Dean" Cas murmurs, breaking the silence. And Dean whips his head to the side is met with a soft smile, and wide blue eyes shining in the dark.

The panic quickly melts away, and he gives a weak smile back. And with that, Cas turns away again, leaving Dean to stare through the dark.

He releases a breath he didn't realize was holding, as he watches Cas' shoulders slowly rise and fall under the comforter.

And then, that feeling makes an appearance. The feeling that Dean's had for years and refuses to talk about, but he definitely thinks about a lot more lately. It bubbles deep in his stomach, trying to rise to the surface to consume him.

So he physically swallows, shoving everything back down where they belong.

Then Dean forces himself to roll over, willing away the feeling, and letting his exhaustion consume him instead.

  Warmth. That's the first thing Dean registers as he begins to wake up. Then, he notices the light streaming on his face, and quickly squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

Weird, he must have left the light on his room since the bunker doesn't have windows after all, but he can't be bothered with that, as he's far too comfortable at the moment.

Which is also weird, because usually, he wakes up freezing. The bunker is great, but the heating system is old as shit and h-

Dean feels a hot puff of air against his shoulder.

Case. House. Married. Bed. Cas.

Dean's eyes fly open as memories from yesterday come flooding back to him. Dean slowly tries to get up, only to realize he can't.

Because he's stuck.

In Cas' arms.

A million thoughts rush into his mind, and he ignores every one of them because now is definitely not the time. Fighting the urge to launch out of the bed, Dean freezes, trying to wrack his brain about how he can get out of this without waking Cas.

But that's a little hard to do when all he can think about is Cas' arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

Fuck

Dean experimentally begins his legs, only to realize they're tangled with Cas'. He slowly shifts his leg toward the end of the bed and suddenly his boxers pull agains-

Oh

Oh shit.

And with that new revelation, Dean quickly, but carefully, frees himself from Cas' grasp, and stands shivering from the loss of warmth. He stares down at the bed, watching the sunlight stream over Cas' sleeping form, hair an absolute wreck, arms stretched out in front of him.

Arms Dean was just in.

He glances down at himself, breath catching in his throat, and practically sprints into the bathroom.

  And an hour later Dean's in the kitchen, cooking pancakes on the little griddle they bought yesterday, as if nothing happened.

Because nothing did happen.

And yeah, maybe Dean spent a little longer under an ice-cold shower, since the freezing cold room clearly wasn't enough-but the extra time definitely went toward fixing his hair. And definitely not towards anything else.

Dean starts flipping the pancakes onto a plate, trying to shove the thoughts from his mind, to no avail of course. Which is dumb because it was nothing, right? It didn't matter and it definitely didn't have anything to do with Cas and his arms an-

"De!" Jack shouts as he comes barreling into the kitchen, and into the back of Dean's legs. Which rips Dean faster from his thoughts than anything else could, and if Dean knew God gave a shit, he would thank him for that.

"Morning Squish, remember inside voices. Your Dad is still sleeping" Dean shushes half-heartedly, and Jack of course raises his finger to his lips, shushing very seriously.

So Dean scoops him, placing him in the little booster seat at the kitchen table, sitting Bun on top of the table of course. He makes quick work of cutting up pancakes for Jack, and placing them, and his Pooh cup in front of him.

"Thank De" Jack whispers, which makes Dean grin uncontrollably as turns back to the griddle.

He listens to Jack babble to Bun, and starts plating the rest of the pancakes. 

"Da!" Jack shouts from behind him. All rules of inside voices and Dean's momentary calm, thrown out the window, since clearly Cas is awake now.

Dean doesn't turn around, staring very intently at the pancakes he's flipping, he can't let them burn after all. He hears Cas tiredly greet Jack, as he unplugs the griddle. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cas shuffle towards the coffee pot.

"Your's is on the stove" Dean says, pointing with his spatula, refus-without turning around. Cas just hums as a thanks. He may still be an angel, but whenever he does sleep, he is not a morning person.

Dean busies himself making plates for him and Cas, waiting until he hears the scrape of a chair before daring to turn around.

Dean quietly takes a deep breath. He's pretending to be married to the man, he's obviously going to have to look at him at some point.

But it's little hard to make eye contact, when you thought about those blue eyes in the show-

Something drops low in the pit of Dean's stomach and he puts both plates down, Cas isn't even awake enough to eat yet anyway so it's fine, and quickly starts wiping off the griddle with a wet paper towel instead.

Heart hammering in his chest, he squeezes his eyes shut for a second, trying to halt the panic currently clawing up his throat. He puffs out a breath.

This is ridiculous. Cas probably doesn't even know he turned into an octopus in the middle of the night, and he definitely doesn't know about Dean's-other thing.

So it's fine, because it's not like Dean's gonna tell him, any of it. Cas would probably be embarrassed about hanging on Dean in his sleep, and Dean wouldn't dare to make anything even more awkward.

So it's fine. It's good.

And with that revelation, he tosses the paper towel, grabbing their plates, and spins around before he can stop himself again.

And he's met with a very tired Cas leaning on one hand, clutching the mug close to his chest with the other, while he talks to Jack about nonsense. His hair is sticking up in every direction, and there's that smile on his lips that's reserved just for Jack.

This isn't a new sight by any means, he pretty much sees this every day now. But this is different.

Because technically he's seeing it in their kitchen. Sam and Eileen won't come stumbling in, it's just them. Alone.

And that swirling feeling, that Dean is realizing might be butterflies-but they definitely aren't because he's a grown man, and that would be ridiculous, is back with a vengeance.

Cas looks up, meeting his eyes giving him a smile that's reserved only for Dean. And those blue eyes that he-nope.

Dean shoves everything away, even the butte-swirling feeling, and moves, placing down Cas' plate, and sits across from him with his own.

"Thank you, good morning" Cas says after another sip of his coffee, his voice still thick with sleep.

This is just like any regular morning at the Bunker, if he ignores the details, so Dean can do this.

"Morning, finally join the land of the living?" Dean qups, taking a bite. Cas just squints, and points his fork at him accusingly

"Dean it's eight am, I distinctly remember you once saying that the land of the living doesn't begin until at least after nine" Cas smiles, proud of his little joke.

"Yeah but we're in the burbs now, didn't you hear the new rules? Tell him Jack" Dean smirks pointing his fork right back.

"Yeah, Da!" Jack shouts, and hey at least the kid is on his side.

Cas just rolls his eyes fondly and goes back to his food. And Dean definitely doesn't stare at him, especially not since he realizes Cas is wearing one of his old shirts.

Which again, isn't new, Cas does it all the time and Dean definitely doesn't care. But like everything else, this is different.

Because they're in a white marble kitchen, with the sunlight shining through the windows, eating pancakes that Dean cooked, with a child sitting in between them.

It's domestic, too domestic. Because now that feeling (the one Dean doesn't talk about) is bubbling up, joining with the butterfl-swirling feeling an-

"So, I saw a park on our way in yesterday. I thought we should take Jack today, it's much bigger than the park in Lebanon. And it would allow us to talk to some of the parents, to see if any of them were friends with Carol and Mike Stanton, or any of the other vics?" Cas suggested placing his fork on his plate.

The feeling immediately deflates, which Dean definitely doesn't care about. He's definitely glad it's gone.

Right, case, they're working a case. This Dean can handle.

"Sounds like a good idea as any, us pushing Jack on the swings, will put on a good show for whatever's out there. Plus, I bet these stay-at-home parents love will love to gossip about the murders of their neighbors" Dean points out which earns a huffed laugh from Cas.

Good thing they're both on the same page about these suburban bureaucrats. They're gonna be a nightmare, Dean can feel it.

"We can also definitely try to narrow down who the next vic could be, in case whatever it is we're hunting, decides it's tired of targeting just this house." Cas tacks on

"Yeah, but hopefully it'll just stick with us, make everything a hell of a lot simpler" Dean sighs, easily shifting into "hunter mode".

"And I think it'll be good for Jack to play with children his age. Oh, which reminds me. Jack, we need to have a serious conversation" Cas says calmly, folding his hands on the table, looking to Dean to make sure he understands.

"Yeah kiddo, we gotta talk about your angel mojo" Dean says, matching Cas' tone.

And with that, they have Jack's full attention. He may not even be two, but he's always been able to understand everything they say, which doesn't mean he always listens, but he knows what they're saying. They've all chalked it up to the half-angel.

"So I know we're in a different place, but the rules are still the same. No using your powers outside of our house, or this new house. Understand?" Cas stated simply but seriously.

"Yes Da, understand," Jack nods, trying to match Cas' serious face to the point where Dean had to hide a laugh behind his hand.

"Alright! Why don't you and your Dad go get dressed, and then we can go to the park" Dean said ramping up the excitement for Jack's sake.

"Park? Yay!" Jack cheers from his little booster seat.

"Dean, you made breakfast, I can clean up-"

"Cas we have this argument like every day at home, go get dressed I've got it. Plus I'm already dressed, see" Dean smiles gesturing to his flannel and jeans for effect.

Cas hesitates for a moment like he always does, but then he scoops up Jack and makes his way up the stairs.

As soon as Dean's sure they're out of sight, he slumps down against the counter, putting his head in his hands. After he collects himself to the best of his ability, he shoves off and starts cleaning up from breakfast. Which serves as a great distraction until he hears footsteps on the stairs again.

Dean grips the counter he's wiping off and stares up at the ceiling.

"Get it together Winchester. You're working a case, so act like it" Dean whispers to himself

And it hits him. This is all an act, so Dean just has to act like he doesn't care, like he isn't always one step away from a breakdown whenever Cas looks at him.

A foolproof plan, what could go wrong?

So with a deep breath, he turns around like a very professional hunter who's ready to pretend to be married to his best friend, which he definitely does not care about it at all because it's all an act.

But then he sees Cas standing in a gray sweater, jeans, and a long, deep blue peacoat that Dean has definitely never seen. And he loo-

"Ready to go?" Cas asks with a smile as he bounces an excited Jack on his hip. And Dean swallows, managing a nod.

Right, Dean doesn't care. He's fine.

So he quickly grabs his new brown coat, Sam told him to get some nicer clothes so they could "blend", and they're out the door, squinting in the sunlight.

Then he feels warmth in his hand, and meets Cas' slightly worried eyes. So Dean just squeezes back, and pulls Cas along down the porch steps.

Because Dean is fine, because he doesn't care. He's just holding Cas' hand, nothing weird about that, it's for the case.

But the more they walk, the more Dean realizes that there are a lot of people outside. Walking dogs, pushing kids in strollers, jogging,

God it's 9:30am on Monday, don't these people have jobs?

Apparently not, because they're all out here, and they can all see Dean. Holding Cas' hand.

And yeah okay maybe Dean does care, a little, it's all for an act, but he-

Cas' squeezes his hand tightly, and that electricity from yesterday shoots through Dean again. He glances over at Cas, who gives him a smile, and finds himself unable to turn away.

Cas can always sense when Dean was on the verge of a freakout, it was probably the angel mojo, but that didn't mean Cas always had to hel-

"Hi! You must be the new neighbors!" A voice calls, causing Dean and Cas to stall in their tracks, ending their staring contest.

Standing in front of them on the sidewalk was a couple, probably around their ag-well Dean's age. A shorter woman with a messy bun, and a guy around Cas' height, both wearing what looked like workout clothes. How pretentious.

But they didn't look like the rest of these rich asshats, especially since their clothes weren't full of designer logos.

"Sorry we just saw you moving in yesterday, we live a few houses up from you guys" The woman continued with a smile.

"That's was us, I'm Dean Richardson, this is my husband Cas. Oh and this is Jack" Dean said putting on a fake smile and holding out a hand, trying to ignore the way husband rolled so easily off his tongue.

"Oh sorry, where are our manners! I'm Jason Davidson, and this is my wife Molly. It's great to meet you, and this little guy too" Jason said as they shook their hands, giving a little wave to Jack.

"Can you say hi baby?" Cas said bouncing Jack a little

"Hi! I'm Jack I'm gonna be two" Jack said giving his award-winning smile and earning a laugh from Molly and Jason.

"We were just out on a run, and figured you'd want to meet some friendly faces first. Ya know, before you run into the bitches of the neighborhood since you guys seemed like normal, sane people" Molly laughed, which pulled a surprised laugh from Dean and Cas.

Yeah, definitely not like the rest of the rich asshats.

"Shoot! I'm so sorry for the language, little ears. But I just got off a forty-minute phonecall with Amanda, where she-"

"What Molly is failing to subtlely ask is, have you met Amanda and Bill yet?" Jason said quickly cutting off Molly's rant.

"No, I can't say that we have? Right, sweetheart?" Cas asked, amusement hinting in his voice. And the butterfl-swirling thing definitely didn't make an appearance at how naturally Cas tacked on the term of endearment. Because It's an act and Dean definitely doesn't care.

"They practically run the entire neighborhood. Amanda is the head of neighborhood watch, and the party planning committee. And her husband Bill is her right-hand man" Molly explained, and Dean and Cas exchanged a look.

"She's been all over us since it's our turn to host the annual-" Jason starts.

"Oh speaking of, you're both invited! It's a giant barbeque at our house, the entire neighborhood is attending" Molly smiles cutting in.

"A barbeque? In November" Dean asks, playing along.

"It's actually called 'Pleasant Acres' Annual Autumn Banquet' but we call it 'Barbeque Bonfire Night', to piss off Amanda, Bill, and their groupies. You're lucky you moved in the year we got stuck hosting, or else you'd be sipping wine to Chopin in Amanda's backyard" Jason winks.

"We've got booze, burger, wings, ribs you name it! It starts tonight at five, we know you just moved in, but it would be a great way to meet the rest of the neighborhood" Molly suggests. Dean turns to Cas to see a raised eyebrow and a look that says, "yes we have to go".

Well, maybe they'll be other "normal" people like Molly and Jason. Dean's starting to like them anyway.

"Thank you for the invitation, we'll definitely be there" Cas smiles turning back to them.

"What should we brin-"Dean starts, knowing it's polite to offer.

"Nope none of that, just bring yourselves! You just moved in, we've got everything covered, just com-"Jason began only to be cut off by a ringtone.

"Great, it's Amanda. I've gotta take it our she'll keep calling. Party starts at five, our house is number 2241, can't miss it! See you tonight!" Molly shouts, and with a wave, they're both making their way down the sidewalk.

"Well, that worked out nicely. All of the neighborhood in one place" Cas chuckled beside him.

"Yeah, now we've gotta spend the night schmoozing rich douc-not nice people, for info" Dean grumbled, catching himself. Little ears after all.

Cas just huffed a laugh, and began dragging Dean down the rest of the sidewalk.

Wait was Cas holding his hand the entire time? And he didn't even notice? Dean feels the heat creep up his neck, but it's fine because Dean definitely doesn't care.

"Well, we're definitely going to have to talk to Amanda and Bill, since they're the head of neighborhood watch" Dean groans ignoring the flush rising to his cheeks.

"I know, but apparently they aren't very good at their job, since three couples were murdered under their watch. So maybe the conversation won't be long" Cas supplies, which startles a laugh out of Dean.

"And at least Molly and Jason seem nice. So maybe they have some non-not nice people, friends" Cas continues and Dean barks a laugh.

"Wow two jokes in a row, when's your standup tour start?" Dean teases. 

He doesn't have to look over to know Cas is smiling. So he knocks him with his shoulder, and then pointedly ignores the lightning that runs through his veins at the touch. And thankfully he doesn't have much time to pointedly ignore anything, since they arrive at the park, and immediately steer Jack towards the smaller, toddler equipment.

Because Dean is far too focused on continuously placing Jack on the top of the tiny slide, so he can slide down in Cas' waiting arms, to care about how the sight makes his heart twist.

And he's far too focused on Jack laughing in the baby swing, to care about how looking at how happy Cas is pushing him, causes that swirling feeling to swim around his stomach.

And he far too focused on Jack in his arms, to even care about the way Cas seems to be slightly leaning into him, as they walk hand and hand back to the house.

And he'd far too focused on going over the facts of the case with Cas at the kitchen table, during Jack's nap, to even care about how Cas' hair is still wildly windblown.

And he's too focused during their phone call with Sam, to care about how Cas' is sitting across from him, cheeks still tinged pink from the wind.

 And he's too focused on everything, to even care about how they're gonna have to pretend to be a loving couple tonight, in front of hundreds of people. And how he might have to even kiss Cas.

 Nope, Dean definitely doesn't care at all.

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[beautifulterriblequeen]

Mmmm'kay, I'm loving this arranged marriage au, the possibilities are endless. But... imagine if once they got married and they went to their shared home for the first time and they found only one bed? The tension. And then they're both like, "I don't wear a shirt to bed..." 😂

Yeah anon, it really grew on me too. It was going to be angstier as I was writing, and then I realized, wait, this has so much potential, so I softened it up a bit.

So “there was only one bed” in the “arranged marriage au”, huh, got it.

Here’s the first part

cw and tags: angst, trust issues, double entendre noises, naked cuddling, pining, sleep deprived Runaan has his own opinions, light bdsm but for angst reasons, biting, falling asleep on someone

____________________________

Runaan stalked in through the tree house door ahead of Ethari, dropping his flower crown carelessly atop a side table. Ethari slowed to catch it from sliding to the floor, hanging them both on pretty silver hooks set into the wall. The hooks were meant to hold the flower crowns as they dried and became a nostalgic reminder of Moonshadows’ vowing night, a permanent decoration to be seen by all who entered the home. Every vowed household had one.

Ethari stilled as Runaan’s footsteps retreated up the curved staircase and faded from earshot. He ran a soft fingertip along the edge of a lunabloom petal and felt a heaviness settle on his shoulders.

“My vowing night,” he murmured, so softly that only the flowers could hear him. “I imagined it very differently when I was a wee lad. With more kissing, for sure. I barely got any--”

A soft cough outside the door perked his ears with alarm. He whipped the door back open and stared out at a sheepish Lain.

“Hey, bro.” The rangy assassin straightened up from a crouch near the door’s crack and slouched easily against the tree’s thick bark. “How’s things? Need anything before you two tuck in for the night?”

Tucking in doesn’t seem to be on Runaan’s to-do list, I’m afraid. But Lain’s smirk told Ethari that he might be missing something. “Lain, what are you doing?”

“Vowing vigil, bro. Assassin thing, you wouldn’t understand.”

Ethari’s feet hurt from hours of dancing beneath the full moon’s light, and he was starving and exhausted. But for the sake of his brand new husband, he pasted on a smile and asked curiously, “Maybe you could explain it to me? ...Bro?”

Lain blinked, and then a broad grin sidled across his face and decided that it liked it there. “Sure, bro. Assassins have each others’ backs, yeah? No matter what. When one of us falters from injury or falls ill, the others gather around to keep them safe. When one of us lets his guard down, we gather, too, and hold ours high.”

Ethari squinted in puzzlement, not following Lain’s secret assassin lingo.

Lain flicked his gaze up toward the various branches overhead, belonging to half a dozen different trees. “Runaan’s our leader now. But he’s gonna let his guard down tonight, for you. And we’ll hold vigil to defend him while he does it. No matter how many times he does it,” Lain added, with a giant, cheesy wink.

Despite Lain’s suggestive joke, Ethari’s cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment and his tummy miserably curled in on itself. He recalled Runaan’s clipped words on the day they’d finalized their betrothal: “Don’t you dare kiss me again. You’re lucky I didn’t stab you.” Runaan wouldn’t be letting his guard down, in any respect, today. Or possibly ever.

“Thank you for your courtesy,” the woeful craftsman managed, before turning away and closing the door in Lain’s face.

His feet found the stairs, and he trudged upward with a heavy heart, just wanting to find a place to crash and sleep. High narrow ceilings that slotted up through organic gaps in the tree gathered darkness overhead, winking with mushroom light and the odd moonfly. Delicately carved walls and living lattice windows showed him various rooms along the side of the stairwell that wound upward around the heart of the tree itself.

This place is beautiful... I’ll have to explore later, after I catch some sleep. Where is the bedroom in here, anyway? Ah, here-

He came to an abrupt stop outside a graceful wooden arch twined with soft glowing vines and nearly bumped right into Runaan, who was swiftly exiting the bedroom with an armful of blankets--as well as cheeks the color of moonberries. Their eyes met--Ethari’s seeking, Runaan’s vulnerable, darting away. Ethari glanced over Runaan’s shoulder, seeking the source of his seeming distress, but saw only a spacious, neat, empty room behind him.

“Where are you going?” he asked Runaan.

Runaan studied the blankets he held, then raised a wry gaze to Ethari’s face. “There is only one bed here. I will sleep elsewhere.” He moved to slip past Ethari into the hallway.

Ethari’s hands clutched at Runaan’s shoulders. “No, you can’t do that.”

Runaan’s gaze was cold. “Take your hands off me.”

Ethari jerked his hands back as if they’d been burned. “Sorry. I only meant that... the assassins are watching the tree house tonight, and they’d know that you... that we didn’t... uhh...”

Runaan’s eyes widened and his gaze sliced toward the nearest outer wall, looking vulnerable, hunted even. Ethari’s heart clenched at the sight. Had the assassins’ supposed vigil slipped his mind? Was it just a prank Lain was pulling?

“That’s... really a thing, then?” he asked.

The quirked frown that snapped into place on Runaan’s face seemed to indicate that it was.

“It seems we’re trapped in here until moonrise,” Runaan grated.

Wow, that makes me feel great. Thanks for that. Ethari let his shoulders slump as Runaan spun and retreated deeper into the bedroom.

The assassin plopped his blankets on the foot of the broad bed. Ethari approached and stood beside him at a safe distance, studying it analytically. Runaan shot him a side glance and opened his mouth sharply, but Ethari spoke first. “No one needs to sleep on the floor. Look at this bed. It’s enormous. Five elves could sleep here and not even touch.”

“You exaggerate. I only see room for three.”

“Oh, should I go invite Lain to sleep between us, then?” Ethari teased, before he really grasped the words he just said.

Runaan rounded on him. “Is this funny to you? Have you no respect for--?” The assassin managed to snap his mouth shut before he said anything further, and he huffed a furious snort.

Ethari backed away, his guts swirling with guilt. He’d fooled the village council into choosing him as Runaan’s marital ally, hiding his feelings from them, and from Runaan too. And then he’d tried to steal his first kiss, blurted the truth, and confessed what felt like an innocent, wholesome, clever chain of events. Except now Runaan didn’t trust him. Their union had meant to strengthen Moonshadow relations, but Ethari had brought the seed of deceit into its very heart.

He looked down at his boots, silent, waiting. This was no time to try to earn back Runaan’s trust. That would be a long and painful process as it was. Better to start when his husband wasn’t actively yelling at him.

Maybe tomorrow, after a good night’s rest. If we can manage to figure out how and where to find it.

When he peeked up at Runaan through his lashes, the assassin was staring at him with wide intense eyes. Ethari raised his brows. Runaan kept staring. Not fondly, either. Ethari’s shoulders slumped, and his gaze found the smooth wooden floor. The grain was beautiful, he noted, full of deep blue-silver swirls.

Runaan tucked his hands behind his back, cleared his throat, and took a deep breath. “I apologize. This is no way to begin our... arrangement. If we must share a bed, then I suggest we get to it. We’ve had a long day of... of getting married. You must be as tired as I am.”

Ethari offered him a tired half-smile. “Do your feet hurt too?” he asked softly.

Runaan’s brows evened out. “I’m on my feet all day. Hours of dancing are no hardship.”

Ethari let his eyes slide toward the outer wall of the tree house, beyond which he knew several assassins were pretending not to eavesdrop. “That’s a real shame, Runaan.”

Runaan’s eyes zeroed in on him with intense focus. “Explain.”

-*-*-

“Ah, right there, push harder,” Runaan moaned, writhing lightly on his stomach atop the soft bed. His long hair sprawled, tousled and tangled, across his bare back.

“You sure you can take it?” Ethari’s question breathed through closed teeth as he bent to his task, hands working over the assassin beneath him, lending his body weight to the sweet, insistent pressure he offered.

“I’m going to be sore when I wake, no matter what,” Runaan said breathlessly against the pillow he clutched. “Your hands are v-very skilled--aah-- Please, please, continue... hnngh... aahhh...”

Ethari chuckled softly at the sweet, desperate noises Runaan was making. The lanky assassin looked delicious all stretched out before him, all long legs and tousled hair and breathy gasps. He dared to hope that, one day, Runaan might make them for another reason besides getting an intense calf massage to work out the knots from too much dancing.

Runaan’s other foot kicked helplessly atop the blanket as Ethari pressed a knuckle into a new knot high on Runaan’s calf. “Hhhgh, moon and shadow,” he cursed.

Ethari’s hands paused, holding Runaan’s muscled calf protectively. “Too hard?”

“Mm’mm. Keep going. It’s good for me.”

“I’ll slow down,” Ethari offered. “I don’t want to break you on our first night.” He couldn’t help but say that last line with a sassy grin.

Runaan’s head popped up from his pillow, and he shot Ethari a hot glare over his shoulder. “You couldn’t possibly--”

Ethari drove his knuckle deep into the knotted muscle.

“AAH-ha-haagh, moondimmit, fuck!” Runaan swore. “Light and shade of the sacred cycle, have mercy on my s-soul...” he squeaked.

“Ooh,” Ethari cooed, “I like it when you plead.”

Runaan’s gaze could’ve stripped the bark off the entire house in a single slice.

A sudden sliding scuff on the branch outside the shuttered window drew their attention. It was swiftly followed by a quiet yelp as someone outside lost their footing.

Ethari paused his hard kneading and flicked his eyebrows with another sassy smirk. “Well, that’s three assassins we’ve overwhelmed so far. How many more do you think will want to listen in?”

Runaan let his forehead plop into the pillow as he caught his breath. “It’s been an hour. We’ve made our point. And I’m not sure I can walk at the moment.”

“You want me to carry you somewhere?” Ethari offered softly. He rested a light hand against the back of Runaan’s knee.

“No, I just want to sleep with you now.”

Ethari blinked, unsure he’d heard right. “S-Sorry?”

“We’ve established that I can’t sleep anywhere else, Ethari. So I have to sleep with you. All I meant.” Runaan groaned and rolled into a sitting position at the edge of the bed. One hand reached for Ethari’s scarf. “You don’t plan to sleep in that, do you?”

“Uhh. Nope.” Ethari tugged his scarf free. “I don’t sleep in much, actually... I get hot... uh...” Like right now. It’s really hot in here all of a sudden!

“Hm. That’s fine. I don’t sleep in anything at all.” Runaan stood up and shucked off his trousers with zero ado whatsoever.

“Hrkk!” Ethari choked against a fist. “Are-Are you s-sure you...” Moon help me, I’m just infinitely gay, infinitely, did he just, did he-- Help....

Runaan turned around and looked down at him, hands on his narrow hips. Ethari desperately locked his eyes onto his new husband’s turquoise ones, feeling his cheeks burn.

“I’ve got about five minutes of consciousness left before I crash,” Runaan said in a cool tone. “And I’m not falling asleep around someone I don’t trust, unless I can control the risks he poses.”

Ethari gulped. “Wh-What does that mean? Are you going to tie me up or something?”

Runaan raised a speculative eyebrow.

-*-*-

“Not too tight?” Runaan murmured, kneeling at Ethari’s side as the craftsman lay on his back, wearing nothing more than a soft pair of sleep shorts--which was more than Runaan was wearing. His fingers lightly adjusted the soft bindings around Ethari’s wrists.

“This really isn’t necessary, I promise,” Ethari began. “I’ve already agreed to--”

“I know what you’ve said. I also know the depth of your capability for deceitfulness. If you’d been truthful, we wouldn’t need restraints.”

We. How “we” does he mean that? Ethari wondered.

“Now roll onto your side,” Runaan ordered. “I’m not turning my back on you again, and I’m keeping you right where I can find you.”

With his eyes wide and dark, Ethari rolled over and felt Runaan tuck his bare body behind him, nestling close. Ethari’s breathing stuttered as Runaan hooked one leg atop the craftsman’s hip, pinning him in place. He clutched his softly tied hands to his chest to reassure himself that he was still breathing. This was torture of the worst kind! To be in love with such a beautiful elf, to be allowed to marry him, to share a bed, to watch him strip down and snuggle tightly--and to have it all mean something entirely different than what Ethari had begged the universe for--it was the sweetest dagger in his heart. He knew he’d never recover from its wound, and he wasn’t sure he even wanted to.

Runaan’s hand snaked between Ethari’s arm and his ribs and clasped his wrists lightly, tucking one seeking finger under the bindings. The touch was so intimate and gentle, as if Runaan were admitting that he too were bound the same way as Ethari was, that it brought a shaky tear to the corner of Ethari’s eye.

His struggles to smooth out his breathing did not go unnoticed, however, since the assassin was pressed skin to skin against his back. Runaan’s fingers gently rubbed along Ethari’s wrists, soothing the cord’s rub.

“Sometimes I don’t trust myself, either.” Runaan’s voice was slurred with sleep. His five minutes had come and gone, perhaps a couple of minutes ago.

“I swear to you, Runaan,” Ethari said, breathing his words like a prayer, “I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted this.” He wriggled his bound wrists against Runaan’s grip.

Runaan squeezed the bindings possessively. “Maybe I did.”

Ethari gasped slowly at Runaan’s sleepy confession. Then he gasped harder as Runaan’s mouth closed over the skin at the base of his neck. Runaan instinctively clasped him still with all his limbs, holding Ethari in his control with a soft hum that grew gentle teeth against his skin. Ethari froze, entirely breathless, trembling with a heady concoction of delight, fear, and arousal. “R-Runaan?”

Runaan’s mouth nibbled gently, sleepily. “Mmmm.”

“Runaan, are you... awake?”

The assassin’s teeth grazed his skin and claimed his ear, biting gently, sucking on its tip. “No. And don’t you dare tell me about this in the morning.”

A waterfall of helpless, confused, ecstatic noises tumbled from Ethari’s mouth. Runaan’s hands began roaming him, and his teeth dragged and nipped in their wake, drawing gasps and curses from Ethari’s lips, making him writhe against his husband. Runaan’s nibbling became insistent, and he crawled across Ethari, pushing him onto his back, pinning his bound hands over his head even as his mouth worked along the lower curve of Ethari’s left pec.

Ethari bucked helplessly and groaned until his voice shredded into a needy whine. “Runaan, please... aah...”

Runaan nipped his way across Ethari’s heart and along the side of his neck, drawing ever louder sounds of pleasure from Ethari’s lips. He eased down flush atop him, tucking his long slender legs outside Ethari’s sturdy ones. Rampant heat flared between them. But while Ethari was getting worked up, Runaan was relaxing bonelessly, his breathing slowing.

He pressed his mouth to Ethari’s ear, nipping gently at its lower edge. “Hold me, Ethari. I want to trust you so much.” And he let go of Ethari’s bound wrists and nestled his head against his husband’s muscled shoulder.

Ethari tensed, as desperately confused as he was aroused, but he lowered his arms to hold Runaan close, craving the smell of his hair, the weight of his body, the warmth of his breath. “I... I have you, Runaan...”

“Mmmm.” The assassin’s breathing slowed and evened out as he passed fully into slumber, sprawled without a stitch atop the elf he claimed not to trust.

Ethari felt his body throb hot against Runaan’s lax weight. With a tiny whimper, he let his head fall back against the pillow. No...This really is torture of the worst kind! He flexed his wrists against Runaan’s bindings as they rested against the small of the assassin’s back. How am I supposed to survive this kind of cruelty?

He bemoaned his indecently unfair fate for several minutes before exhaustion claimed him, too. His last waking act was to kiss Runaan’s temple and murmur, “Sleep well... husband.”

At Ethari’s soft words, Runaan let out a deeply contented sigh and snuggled closer.

Alone in the dark, and yet not quite as alone as he had been, Ethari thought he might cry, for every single reason at once.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Indruck hunt nsfw!!! I'm so excited you're doing fills again, they're always so good!

Thanks so much, and here you go! Duck’s form is based on a Green Wrasse, and Indrid’s is based on a Flamboyant Cuttlefish.

Go along the trenches they said. It’ll be easy they said. 

Duck’s been here for two hours, trawling the spot where the sea bed and reef give way to deeper water in search of black moon oysters. It’s courting season in Kepler, and if he can find a few he’s certain at least one of the two mers he has his eyes on will agree to a date. But at this rate, he’ll be bringing some of his model ships as his gifts for his first year of courting, and that’ll be embarrassing. No one wants to date a mer with such a boring hobby.

So here he is, far from where most reef mers would even think to come, searching for a shellfish notorious for it’s shadowy color. At least there aren’t any deep sea mers around to see him repeatedly get hissed at by the same eel because he keeps losing his bearings and checking crevasses he already searched. He’d rather not have an audience.

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

Indrid cannot believe his luck. Weeks of hunting, of hunger, with barely any food to be found, and now a tantalizing, green tail dangles near his hide away. No mer in these parts has such coloration, so it must be a very big fish indeed.

His foresight is half-obliterated, so he must rely on skill to earn his prey. He camouflages as best he can along the rockface, creeping along beneath the ledge where the tail keeps disappearing and reappearing. If he lunges too soon, he’ll miss and scare off dinner. 

Almost...almost…

He pushes up in a burst of speed, grabs the tail, and propels back into his lair, his prey putting up a remarkable fight. He doesn’t notice his error until it punches him in the eye.

“OW!!”

“What the fuck?” The merman spins, lashing out again but missing him in the dark.

“I, I am so very sorry, I thought you were a fish!”

“I look like a damn fish?” His unwilling guest gestures angrily at his upper body. 

Because his eyes are adapted to dark water, Indrid can clearly see the muscles in his arms, the round belly and charming face. Now he wants to sink his teeth into him in an entirely new way.

Oh, right, he’s waiting for an answer.

“From down here you did. I assumed all reef mers stayed far away, and thus missed the obvious explanation for the size of your tail. I, ah, am not the sharpest when starving.”

The wary, annoyed expression softens, “Ain’t there food down here?”

“Yes, but it’s fast, poisonous, or fought over, and I’d like to keep all my tentacles attached to me.”

The merman points at the cave ceiling, “The reef is just up there. We got plenty to eat.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t, they’d recognize me as a deep water mer and be frightened.”

“I could vouch for you. Assumin you don’t plan on grabbin anyone else.”

“Of course not” He flicks all his tentacle tips, trying to hide how hurt he is by the suggestion.” 

“Then you can be my guest. There’s a festival tonight, so the grub oughta be good.” 

“You mean it?”

“Yep.” He nods, black hair swirling around his forehead. 

“Thank you so very much! I, is there something I can do to repay you?”

“Well…”

He mentally crosses all fingers and tentacles, hoping for an answer along the lines of “kiss me” or “hold my hand on the way there” and he flickers his lower body an appealing yellow to sweeten the deal.

“...you got any clue where to find black moon oysters?”

“Yes” he cocks his head, “why?”

“Wanna give ‘em as a present to some mers tonight.”

“Ohhhh” Indrid nods, understanding and trying to hide his disappointment, “a courtship gift. Of course, right this way…Duck.”

The mer starts, “How’d you-”

“-Know your name? Foresight, though it’s severely diminished right now. He smiles, holds out his hand, “I’m Indrid. Now, let us find you those oysters.”

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

Duck never expected a deep sea mer to be so chatty, but as they weave their way between rocks in search of their quarry, Indrid talks amicably about all manner of things, often swimming backwards so he can ask Duck questions about his life on the reef. Listens intently as Duck tells him about his time studying coral health, demanding details as they float across a deeper trench. 

Still, Duck feels like he’s not carrying his conversational weight, and when Indrid peers into another empty crag he asks, “hey Indrid, what kind of fish only comes out at night?”

The other mer blinks his glowing red eyes, “What kind?”

“A starfish.”

A slower blink, and then Indrid snickers, “I didn’t know we were in the pun timeline.”

“Sorry, know it’s silly-”

“Why was the shark worried after eating a clownfish?” Indrid wiggles his tentacles.

Duck smiles, “no idea.”

“Because it tasted funny!”

He giggles, “that was awful.”

“Precisely!” Indrid beams, then pulls Duck flush against the cliff-face. In the darkness beneath them, he can just make out something immense swimming along the trench. Indrid doesn’t release him until it’s out of sight. 

“Apologies, but there was a non-zero chance of that being an aggressive shark.”

“Glad you were here watchin my ba--holy fuck!”

Only Indrid’s eyes are the color they were a moment before. The rest of him, even his hair,  is the same speckled grey of the rocks.

“Indrid that’s, that’s incredible! I know mers who can color change a little, but nothin like this.”

“It’s mainly for survival purposes, but I am glad you, ah, you like it” Indrid returns to his usual color, save for his tentacles, which flash pink on their way back to silvery-blue. 

“Can you control it?”

“To a degree; some of it is subconscious expression of emotion, but much of the time I can manipulate it as I need. See?” He holds one tentacle out in front of Duck’s tail, matching it perfectly.

“That’s so fuckin cool.”

“I, ah, would be happy to show you some more” the pink flashes are back, “but first…” he pulses up to small ledge, slips three tentacles inside, and retracts them with a flourish a moment later, each hold a pitch black oyster, “let’s get you to your party.”

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

In spite of there being no timelines where Duck reneges on his end of the deal, Indrid remains nervous most of the way into town. Then the other mer stops, reaches into a stand of kelp and produces a scallop, “here, you were hungry when we met and you put off eatin to help me, seems only fair to get you a snack before you get there.”

Indrid grins, rips open the shell, and downs the mollusc in what he hopes isn’t a completely horrifying way. It’s been so long since someone shared a catch with him. 

“Do you still want to see more camouflage?”

“Hell yeah.”

They pass the rest of the journey to the town square with Indrid changing color, the two of them laughing as Duck comes up with increasingly ridiculous things for him to match. He adds in extra effects, hoping to dazzle Duck, and he’s having so much fun he’s almost sad to arrive at the party. 

Then he sees the buffet, and it’s difficult to be that upset. Better still, Duck doesn’t immediately leave him in search of his potential lovers. Instead he guides Indrid to a cluster of other mers his age. Juno, Aubrey, and Dani all welcome him into conversation and help him navigate some of the unfamiliar foods Duck gathers from the large stone tables. 

Deep sea mer courtship is very goal focused, but up here the custom seems to be unhurried, as much a chance to catch up with friends as find a mate. There’s even dancing, which he’s drawn into when Aubrey coaxes Duck onto the dance floor and the merman offers Indrid his hand. They spin and flit about each other, Indrid initially taking care not to brush him with his tentacles. When it happens on accident and Duck responds by thwacking Indrid back with the tip of his tail, Indrid takes to touching him whenever the dance allows. 

Since none of the reef mers swim screaming away from him, he and Duck even join in on the group dances. Indrid shows off, changing colors to match his partner because he catches Duck smiling whenever he does. 

The first of Duck’s crushes arrives, though Duck stays, dancing, with Indrid.

“Are you supposed to wait until a certain time to offer your gift?” 

“No. I, uh, I’m just a little nervous. I’ve never done the whole courtin thing before.”

“Understandable. Though if you ask me, I’d say you have a great deal to offer.” He nudges him with a tentacle. Duck takes a deep breath, then swims away after the other mer. Indrid hasn’t even made it to the table when Duck is once again beside him, saying they weren’t interested and would Indrid like to keep dancing?

He would, and they do, trading jokes and stories as they turn in slow circles around each other. They alternate between the dance and recharging with their friends until Duck’s other crush swims into view, having gotten to the party rather late. Duck’s approach is more confident, and Indrid encourages him along with the others. After ten or so minutes, Duck catches his eye and gives a thumbs up. Indrid returns the gesture and watches that stunning tail swim away. 

Indrid stays, continues talking and eating with his new friends. He’s even approached for courtship twice, demurring both times. It’s not long before he regrets this choice, because his foresight keeps showing him flashes of what Duck is getting up to with his new partner and getting his hands and mouth on another mer might be a welcome distraction. He finishes the last of his meal, waves goodbye to his friends with a promise to come see them again, and swims home alone. 

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

Duck hums as he swims over the edge of the trench, carved coral box in hand. Indrid left Dani directions for how to visit him, so Duck’s no longer concerned about swimming into the wrong cave and getting eaten. 

The front of the cave is empty, and the scant light still filtering in doesn’t show him much beyond it, so he floats further and calls, “Indrid? You home?”

Red eyes appear in the dark, followed by flashes of pink and yellow, “Duck?”

“Didn’t see me comin?” He grins, swimming up to greet the other mer. 

“There were only a few futures where you visited so soon after the party. Is something wrong? Does your new partner need more oysters?”

“Nope, came ‘cause I wanted to see you. Is, uh, is that okay?” Nerves creep up his tail; maybe Indrid was only interested in their exchange yesterday and not in him. 

“Of course. I, ah, my lair is rather messy but if you come this way I have some lights.” He motions for Duck to follow him. As they swim deeper into the cave, bioluminescent kelp and algae flicker to life, revealing walls covered in elegant, detailed carvings. They turn left, coming to a room filled with yet more carvings, a large, comfy looking hammock, and a floor scattered with shells. 

“You did all these?” Duck touches a lovingly rendered carving of a ray.

“Yes. They help me capture visions from time to time, or are simply images I enjoy.” That same light pink is coursing up through his tentacles and occasionally racing through his hair.

“Oh, that reminds me, here” Duck holds out the box, “seemed like these were your favorite last night, so figured you’d like some more.”

Indrid studies the crab rolls in their neat lines, “Oooh!” His tentacles wiggle, “thank you. That was very sweet of you.” He swims over to a small table, sets the box atop it, and then begins searching a rock shelf. “But I insist you share some of them with me, assuming you don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Uh-”

“Where are those blasted plates-”

Duck rubs the back of his neck, “Indrid?  Is, uh, is that a yes or a no?”

The other mer turns, flashing bright blue, “To...oh, oh my, really?”

“Future just tell you I’m courtin you?” 

“Yes. I, but I thought you made your choice last night?”

“That ain’t really how this works. I mean, I had a great time last night, might see her again, but I ain’t made any kind of choice about bein exclusive. Besides uh, I, uh, if I’m bein honest, mer I thought the most about last night and today was you.”

“Oh.” Indrid says much more softly as Duck swims to him and brushes his tail along a tentacle. 

“It’s okay if you ain’t interested, I can back off and we can have dinnerAHfuck” he laughs as Indrid uses all available limbs to pull him closer with a delighted chirp. 

“The answer is very much yes, Duck Newton.”

“Thank fuck” Duck leans in, kissing him eagerly as two tentacles tease up and down his tail. 

Then he can’t see a fucking thing and Indrid curses, “Of all the time for my kelpalabra to die. One moment, let me find something so you can see.” He pulls back, red eyes and kaleidoscopic lower half the only thing in Duck’s vision, achingly alluring even as he mutters around the room. 

“We, uh, we can keep it like this.”

“You’re certain? I thought you couldn’t see in these conditions.”

“Can see what matters.” Duck opens his arms and Indrid chuckles, swimming into them.

“I’m amazed you were not swarmed by admirers last night.”

“Flatterer” Duck kisses his cheek.

“I am being entirely truthful. You are so charming, and so very handsome…” Indrid strokes his face as his tentacles glide up his chest and down his tail, “mmmm, I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I saw you.”

“How, uh, sensitive are these?” Duck lets one tentacle curl around his fingers, brings it to his mouth for a kiss. 

“About the same as my hands, but far more flexible.” Two tease just below his hips, his scales beginning to ripple and part at the stimulation. The surrounding darkness heightens each grope and stroke, his body having little to no warning of where the next touch might come from. His world is nothing but Indrid’s hands and tentacles on his body, that little voice and moonlight smile illuminated by the colors of his affection. 

“Fuck, ‘Drid, this is so fuckin nice.”

Indrid hums, pulsing a warm yellow as he coaxes Duck open, kissing his neck and nibbling his ears. Duck winds his fingers into his silver hair, gives a testing tug and gets a moan in reply. 

“Again.”

He growls, pulls harder as his cock emerges, scrapes his teeth up Indrid’s neck and discovers that makes him practically scream in delight. 

“You wanna be in me, or should I fuck you?” 

“Ah, beg pardon?”

“Wait, fuck, do you not have-”

“I have this” smaller tendrils emerge from beneath a fold between his front tentacles, “there isn’t really room for anything to go in, and while I can get some shape from it” he demonstrates by twining three into something close to Duck’s dick, “it is unlikely to be the method you’re used to. My kind mate by sort of, hmm, mushing them together? My, that sounds deeply unattractive when I say it that way.”

Duck licks his lips, “They look pretty damn dexterous.”

Indrid’s eyes glow brighter, “The are.”

“Get over here and show me.”

The other mer comes to him so forcefully they’re propelled back into a wall. Duck barely registers the collision, too busy moaning as tendrils curl around his dick, stroking and sucking so elegantly he’s pretty sure he’s never going to be satisfied with a blowjob again.

Okay, except for one form the mouth currently devouring his own with kisses. Indrid moans and squirms in his arms, tentacle and fingertips caressing him from cheek to tail. 

“May, may I try something?” Indrid pants in his ear. 

“Long as you don’t stop what you’re already doin, ohfuck,” He bucks his hips as more tendrils push into the slit under his dick, Indrid purring as they do.

“Ohhhhhgoodness, you feel wonderful Duck, please, please say we can do this again?”

“Damn, ain’t even made you cum and you’re already beggin for a next time?” Duck teases, kissing the corner of his mouth. 

“Yes, pleaseplease” tentacles tighten around him, trapping him against Indrid as the other mer frantically fucks him, “I’ll can make you feel so good, I want to, please”

“Mission fuckin accomplished” Duck yanks on his hair and Indrid yelps with joy, cumming inside him and across his dick. The orgasm makes him lose control of both his colors and his tendrils, meaning he shimmers like the inside of an abalone as tugs and twitches along Duck’s dick. The touches draw his own climax from him with a groan, and he buries his face in Indrid’s neck, mouthing kisses along it as he spills into the water.

Slowly, all tentacles and tendrils relax and withdraw, leaving only Indrid’s arms around him.

“You asleep?” It’s only half a joke, as Indrid is going limp.

‘Mmmhmm. A perfectly wonderful mer just robbed me of all my energy in the best possible way.”

“Heh, funny, most stunnin mer in the ocean did the same to me.” He swims them over to the hammock, guiding them down onto their sides as Indrid looks sleepily up at him. 

“In that case, would the wonderful mer like to join me for dinner after we nap?”

Duck kisses his nose, nestles closer as Indrid’s tentacles shift to match his tail, “Yeah, he would.”

[maysbanks]

hypersonic missiles. (jj maybank)

hello ! some of you may recognise this fic and that’s bc it’s currently being rewritten as an oc fic rather than a reader insert fic which it was before. i can’t wait for you to read this and introduce you all to haley who i love dearly, so pls enjoy and lemme know what you think !!

warnings: swearing, mention of sex, sexual innuendos, drug use, underage drinking, violence etc

summary: after the death of her father, haley grubbs is determined to get the answers her mother seems to be keeping from her, seeking help from a group of pogues (which just happens to include her weekly hook-up) and unknowingly throwing herself into the midst of a treasure hunt.

( gif isn't mine! please let me know if it's yours so i can credit you. )

The gang gathered around John B's porch, spaced out in various positions amongst the furniture. Silence engulfed the group, the air thick with tension as none of the four teenagers dared to speak.

"JJ should be the one to go." Kie broke the silence, her words hanging in the air as the group processed them.

Said boy whipped around in his place, golden hair falling in his sea blue eyes as they widened, glancing wildly between each of his friends. "What?" He demanded. "Why me?"

"Because you're the one that's hooking up with her," Pope reminded, matter of fact. As if JJ needed to be reminded. The dark skinned boy gestured between him and the remaining two. "She's gonna trust you more than any of us."

Kiara and John B murmured their agreement, JJ scoffing as he flapped his arms, beginning to pace in his spot. "This is ridiculous," he muttered between gritted teeth. "She won't wanna talk to me any more than she'll want to talk to you guys. I mean, we've only hooked up like," JJ paused - raising a hand to count on his fingers. "Maybe like, eleven times, twelve at a push!"

Kiara scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Wow, how chivalrous of you to keep count, JJ," she drawled sarcastically, the blonde boy simply shrugging in return as he took his formal position of leaning against the Chateau's wall. "Look, the thing is you know her better than the rest of us. You're familiar, we're not. We can't just go up to her and start asking questions about her dead dad and John B's compass."

JJ stared in disbelief. "And you think I can?" He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know if you guys realise this, but hooking up doesn't really require much talking. I barely know her."

"But you know her enough to warm her bed every week," John B piped up, narrowing his eyes at his best friend. JJ sighed, lighting a fresh blunt as he refused to meet any of the gang's eyes, staring ahead. John B stepped over and beside the blonde, arm thrown over his shoulder. "We need answers, JJ. Answers she could have. I mean, it was her dad right? She must know something about why he had my dad's compass."

JJ nodded along, but the uncertain feeling bubbling in his chest didn't cease. Thoughts of the two men that had chased the group the day before, guns blazing, entered his mind. Then the memory of him and John B showing up at the Grubbs' residence, only to discover they had been beaten to it by the very same men - he'd heard them threaten Lana and Haley Grubbs, demanding questions about the same compass that lay heavy in John B's pockets. He knew his best friend deserved answers, why did Scooter Grubbs have Big John's compass the night he died? Why was Scooter Grubbs out in the storm that night anyway? Hell, even JJ wanted answers. But he couldn't shake the doubtful feeling, thoughts of Haley Grubbs swirling in his head.

"I don't think this is a good idea." He tried once more, voice small and defeated. The Pogues shared a glance, and he knew they'd already come to a decision. Sighing, he flicked the butt of his blunt, sending it flying in the opposite direction. "Fine, I'll go talk to her. But I'm not making any promises that she'll talk," he frowned. "Sometimes I kinda get the feeling she doesn't like me."

Kie snorted. "I wonder why."

What the gang hadn't bargained for, however, was that the same person who'd they been talking about was already on their way to them - boots stomping across the ground in a determined stride, their mind a whirlwind of series of memories, scenarios, and all the events that had happened in the last twenty four hours.

Haley wanted answers, and she wanted them soon. (Sooner rather than later, if she was being precise.) The series of misfortunes events had all begun with the disappearance of her father - for whatever reason, he'd gone out in the storm that raged against the Outer Banks the night prior, and that, unsurprisingly, had led to his death. Memories of his body, washed up on the shore, cold and blue, eyes open but completely lifeless as they stared up at nothing and everything at the same time. Her heart wrenched at the sight, and she still hadn't been able to get the scene out of your head - her mother breaking down in a heap of sobs, Haley’s body following along with her as the pair both held each other and cried, Sheriff Peterkin's voice echoing in Haley’s mind, over and over again, like a siren. “I'm so sorry. There's nothing we could have done."

Haley knew that, of course. But it didn't explain why he was out in the storm in the first place. She had tried to question her mother, because she knew her dad wasn't a fool. Storm Agatha had been reported for weeks following up to it, he'd even made off-handed comments about it over dinner a couple of times. Her dad was aware about the storm, but had still risked his life (and coincidentally, ended it) to take a boat ride, or so that's what her mother told you.

Bull-fucking-shit. Haley knew there was more to the story, the appearance of two men breaking down her door and trashing her whole house was enough proof of that. And the fact that they were asking about a compass, of all things, didn't sit right in Haley’s gut either. Why the hell would two thugs want a compass, and why would her dad have it anyway? To her knowledge, her dad had never owned a compass in his damned life. (He also never owned a boat, which raised the suspicion of how the hell had he even gone out on a boat ride in the first place.) But the pair were persistent, and she was forced to watch as they threatened her and her mom, their last words sticking with her, sending a shiver of dread up her spine every time they echoed in her head; “We'll be back."

It was something straight out of a king-pin movie, and yet Lana Grubbs still wouldn't talk. She knew something, Haley knew it, and why she wouldn't share whatever information she knew with Haley was beyond frustrating - so she decided, fuck it. If her mother wasn't gonna give her her answers, then she was gonna go out and find them herself. Starting with John B. Routledge.

As if things couldn't have gotten any weirder, the teenaged boy had shown up not a minute after the two guys had left, appearing in Haley’s not-so-much of a doorway with the exact thing the thugs were after: the Compass. To her chargin, she hadn't had time to ask any questions though, her mother was quick to dismiss him (and JJ Maybank of all people, but she didn't really want to think about him at the moment) and warned him not to let anyone know that he had the compass, and Haley could see why - those guys were not to be messed with.

And so, John B. Routledge had left the Grubbs’ home, JJ Maybank in tow, and Haley was left to clean up the mess the bastards had left behind them. Her mothers warning rang in her ears; "Stay away from them boys. Do not get involved in this, Hales.” But alas, there she was, storming towards the property she knew the guys would be. Her mother didn't know, of course, and she was determined to make sure Lana never did. (Haley would be the next person she'd be burying if she ever did find it.)

All Haley wanted was answers, and if John B had even a couple, she was going to find them out. Her father had died, and there was more to the story than anyone was letting on. If it was up to her to piece the puzzle together, then so be it. She would, gladly.

So she marched in the direction of the Routledge residence, more determined than ever. As she walked, people gave her pitying looks, obviously recognising her as Scooter Grubbs’ daughter (the newfound bastard of the Outer Banks, sarcasm intended.) and she simply ignored each and every one of them. She didn’t need them, she thought. She was going to find out the truth, and each step Haley took she was closer to uncovering it all. Some people walked towards her as if to stop and talk, probably attempting to give her some kind of condolence, but each time a person did she hurried her pace; she couldn’t be stopped now, she was too close to getting where she wanted to be for some middle-aged folk tell her they were sorry about her loss, even though they couldn’t have cared less about her dad when he was alive.

Fucking bullshit, she thought.

Haley’s stride slowed however, when a familiar looking van made it's way into her vision, memories of it parked outside the very same house she was planning on going running through her already overactive mind. Her stomach churned, thinking she had missed her chance to interrogate the poor unsuspecting boy, before it seemed to slow down and pulled up to right where she was standing on the curb. Her respectively plucked eyebrows raised as the window rolled down, revealing none other than John B sat in the drivers seat, Kiara Carrera in the passenger, and Pope Heyward's and JJ's heads peering around the pair from the back of the van.

John B leaned out, his mop of wavy brown hair entering Haley’s brown eyed gaze, tight smile on his lips. "Haley,” he greeted. “Hey, where are you off to? Need a ride?"

"Actually," Haley drawled as she stepped closer, right arm leaning on the window as she sent a forced smile the teenaged boys way. “I was just heading over to yours. What a coincidence, huh?"

She never missed the look Kiara shot the two guys seated in the back, all of their eyes seemingly communicating in their own weird little telepathical way. John B blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water for a few seconds before he seemed to compose himself, clearing his throat. "Oh, really?" He asked, as naturally as he could. (It wasn't very natural at all.) “How, uh, how come?"

"Oh, you know," Haley started, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly. "Just thought I'd pay you a visit, y'know, like the one you paid me this morning. Remember that?" She asked as innocently as she could manage. (It wasn't very innocent at all.) “Just wanted to ask you a few questions, s'all. Like why you have the one thing those meatheads that trashed my house were after. How you got hold of it, stuff like that."

And then she smiled like they were all sharing a perfectly civil conversation, as if the underlying threatening tone in her voice didn't exist at all. John B sighed, his head turning towards the rest of the group, catching their eyes and seeming to have another one of their telepathic conversations before he turned back to her figure, his head nodding towards the back of his infamous Volkswagen.

"Get in the back," he said - and she did, shooting him a smile that resembled one of a Cheshire Cat, satisfied as she moved to the other side, walking around the van and hearing him mutter from inside, "What? This is the perfect opportunity to ask her." She didn't need to look to know the rest of the gang were probably objecting her presence, but she couldn't care less. This was just the first step to getting what she wanted.

The door to the van was pulled open from the inside, JJ's head popping out and thrusting a hand out towards her to help her climb into the vehicle. Haley swiftly ignored the gesture, missing the flash of confusion and offence that appeared on the blonde's face, climbing into the van and seating herself beside Pope who smiled rather awkwardly toward her.

"I'm, uh, sorry about your dad," he said softly, fidgeting under her gaze. She smiled slightly at him in return, lips quirking more so in amusement at his obvious discomfort at either having her join them, or her being seated so close to him.

"Yeah, me too," Kiara piped up from the passenger seat, glancing over her shoulder towards her. "It must really suck, to just lose him like that."

Haley nodded, head turning in the direction of where JJ sat across from her, rubbing the back of his head as he muttered quietly, "Yeah, I'm sorry too." before averting his eyes when she looked at him, raising her eyebrows.

Kiara ignored him, the awkward silence that presented itself to the pedestrians inside the van only lasting a couple of seconds as she spoke up again. "I can't imagine what you and your mom are going through," she said, soft brown eyes darting to John B quickly before they returned to catch Haley’s once more. "We're always here if you need anything. Pogue's look out for each other, right?"

Haley forced a small smile, not bothering to bring up the fact that Kiara was technically not a Pogue, seeing no point in the matter as she sent her a small nod of appreciation, silently grateful for her words. Haley had always liked Kiara, or Kie, as she was more commonly known as. She had spent many times sat around a fire with her, listening to her rants about the environment and what everyone could do to help it, as an infamous Pogue kegger loomed around them. Haley was grateful for her presence amongst the guys, unsure of the fact that if she wasn't there, she probably wouldn't have entered the van. She was determined, but she also wasn’t stupid. Despite knowing the guys well and practically all her life, (it’s a small town kinda thing), she would never willingly get in a van with them and let them drive her to an unknown destination. Which reminded her suddenly - where the hell were they going?

"We're lucky we got each other, I guess," Haley said in relation to Kie's words. Kie nodded as her eyes darted to John B again. "But thanks, I really appreciate it." She fiddled with the hem of her faded out jean shorts, her next words directed towards John B. "So, care to tell me where we're going? Or better yet, why you have the damned compass my house was trashed for."

Silence filled the air of the Volkswagen. It was suffocating, the air thick with unspoken tension as everybody refused to meet her eyes. Haley was beyond frustrated, incredibly so, and she made a point to catch John B's eyes in the rearview mirror, an eyebrow quirking as she awaited an answer.

Finally, he sighed.

"The compass was my dads," John B revealed. Haley’s mouth opened in shock for a second before she clamped it back shut. "And for whatever reason, your dad had it. We uh, we found it at the wreck of your dads boat yesterday."

"Wait, what?" She demanded, blinking. She glanced between the gang, eyes accusing as she held each of theirs. "You guys found the wreck? And you didn't tell anyone?" She questioned, tone dangerously low. "And you stole from it?"

"It's not technically stealing if it was his compass," JJ defended, shrugging. Haley shot him a glare, feeling a bubble of irritation build deep in her gut. "And anyways, we tried to tell the coastguard about it after we first found it, but the guy was having none of it. They were hounded with the storm."

Her eyes narrowed. "First found it? Exactly how many times have you guys been at the wreck?" She demanded, tone accusatory.

The gang all swivelled to send JJ their own respected glares, Pope's voice small from beside her as he tried to explain. "Only a couple," he started, startling as her head whipped around towards him. "We're really sorry, okay! We didn't know it was your dads when we first found it, if we did, we wouldn't have snooped in his room either!"

Pope seemed to make note of his mistake as the rest of the gang did, Kie letting out a little frustrated groan from the back of her throat as JJ cringed, pointedly avoiding Haley’s gaze. John B's hands gripped the steering wheel tight, a warning "Pope" leaving his mouth.

Haley laughed, though it held no humour. She clasped her hands together, the slap of her palms meeting echoing in the confine space. "Let me get this straight, you guys not only found the wreck of my dads boat and didn't tell anyone about it, but also obviously found where he was staying and snooped in his room," she listed, feeling the familiar build of rage pulse through her body. “I mean, what the fuck you guys?"

"We're sorry," Kiara turned in her seat, meeting the Grubbs’ girl angered gaze. "We swear, if we had any idea it was your dad we wouldn't have. We were just, curious, I guess. We found the key on the boat when Pope first spotted it in the marsh, and before we even snooped we tried to tell the coastguard, but like JJ said, they weren't interested. So, John B and JJ went to look in the room."

Haley sighed heavily, leaning her head back to rest against the wall of the van. She tried to tell herself to calm down - hell, she probably would have done the same thing if it was her in their position, she couldn't get mad at them over that. "And did you guys find anything?" She asked quietly, the gang seemingly relaxing as they recognised her calmer tone of voice.

"Did we find anything?" JJ snorted as he repeated her words, grin falling from his lips at the glares the rest of his friends shot him. Haley sat up straighter, taking note of their warning glances. JJ awkwardly coughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he once again avoided her honey coated eyes. "Uh, not really."

"Not really?" She asked, frown on her plump lips. JJ nodded, tongue darting out to wet his pink lips, uncharacteristically quiet once more. "Okay, what the hell is going on? And no more bullshitting me, I've had enough of that from everyone else for the past forty eight hours. I came to you for answers, I'm not going anywhere without them."

She looked to John B then, hoping, pleading, that he would understand. He'd lost his dad too, nine months ago, supposedly lost at sea, believed to be dead. Haley knew he never believed that though, refusing to agree that his father was dead, insisting that he was simply missing. If there was one person that could understand her need to know about her dad, it was John B. And he knew it too, as he sighed and nodded.

"There was a safe," he started as she listened intently. "There was money inside it, I don't know how much. The cops kinda showed up when we were in there," he admitted sheepishly. "We had to hide before we could count it or anything. But there was also, um, a gun in the safe too."

"A gun?" Haley deadpanned. John B raised his eyes and caught hers, nodding. Haley scoffed in disbelief, running a hand through her almost waist length hair. "Why the hell would my dad have a gun?"

"Um, there's something else you should probably know," JJ blurted. "I kinda, uh, took it."

The Pogues glared at him again, Kie spitting a warning of his name, but the blonde just looked at the girl seated in front of him. Her eyes widened as he brandished the piece of metal, black in colour and daunting in shape. Of fucking course JJ Maybank had stolen her dads gun, she thought. It was so... JJ.

"You stole that from a crime scene?" She sputtered, heart squeezing uncomfortably in her chest as she eyed the object with disdain. JJ nodded, looking almost guilty. "My dads crime scene? What the fuck JJ? Do you realise how much trouble you could get into from taking that? For having that?"

Haley was unsure as to why she seemed to care so much about that, rather than the fact that he'd taken it from her dads motel room, and that the gun was technically her fathers. She didn't want to ponder too much about that, though, there was bigger fish to fry in that moment.

"Sorry," he said, rather dumbly. "You can have it, if you want?"

She stared at him incredulously as he held the gun out towards her, quickly shoving it away from her body as she shook her head forcefully. "What the fuck would I want with a gun, JJ?" Haley demanded. The blonde boy shrugged, suddenly sheepish.

"It was your dads," he stated simply. From the corner of her vision she could see Pope sending him a wild look, brown eyes blown wide as he tried to be subtle and shake his head at his friend, silently warning him to shut the hell up, or so she presumed. "I just thought, y'know-"

"You thought wrong, JJ," Haley interrupted him before he could continue. His eyebrows furrowed as he noted her hostile tone, but let it go as he simply nodded, swallowing thickly when she turned away from him. “So, what happened, after the motel room?"

John B looked glad to be back on the original topic. "Well, it wasn't long after that we found it was your dad. We were gonna tell the police, but uh, we had this crazy idea that there might have been more on the boat, like money or something? I don't know, we just thought-"

"Your dad might've been a straight smuggler," Pope piped up. Haley’s glare made him shrink in his spot. "Sorry, sorry. Not the time, I get it."

"Right," John B said curtly as Kie groaned softly. "So we went to look again, and I found a duffel bag. The marsh was closed, obviously. But we weren't the only ones out there," his voice turned deadly serious. “After I got it, these two guys appeared on a boat. The same two guys that were at your place earlier."

Haley exhaled shakily at the information, memories of the two men entering her mind unwelcoming. The image of them carelessly tearing apart her house, screaming threats at her and her mother, gun held to her temple as their fists left holes in the walls and bruises on her mothers skin. She shuddered and hoped the rest of the gang hadn't noticed, but she could see the pity in John B's eyes as they reconnected with her own.

"They chased after us, and they were shooting at us too. We managed to escape them, and when we got back on land I looked in the bag, and all that was in it was the compass. My dads compass. It's a Routledge family heirloom, and your dad had it."

His tone held accusatory, though she couldn't blame him for it. It was a mystery to even her as to why or how her father had gotten hold of the compass, and she knew John B wanted answers just as much as she did. Haley felt almost guilty that she couldn't give him any as she spoke up, “I didn't know anything about it, I swear. The first time I've even heard of it was today when those guys showed up. I'm sorry, John B."

Said boy nodded, seemingly believing her as he sent a small smile her way, reassuring her. “Anyways, that's why me and JJ went to your place, I just wanted to know if maybe you or your mom knew anything about it or why your dad had it," he shrugged a shoulder, trying to come off as non-chalant. "And that's when we saw those guys again. I'm sorry about that, by the way."

She shrugged too, an expression of what-you-gonna-do on her face. Though she desperately wanted to know more about the compass, and why it could be so important to the thugs, she withheld her questions for the moment, deciding they could come later.

"And then they arrived at mine," John B revealed. Haley’s yes widened in surprise at the sudden revelation, churning of fear twisting at her gut. "They did the exact same at my place that they did to yours; tore the whole place apart, looking the compass I guess."

JJ burst then - Haley jumped as his voice echoed in the van, much more louder than what John B's had been, excitement lacing his tone as he began to recite the story of the two thugs and their mission of tearing John B's poor beloved Chateau apart, hands gesturing wildly around him.

"Yeah, they were fucking crazy man! We were all locked in Big John's office, no way out apart from the window that was fucking painted shut. We could hear them, taunting us, y'know. Like, 'you better not be in there', they even knew John B's name!" JJ rambled, excitable expression painted on his boyish features. "They come in, guns-a-blazing and we're all tryna figure out how the hell to get out of there, before we finally manage to open the window and hide in the fucking chicken coop of all places. It was fucking insane, man. I had to kill a hen just so we could make it out alive."

Haley blinked at that, her jaw dropping slightly as she tried to process all the information he'd thrown at her all within a minute. JJ calmed down from his passionate retale, chest heaving slightly as he took in her dazed expression, sea blue eyes catching hers and holding them. Kiara said his name in a warning tone from the passenger seat, and he snapped out of his stare-off with the olive skinned girl, but she was still looking at him in disbelief.

"That's basically it," John B said from the front of the van, though his face held a slight grimace at his best friends rather dramatic recite. "But yeah, they practically stripped my dads office bare. They took everything, all of his books, research, everything about the Royal Merchant."

If anybody had noticed her sudden stiff posture at the mention of the Merchant, they never spoke on it. The Royal Merchant. Something Haley was all too familiar with. It had been something of a fascination to her father for a while, especially in the weeks leading up to his death. She just thought it was a weird hobby, a strange interest of his that she never really thought much of. It was nice to see her dad passionate about something, she’d thought. No matter how strange she believed it to be, he had a hobby and she was happy for him. But, sitting in the back of John B. Routledge's van, surrounded by a group of teenaged Pogues, one of which she was were all too familiar with, to put it simply, her throat tightened.

Surely the Royal Merchant couldn't have had anything to do with her dad, right? She was just thinking too much, more than likely. But something in the back of her mind was nagging, unforgiving as the thoughts whirled in her head.

"But before the guys showed up, we found something," she focused back her attention as John B continued. "There's something engraved on the compass. Redfield. It's my dads handwriting, he must have put it there for me, before he disappeared."

Haley shared a glance with JJ as John B said the word. Disappeared. Ever the hopeful, yearning boy. She couldn't doubt his wish, she wished for nothing more for her dad to appear back in her life - but she knew that hers was dead, officially. How could she forget, she saw his lifeless eyes every time she closed hers.

But John B didn't have that, he never knew, really, if his father was truly dead or alive. The records said so, but he'd refused to sign them, or so she heard. He was still hopeful, so certain that his dad would just appear back at the Chateau one day, like he'd never disappeared in the first place. But Haley - and many others - were realistic, and the reality was there was very little to no chance that Big John Routledge was alive.

(Her heart broke for the boy.)

She tuned out the rest of the conversation for the remainder of the drive, her head leaning back on the cool metal of the wall as she closed her eyes and allowed her mind to wander with all the possibilities. Could the Royal Merchant really have been a factor in her dads death? She couldn't shake the feeling, as she could hear vaguely the conversation of the gang. John B insisting that his dad was leading him on a mission, Kiara trying to be supportive but anyone could pick up on the doubt in her voice, Pope piping up with rather unhelpful scenarios like Big John having been kidnapped, (Haley had rolled her eyes), and JJ adding his input, multitasking with rolling a blunt. (She’d rolled her eyes harder.)

The thing was, Haley and the Maybank boy had a little deal going on. She could remember the exact day it had begun, at an infamous Pogue kegger, the sun having set and leaving the sky coloured in perfect hues of pink, purple and yellow. It had been a beautiful night, she had to admit. The party had gone strong to the early hours of the morning, and she’d somehow found herself leaving with JJ Maybank. He'd approached her after she witnessed him striking out with a Touron, (surprisingly), eyes narrowing at her when she’d let out a giggle at his misfortune. He had been hostile at first, demanding what she was laughing at, grinning slightly when she informed him simply 'you'.

The rest of the night had been spent in each others company, and Haley could recall the exact moment where they were dancing closely, bodies pressed tight against each other, her arms thrown over his shoulders and wrapped around his neck, his own around her waist, fingers digging into her hips. Their breath mingled together, his forehead leaning against her own, and she’d expected the moment his lips fell on herd, slightly chapped but impossibly soft against her own as they danced in a passionate embrace that secretly took her breath away. She’d let him lead her to John B's Chateau across the beach, hand gripped in one another’s, as he pressed her to every surface until they managed to stumble their way into the spare bedroom.

She had told herself the next morning that it would only be a one time thing. Haley wasn’t one for random hook-ups, not that no one had tried to coax her into one. She was kinda known amongst the island as being this untouchable, obtainable person that nobody could ever get close to. She wasn’t sure what it was about her that made everyone label her as this being - maybe it was the fact that she was a loner and didn’t stick to one friendship group and spent most of her time to herself, maybe it was the fact that people thought she was weird because her dad was known to be such a loser (God rest his soul), or maybe it was the fact that she skateboarded around town morning till dawn, earphones plugged in and music blasting so loud that passerby’s could hear every word clearly.

The point was, she wasn’t known for getting close to anyone. And yet, she had found herself drifting back to JJ Maybank many other nights after that first one, and that’s where their little deal came into play.

But that's where it began, and also where it ended. Hers and JJ's relationship (if you could even call it that) never went beyond that. Random hook-ups here and there, whenever JJ struck out with a Touron and found himself soughting Haley out amongst the crowd to fill the space in his bed. Of course they were always friendly with each other, they’d known each other for so long, that it would have been silly not to continue being friendly. But they never hung out, not with his group, not with him alone apart from their many nights of endeavours, until now, she supposed. She thought it might have been weird, and she thought correct. Neither of them really looked at each other head-on, the air awkward and thick as the driving continued.

Haley was thankful when John B seemed to finally arrive at his destination, and she leaned forward with Pope to glance out the window, spotting the tall lighthouse stood proud in front of the group. Redfield, the name was written boldly on display.

"Redfield Lighthouse," John B spoke. "My dads favourite place."

She clambered from the van as the rest of the guys did, gazing up at the high building with her hand shielding her eyes from the bright sun from where they all gathered at the clearing. John B turned to face JJ. "Right, you're gonna post up and look out for bogeys, okay?"

JJ's eyebrows furrowed as he demanded, "Wait, why me?" His expression only darkened when Pope informed he wasn't to go in the Lighthouse, Haley watching from the sidelines, unsure where to put herseld in the situation. "Why?" He continued to argue.

Pope grabbed hold of JJ's shoulders. "There are independent and dependent variables, you're an independent variable-" he tried to explain but was quickly cut off as JJ began to yell over his words. "We don't know what you'll do!"

"Shut up!"

Haley awkwardly scuffed her boots on the ground as Kiara sent her a small smile from ahead of the boys, rolling her eyes dramatically when Haley caught them. She smiled at the gesture, once again appreciative of her presence. "Listen to me for a second," John B cut in their argument, stepping forward. "Pope, you stand look out with JJ, okay?" The pair in questioned seemed reluctant, but both nodded at John B's persistent glare. The tall brunette turned to her next, gaze softening immensely when he caught sight of her uncertain posture. "Do you mind keeping an eye out here?"

She shook your head immediately, sending him a reassuring nod. "Yeah, sure. That's fine by me. Heights aren't really my thing anyway," she told him as she looked up at the Lighthouse, nausea hitting at a slight force when she stared at the very top of the building amongst the blue sky. "Yeah, I'm good here."

He nodded back at her, a thankful smile on his lips. "If we split up, we meet back at JJ's house." He spoke, directing the words to the whole group. They all nodded their agreement.

"Great." Kie finalised, shooting Haley one last small smile before her and John B began to walk off, jumping the small fence that blocked their path, their stride quickly entering them into the lighthouse. Haley exhaled as they disappeared into the door, and moved her gaze to return on the two boys she was stuck with.

"I'm gonna work on my merit scholarship essay." Pope informed, before he turned and entered back into the van, leaving her and JJ stood on the outside of it, alone and deadly quiet. She looked at the golden haired boy as he pulled out a happy sack from his pocket, beginning to kick it around with his booted foot.

Haley sighed as she leaned on the passenger side door, her teeth biting down on her watermelon flavoured chapstick covered lip as she stared at the grass beneath her feet, her mind racing. A thud caught her attention and she glanced in the direction of where it had come from, a happy sack laying at her feet. She looked back up to JJ, who sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "Um, sorry about that."

She huffed out a small laugh, bending down and snatching the sack from the floor. "You don't have to apologise to me JJ," she said softly. Throwing the sack back to him, his large hands reached out and cupped it, bringing it back to his chest. “I'm sorry about this, y'know, gatecrashing your friends' little adventure."

JJ's lips quirked, his muscular arm reaching back and throwing the sack into the air, Haley catching it and holding his eyes. "You're not gatecrashing anything," he assured. In the sunlight, his skin cast a golden glow. "And 'sides you deserve to be here. You're looking for just as much answers as John B is."

"I'm not sure about that," Haley told him and threw the sack to him. "I mean, I'm looking for answers, of course. That's why I'm here. But I'm pretty sure John B needs them more than I do," she glanced at the lighthouse momentarily. "I know what happened to my dad, pretty much. He died while being out in the storm, I know that, I just don't know why he was out in the storm or what he was even up to in the weeks leading up to it. John B doesn't even know for sure if his dad is dead or alive." She shuddered at the thought, shaking her head. "He deserves answers way more than me."

JJ nodded, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek as he paused in throwing the sack back towards her, looking at her small figure thoughtfully. "Do you think they could be connected?" He asked suddenly. Haley stared at him, confusion painted on her face. "Your dads, I mean. Yours and John B's. Do you think they could be connected, like your dads death and JB's dads disappearance?"

She stopped. Could they be, really? She had to admit she thought about it in the van on the journey there, but as quickly as it came it passed. To her knowledge, her dad and Big John didn't really know each other - of course they knew each other, but they didn't mix, or so she believed. But her mind replayed the moment John B mentioned the Royal Merchant, the way her stomach had filled with dread immediately, and she had the sinking feeling that it was very possible that what JJ was hinting at could be true.

"I don't know, maybe," she said instead, not wanting to voice her thoughts. JJ nodded thoughtfully, finally throwing her the sack back. She caught it, and repeated the process back to him again.

"I am sorry, though. About your dad," JJ's voice was soft, careful as he watched her pause, taking in his words. "I was gonna say more before, but with the guys... I know how much he meant to you."

Haley smiled gently, a sudden flutter in her chest alarming her as she nodded appreciatively at his words. "Thank you, JJ," she said quietly, sincerely. "It means a lot."

JJ nodded too, chapped lips pulling into an uncertain half-grin. "And I just wanted to say as well, that uh, I don't want things to be like, weird between us or anything," he stated awkwardly, clearing his throat. Haley almost laughed at the look on his face. "I mean, like, with us hooking up and stuff-"

"It won't be weird," Haley quickly interrupted him, grin overtaking the features of her face despite her better thoughts. "It was just hooking up, right? Not like we're exes or anything. No need to make it weird."

"Right," JJ voiced his agreement. Head full of long blonde locks nodding along at her words, dimples winking at her as they made an appearance in his cheeks when he smiled. "Not making it weird. Here's to that."

She laughed as the happy sack landed in her hands, holding it there as she squinted in the sun, grin cheeky as she gazed at him from her small distance. "Yeah, we'll just have to pretend we've never seen each other naked." She joked as she finally threw him his toy back.

The golden haired boy returned her smile, eyes mischievous as they made a show to glance at her figure from head to toe. "Trust me, I'll have to pretend a lot more beyond that to stay civil."

And before she could even think to voice her thoughts of Fuck, how did that almost kinda turn you on, a sudden and loud blare of a familiar siren startled, Haley’s and JJ's eyes widening as they met, a panicked expression matching in their features.

"Shit!" Haley uttered as JJ dropped the happy sack, her head turning to catch sight of the impending police car making its way towards where they were parked. She quickly glanced to the lighthouse, her heart dropping when she saw no sign of John B or Kiara, JJ grabbing her by the arm suddenly and practically dragging her into the van in the passenger seat, him running to occupy the drivers as Pope's head popped up between the seats, questioning them both erratically. She could give him no answers however, having no idea what had prompted the police to arrive. Haley had no time to think about what could have happened as JJ slammed his foot down, peeling out of the grassy area and away from the scene. "What about John B and Kie?"

"They'll be fine," JJ assured her, though they were empty words. He had no clue what had happened either, or if his friends would make it out and away from the lighthouse in time, but he still reached over and squeezed Haley’s knee gently when he saw her worried look. He caught her gaze and held it. "They'll be fine."

She could only hope that was true.

It was hours later when Haley and the Pogues gathered around John B's kitchen table, deadly silent as everyone processed what had just transpired.

She’d had JJ and Pope drop her off at home after escaping the police at the lighthouse, aware that she had been gone a long while and her mother was probably sick with worry by that point. If she wasn’t home within the hour, Haley had no doubt that she would have the police patrolling the streets, searching for her. When she toldthe boys this, they chuckled as she ordered them to park around the corner from her home, not wanting her mother to spot her leaving the van. She’d told them to call her when they heard from either John or Kiara, and they'd both agreed as she climbed from the van and walked the familiar path to her house.

Sure enough, Lana practically collapsed into her when she’d entered. Her arms were wrapped around Haley so tightly as they squeezed all the air out of her lungs, her mothers voice in her ear a jumbled mess of words laced in a frantic tone. Haley assured her she was fine, that no harm was done, and that she had just gone for a walk around the Outer Banks. Lana seemed hesitant, but had allowed Haley to ease her worries as she led her towards the couch and sat her down, letting her mom hold her for as long as she needed to assure her mind that she were really okay.

Haley felt almost bad, seeing her in such a panicked state. But then she remembered if she had just answered her questions truthfully instead of hiding everything from her than she wouldn't be sneaking around in the first place. And then the guilt subsided, if only a little. (Haley still felt awful.)

It was a couple of hours after that when a knock had sounded on her bedroom window. She had startled, her heart racing as she wondered who the hell could be knocking on her window, at night, too. She almost very nearly didn't go towards it, in fear of the two faces of the men from earlier that day greeting her, but she’d exhaled a sigh of relief when her eyes landed on the face of JJ Maybank.

"Care for a late night drive?" He'd asked, and she’d rolled her eyes. His grin never faltered as he watched her put on her boots, checking in on her mother and determining if the coast was clear to sneak out, before she’d climbed from her window, thankful that the house was only one story as she did so. Despite that fact, JJ's hands still gripped her hips as he helped her (though he didn't have to) down from the window.

She’d felt instant relief when she spotted Kiara and John B sat in the van, having resumed their earlier positions. Kie grinned at her as she got in the back along with JJ and Pope, who smiled at her also, as Haley began to question the both of them on what had happened after they’d fled the scene.

They'd been caught, of course. But they'd also been released, and that was the main thing. Haley decided to focus on the positives as John B drove them all off, this time to a cemetery of all places - leading the way towards a specific grave that he informed them all was his great-great grandmother, Olivia Redfield. Her maiden name, apparently.

And of fucking course inside that crypt was a white FedEx envelope, addressed to Bird, which they would later discover was actually John B's nickname given to him by his dad, who'd actually left the envelope there - hoping one day that his son would find it. (Because of fucking course Big John would do that.)

The pieces to the puzzle were all coming together, bit by it, slowly but surely. They’d all returned to the Chateau upon the discovery of the envelope, which contained a map, the sight very familiar. (The Royal Merchant, of fucking course it was.) And there was a very obvious X displayed on it too, X marks the spot. Along with that, a tape recorder fell into the palm of John B's hand.

"Dear Bird," the voice had started, vaguely familiar to Haley’s ears. There was no question as to who the voice belonged to - Big John Routledge was speaking directly into the room, all five teenagers gathered around listening intently. "I didn't expect to find the Merchant either."

Haley’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, her breath catching in her throat as she glanced at JJ who was beside her, his own face a perfect replica of confusion and amazement.

"There she is, the wreck of the Merchant. If something happens to me, finish what I started." Big John's voice continued to fill the deafening silence of the room. "Go for the gold, kid. I love you, Bird, even if I didn't always act like it. I'll see you on the other side."

The recorder clicked off after that, once again silence engulfing the room. Haley felt her stomach churn, her heartbeat to quicken, her palms beginning to sweat. She couldn't believe it. Big John Routledge had gone and found the Royal Merchant. The Royal Merchant, of which her own father had spent months obsessing over. The Royal Merchant, as in the ship that had sunk over two hundred years ago. The Royal Merchant, in which had bought her and this ragtag group of misfits together.

They all littered around the pontoon close to John B's house, beers in hand as Kie strummed softly on her ukulele, the night air a welcome comfort to Haley’s clammy skin, her heart having still not calmed from when she’d first come to the realisation that Big John had found the Royal Merchant, and now she was joining the Pogues on finishing what he had started - for her own father, she thought as she looked towards the stars in the summer nights sky, smiling softly up at them. For you, dad.

"How much was it again?" JJ broke the silence, the golden haired boy seated closest to her.

"Four hundred mil," John B reminded, though he said it dreamily, almost as if he still couldn't quite believe it. She couldn't, either, in all honesty. Five teenagers, about to charge head-first into a treasure hunt? They had to be crazy. But for four hundred million, anyone would be.

JJ's head turned at rapid speed, before he let out a sigh and clasped his hands together, looking between them all. "Alright, let's talk the split. Now, before we say 'evenly' may I remind you that I am the only one that can properly defend us from those groupers who were after us," he branded the gun, waving it around as he spoke. "Protection? Not cheap, okay?"

"Technically, that should be my gun," Haley pointed out, shrugging a shoulder and smiling cheekily when he turned to glance over at her, frown etched on his lips. "You said so yourself, remember?"

"You said you didn't want it!" He protested instantly.

She licked her lips as she teased him, "Well, maybe I changed my mind."

JJ shook his head, tongue running over his teeth as he stared at her in disbelief, though his smile was enough to let her know he found humour in her actions. "You don't just get backsies on a gun," he deadpanned.

Haley rolled your honey coated eyes as Pope quickly interrupted the two of them. “You haven't trained," he directed towards JJ. "You've done zero training."

"YouTube, bro!" JJ countered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "This," he pointed to the gun. "Is at least a five percent bump right there."

The group collectively ignored him, though Haley sent him a smirk when he looked at her, an expression of am-I-right or am-I-right on his pretty face. Kie tilted her head towards Pope. "What are you gonna do with your eighty mil, Pope?" She questioned.

"Pay for college in advance," the boy answered immediately. "And also, textbooks. Those are expensive."

Haley couldn't help but smile at him, Pope, ever the thoughtful one. She knew if she had half the brains Pope had she’d probably be the exact same as him - planning ahead, working towards college more than anything. She admired the boy, truly. But her future wasn't nearly as bright as Pope's, she was aware of that. Which made the desire to find that treasure from the Royal Merchant all that more huge.

"What about you, Haley?” She was broken from her thoughts as Kie suddenly directed her words to the other girl, raising an expectant brow as she came to, noting the rest of the gang all looking at her with similar expressions.

What would she do with her money? Honestly, she had no idea. She felt incredibly lucky to even be considered to get a share of it, given that she had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, demanding answers about her dead dad and the damned compass that had started it all in the first place. She’d questioned the guys immediately after the discovery of Big John's reveal, telling them that she was totally okay with not getting a share, had even told them she’d back off and leave them to it, though so many more questions needed answering in her mind. But they'd all immediately disagreed, letting her know that she were apart of this just as much as they all were. This was her journey, too.

"Move me and my mom out of our shitty house," Haley decided. "Get a huge ass house on Figure Eight, buy anything that we wanted. Treat her to everything she could have ever dreamed of. Maybe buy a holiday home in Italy, visit there every year and have a holiday romance with an insanely hot Italian guy."

Her and Kiara shared a giggle at that, missing the way the blonde beside her shifted almost uncomfortably, eyes downcast towards the water for a second before he licked his lips, proclaiming loudly, "I know what I'll do. I'm gonna get a big ass house on Figure Eight, and go full Kook," JJ announced, eyes meeting hers and sending her a wink. "We can be neighbours."

Haley laughed outright, shaking her head at his dramatics as he continued. "Gonna get a marble statue of myself, and then I'm gonna get a koi pond, put a bunch of those fish-"

"I'm never visiting." Kie mumbled, interrupting his sentence as they all shared a laugh, gazes suddenly turning to John B who hadn't spoken in a while, the tanned brunette simply staring off into space, almost seemingly lost in his world.

"What about you, John B?" He looked back towards the four of them sprawled out on the pontoon, his eyes catching Haley’s own for a millisecond, the pair of them understanding exactly what was going through both their minds in that moment.

"To going full Kook," he raised the hand that held his beer, the group of Pogues wasting no time in following the action, all their hands raising, beer cans glinting under the moonlight as they all exclaimed, "To going full Kook!" into the summer nights air, the excitement and anticipation present in all of their voices.

And she grinned as she clinked her beer with JJ's, the blonde throwing a careless arm over her shoulder as he tugged her closer to him; Haley’s own naturally wound around his waist in return as they all laughed and joked into the night, the promise of an adventure and bright future's ahead of them all.

She failed to notice that their arms never really left each other until later that night, when her departure from the gang forced her to unwind her limbs from his, their gazes catching, secret smiles on both their faces.

Oh, this would be fun.

[zutaraangtastic]

If I'm not to late to join in on this inappropriate use of bending may I suggest temperature play? A tied up avatar between the mercy of katara running ice up and down his body and then zuko playing with fire a little. Heating his hands up slightly Letting small flames ghost over his skin not ever touching but close.

(#2) Prompt: more dominant katara pls she honestly my favorite

(#3) Prompt if you're still taking them: More bloodbending please!

3-in-1 this time, hopefully our wonderful prompt-givers don’t mind! (Reminder that we are not accepting new prompts; we received these before July 1.) - Mod J

The evening air off of Yue Bay is cool, brushing refreshingly over Zuko as he sits on the temple steps and watches Katara and Aang circle each other in the courtyard.

When the caress of the breeze gets a little too friendly, billowing through his loose pants and lingering between his thighs, he knows it’s not nature’s doing. He catches Aang smirking in his direction and shakes his head. 

Katara takes advantage of the distraction to knock Aang into the fountain with a blast of water. Serves him right, Zuko thinks—he’s just had his own duel with Aang, still sweaty and winded from it, but he certainly wouldn’t be playing around if he was the one who won and had to go up against Katara.

Aang launches out of the pool on a jet of his own, stray droplets shimmering off of his graceful trajectory. He turns them into an icy rain to pelt down on Katara’s back before he lands behind her, making Zuko wince sympathetically for her mostly-bare skin. She cries out sharply and grabs at her shoulders. Zuko starts to stand, and Aang freezes before hurrying to her with hands raised in a worried, surrendering gesture.

“I’m sorry, are you okay?”

From his angle, Zuko can just barely see her smile, and some of the tension drains from him. He starts to ease back into his seat, but stops in his tracks at the sight before him. Aang is raising his arms high above his head, standing ramrod straight. His shoulders quiver with resistance as they go backwards, and his arms lower to fold together behind his back. When he sinks to his knees, giving Zuko a clear view over his head, Katara is facing Aang, her hands tilted in a familiar position.

“Uh,” Aang says, though it doesn’t exactly sound like a complaint. He tips his head forward—or Katara tips it for him, with a flex of her fingers—to rest against her thigh, blue arrow to brown skin below the simple cloth wrap at her hips. “Wait a minute. You fought dirty!”

Katara laughs, crystalline and guileful. “You never made me promise not to. All you said was you’d stick to waterbending for me.”

By now Zuko is no stranger to her bloodbending or its many titillating uses, but something feels off. The courtyard is dark, illuminated only by the lanterns lining its edges. When he sparred with Aang earlier, it seemed so much brighter, their multicolored fire swirling all around. Without it, he realizes it’s a night with no moon.

Her eyes, blue as dark as the ocean’s crushing depths, find him. He draws towards her and doesn’t know whether it’s of his own will or hers.

He hasn’t been so surprised by her ability since he first saw her demonstrate it, when they hunted down her mother’s killer—and she’s told him about it since then, what it requires of her, how it feels to use for combat, healing, pleasure. But this is a whole new level.

“Zuko,” Aang says, struggling to glance up at him, “has she been practicing on you without telling me?”

Before Zuko can respond, Katara interrupts, “I honed this all on my own, thank you very much.”

“For people who can’t wait until a full moon for treatment,” Zuko realizes. He’s piecing things together, though his brow remains furrowed. “But how…?”

“Well, it’s the same as you being able to firebend at night, even if you’re stronger during the day. Except during the eclipse, you could always feel it, right? Just because I can’t see the moon, doesn’t mean it’s not there.” She looks pleased with herself, and probably at Zuko’s half-open mouth. “Maybe Sokka helped a little,” she adds in admission. “Or at least, helped me put words to what I was trying to do. He’s been studying more astronomy from—”

“This is all very interesting, but do you think we could save the details for pillow talk?” Aang asks from below, shifting minutely and restlessly on his knees.

“Why, is someone getting desperate?” Katara croons, turning her keen gaze on him. 

She curls her fingertips and turns her wrist at a different angle, and Aang’s spine straightens again, his legs pushing him up to stand unsteadily. With a gesture of her palm, she backs him up against Zuko’s chest. 

There’s the telltale tingle of her control in Zuko’s veins, too, starting with his arm, and he doesn’t resist it. He notices the sweat beading on Katara’s forehead.

The feeling washes out like the tide, in the middle of raising his hand to wrap across Aang’s neck and shoulder. 

Katara’s mouth tightens with concentration, but Zuko’s arm falls limp. Puzzled, he looks at it, then back at her, flexing his hand to test the sensation and finding unexpected freedom. Normally she can bloodbend him and Aang at the same time with little issue, after years of full moons spent together in their bedrooms—but maybe that’s the problem, that this new form of hers isn’t as strong yet.

Aang seems to pick up on that too, and Zuko can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “Having trouble?”

In one fluid motion, Katara spins Aang so he faces Zuko and wraps his wrists in a tight coil of water behind his back. “I still have other ways to keep you how I want you, sweetie,” she says. “Zuko, be a dear and show him a little fire.”

For just a moment, Zuko has the urge to challenge her, the spark of competition that always flickers between them flaring up. But Aang looks perfect like this, restrained and eager and a little on-edge. Over Aang’s shoulder, Katara stares expectantly at the flames that have crackled to life on Zuko’s fingertips, sharing a conspiratorial smile with him. That’s all he needs to decide he wants to play along.

While he trails one hot hand up to Aang’s sternum, making him squirm, Katara raises another bubble of water. She shapes it, freezes it in the form of a dagger that she presses between Aang’s shoulders, making him arch his chest. He gasps at the lick of heat to skin, the bracing cold flat of the icy blade down his spine, caught with no escape.

Zuko fans the fire out to dance tantalizingly across Aang’s collarbones, but almost loses control of it when his body jerks forwards, a different sort of warmth blooming suddenly in the pit of his stomach. He extinguishes it all together, for fear of hurting Aang, until Katara says, low and dangerous, “You’d better not stop.”

The throb in his blood is there again, Katara swaying him to press up close to Aang’s front, wobbly legs between legs. Aang exhales a breathy laugh, which turns into a gulp and a shiver with the ice skimming up his throat. Zuko’s eyes linger on Katara for a moment. The focus is clear in the crease of her brow, even as she digs her teeth into Aang’s shoulder. 

He knows he can trust her to keep them all safe, power play aside. His hand lights up again, gently curling hot and orange at Aang’s side, but it slides in the opposite direction than he intends.

Maybe it was his own folly, to think that he was ever actually out of her control.

[elaz-ivero]

Poetry Fieldnotes ||Broken Artists Collective||

[image description: a block print with a bright red border around a greyish blue grainy image. Atop it is a pair of discoloured hands, palms facing forward, red and outstretched. Above the hands in white Garamond font are the words, Broken Artists Collective and in smaller font, and other poems. /end id]

Over the past week, I may or may not have fully embraced the concept of a broken artist finding myself unable to conjure up a single creative thought unless I'm lying on the floor surrounded by scrawlings and broken-spined books. For a long time, I have been trying to cater my work to a series of magazines that clearly yearn for a very specific 'type' of poetry that I am incapable of producing. These poems are ones that applied pressure, the ones that were crammed into inattentive submission boxes and were returned in empty emails.

Here are the poems,

[image description: a photograph of a boy laying down looking upward, a lit cigarette stands upright in his mouth and his features are overlayed with the shadows of ferns and other plants. He wears an orange collared shirt and around him are the words in white Garamond font, Floor Bound Echo Location. /end id]

Floor-bound Echolocation is a disjointed 403-word prose poem that is a coalesce of liminal spaces, chaotic ingenuity and a reversal of grief. Like many of my poems, it describes a series of small events and feels more like a corrupted scene from a novel than a stand-alone poem. It's a short tale of a brother and sister cleaning out the garage-workspace of their genius, estranged and recently deceased cousin. It opens as follows...

All the lines are in lowercase and of sporadic length, every so often a single random word is isolated and highlighted. These are the words that were isolated throughout the poem.

//enigma //a test of patience //satisfied //memorized

I adore this poem and it feels strangely personal (my own experiences often slip into my work unconsciously like fears finding their place in dreams) as a creative I fear the idea that a lot of my work and unwritten ideas will never be read or known. The poem focuses on one of the cousin's creations, a geometric pattern drawn in chalk on the concrete floor. This pattern, its design obsessive and laid out like a triggerless trap takes over the narrative of the poem. The characters wash it away and the pattern, the physical manifestation of this dead cousins genius clings to the idea of being appreciated, recognized.

[image description: a boy sits up against a wall in a barren green and blue-tinted room, to the right of the image, is a window showing trees outside and beneath it a gas heater is attached to the wall. The boy's wearing a similar orange shirt and on the wall beside him are words, 'it blends and swirls with the oiled water and tidals along the length of the driveway to passer-by's what remains of it asks, begs, to be, memorised.' /end id]

I wrote 'floor-bound...' in a day and made subsequent edits over the course of a couple of days, I tend to write out my ideas and make minor changes to word choice and sentence length before I add in the details that make each poem unique. The isolation of individual letters was a way to almost mimic the process of looking in a cluttered space you'll see something recognizable and latch onto it.

Status: Submitted

[image description: A girl with long black hair, olive skin and a tired solemn expression face forward, an unlit cigarette held loosely in her mouth. She stands in a red elevator, the doors are closed and on the left on the image is the metal switchboard showing she has reached level 12. On her right is the word, 'Peephole'. /end id]

Peephole is a mirrored poem and is split into 'Inside', and 'Outside' with Inside, aligned to the left and Outside, aligned to the right, they are reflective of each other, mirrored. Peephole is about a young drunk woman staying inside her boyfriend's cramped apartment inspired by the 43-Square-Foot rooms in South Korea and an image from the article below inspired the entirety of this poem.

She, aware that the apartment seems to reject her, steps out into the hallway, the 'Outside' which feels apocalyptic with a burning wining sun and a ghost standing by the elevator, a personification of her sickness silently assessing how she is still alive and if she could find her way home in this state. The women in turn assess how this hallway faintly reminds her of the one from 'The Shining' leading into a breaking of the fourth wall.

[image description: A photograph that looks similar to a corrupted piece of film, tinted red and showing a woman's profile looking toward the right. Words on the left of the image read, 'I take an imaginary drag as if setting the scene of some ninety's horror, slasher, mounting suspense with the final girl, alone, a lonely lamb how easy would it be to just end a film right here.' /end id]

The tone of the poem is gritty, realistic and almost elusive in its design. I love writing poems without intending to care about its audience, with no closure, no clarity, no kindness. This poem is an amalgamation of all the recent media I've consumed, 'The Shining', Final Girl, Wikipedia dives into the housing crisis and psychological horror. I love writing poems that reflect a blend of culture, using language as a way to implement distinctive voices in my writing.

[image description: Another room tinted green, on the bottom of the image head barely in frame is a women looking off into the distance, above the cigarrete she holds red smoke reflecting in the shine on her face twirls and unfurls. Text reads, 'Tiger balm and salt, "kapuahi ahi" his whisper hurts my ears and sounds like, toungue on velvet, tooth in cheek.' /end id]

Status: Submitted

[image description: a close up of a brides face covered by a sheer veil in front of a black background, her eyes are tinted with red eyeshadow and she looks forward with a bored stare. Large text in the upper left-hand corner reads, 'Chekhov'. /end id]

Chekhov, my most recent poem is- as the title suggests- from the perspective of a gun, a woman on her wedding day is left at the altar by a cheating groom and hunts him down in the orchard venue with an heirloom of a gun. I love the perspective of this poem, the way it slowly reveals the origin of the 'voice' and grows darker and darker as the wedding dress soils and darkens with dirt and blood. Few of my poems spur from ideas rather than images but the idea of a furious bride filled with anguish and horror brought this poem to life.

[image description: a young bride looking behind her as she runs toward a patch of dark trees in the middle of a field. One hand holds up the edge of her white dress, it's evening. Text on the left-hand side of the image reads, 'Darling when my steel feels soft, revoke your vows and kiss something just as cold and cocky. /end id]

This poem is split into three stanzas, before the wedding, during and the evolving aftermath. I feel like I could extend this into a short story saving the strange gunpoint perspective till the final scene.

Status: Completing

[image description: A black and white image of a boy looking up, his expression a mix of horror and fear while blades point down at him and hold steady inches from his neck. The image is a still from "Ivan the Terrible" by Sergei Eisenstein. Text aside it reads, 'The Sound of Hamlet Rehearsed. /end id]

The sound of Hamlet Rehearsed, inspired by my own recent exploration of scriptwriting and theatre. The sound of Hamlet Rehearsed is about a boy being held accountable during a faux court hearing, on stage on opening night. The narrative slowly switches from fiction to reality as it dawns on him that the punishment is about to be dealt and he struggles with understanding how much of his reaction is performance or authentic. It's structured in a sporadic unbroken series of words and moments.

Tone-deaf touchtone tipping point Ziplock bags and scented zip ties off script the boards atop the trap door tremble imagine the conductor beneath torch amongst teeth briefly making out direction from diction.

Status: Editing

Those are the poems I've been working on! I'm not going to write any more poetry until I come to my poetry course next trimester and instead are going to focus on short stories (I'm developing two right now, three-course meal and Wren versus the Russian Government) and continuing by Worldbuilding Diaries series.

-E

[greyfacewhispers]

Will had seen Grey hurt before, but not like this. Not this bad.

[[MORE]]

//Once it had been a slice of a knife in the kitchen. Will had heard the shadow hiss sharply as he was getting the curious dogs out from under Grey's feet while he cooked. Just as Will sent Buster too his bed, he heard it and turned to see Grey grimacing, holding his hand at the wrist as blood dripped from the slice on thenar eminence of his left hand.

"Grey!" Will gasped and quickly rushed over. The cut was worse up close, deeper than he expected and weltered with blood. "Put pressure on it for God's sake! Here I'll drive you to the hospital, that needs stitches-"

To his surprise the other man had laughed. "It's okay Will, really," Grey said, pulling his arm from Will's grasp as Will tried to elevate it more to help stem the flow of life's red that ran from his lover's body. "I'll just heal no big deal."

"Heal? Not if you don't-" But to Will's utter shock the wound was already closing. It was like watching a time lapse of the healing process, no not a time lapse because no scabs formed and no scarring either, it was like watching the wound opening in reverse. Skin pulled itself back together smoothly, hiding the revealed muscle and one white wink of bone. In a few harsh beats of Will's heart Grey's wound was closed only the sticky blood that smeared over his hand and wrist showing it had been there at all.

"See?" Grey turned and twisted his hand to show he had full movement in it, even rolling his thumb and flexing his fingers to show no muscle damage had remained. "I'm okay. I'm sorry I scared you, I just slipped that's all. I'll be more careful, promise." Grey muttered half soothing and half embarrassed. He washed his hand off before Will grabbed it again, his thumb running over the beautiful soft skin where a moment ago had been the ugly cut. "Will?"

"You must take greater care ma douceur," Will whispered as he kissed Grey's cheek, fingers still caressing along that now invisible line. "I do not like seeing you hurt."

Grey flushed pink and nuzzles against his neck. "I'm sorry. I'll be more careful."//

"Fuck!" Jo cursed, opening the shadow's shirt and cringing at the wounds that littered his chest. Some of them looked like punctures or places that had been sliced or gouged with claws. Others were distinctly bite marks, places ripped by hungry teeth. "Grey what-"

"I messed up," Grey whimpered and laid his head back limply against the arm of the. His hair was drenched in sweat and his already fair skin had taken on a deathly pallor. "It spotted me and ambushed me." The shadow shuddered violently and moaned low in pain. Jo spun to her feet and strangely moved away from Grey.

"Keep him talking," She hissed in Will's ear as she passed by, her usually soft and sweet face now a hard and determined mask that would have been a stranger to him had Jack not had him pour over every image captured of Jo on her hunts. "Keep him awake!" She explained no further and swirled away, her hands as bloody as in his nightmares. Will did not hesitate either, taking what had been her place kneeling on the floor beside the other man.

"What ambushed you?" Will growled, coming in closer and gasping softly in alarm at one wound that was ripped along his stomach. He pressed the clean towel to that, blinking away images that told him if pressure was not kept on that gash organs would slip from it. "Grey!"

The blue eyes opened again, full of tears of pain. "It was a rugaru..." He said in a voice that clearly should have been louder. Upon seeing the change in Will's eyes the shadow shook his head wincing. "No. Not-not him. Another one. Florida. Fully transformed. It m-moved along s-sewer lines and was heading for a pr-preschool." When Will put his other hand to Grey's cheek it was cold as marble.

"JO!" Will screamed, not daring to take his eyes from Grey's own gaze lest when he returned them to it he returned them to it he found the blue unfocused and fixed. A grim thought that as long as there was pain in them, and fear, it was better than the alternative. "Jo we have to do something! He's losing too much blood he-"

"I know Will," Jo said, her voice razored in distress as she came back over and knelt back down beside them, taking Grey's hand and holding it between her own. "I broke the salt lines and sent Amon to get something. Grey, hunny, take some energy from me and Will while we wait."

Grey hissed in disgust, leaning slightly away from the other two with a look Will found himself struggling to read but appeared to be mainly made up with revulsion and curiously tinted with a touch of fear. "/No./" He growled in the low snarl of a wounded animal not recognizing the people surrounding it only meant to help. "I won't."

"Don't be an asshole," Jo snapped back, pulling him closer again. "You're so badly hurt hun, just take a little please. From both of us, you won't hurt-"

"I don't want-"

"Just do it-"

"You're dying!" Will cut into their argument harshly, his hand gripping the shadow's shoulder hard enough to bruise and he hoped it would bruise, that the bruise would be so deeply blue it was almost black then fading gradually to yellow because that yellow would mean Grey lived long enough past these mortal wounds to be out of danger. "Don't ask us to sit here and watch you die! Don't be that selfish!"

It stung to the center of his being to watch Grey cringe from him, shudder with the force of his words and see those eyes fill with a pain that had nothing to do with the physical body. Still the stubborn shadow shook his head, jaw set in a firm line. Here Will suddenly wished Grey was a little more like Hannibal, instead of unyielding on his position human beings were not food.

A terrible snarling and screaming sounded from behind him making all three jump as Will turned to see the great black wolf that Grey kept company with, dragging what looked like a filthy elderly man across his floor. Will hissed in disgust before being shoved away by Jo who had a taser out for reasons Will was sure he didn't understand as the wolf, it's fangs sunk deeply into the shoulder of the man, dragged its screaming prey closer. Will's hand went to his own gun, taking it out before holding it pointed towards the floor as he saw Jo shaking her head at him.

"Amon's brought a rawhead Grey, be quick no time for modesty hun!" Jo said loudly, her taser aimed at the dirty man. Without quite understanding what he was seeing, Will watched Grey reach out, clearly in pain still, and grab the head of the man, or rather the monster, that the black wolf held pinned beside him. The shrieks grew louder then silenced completely as the monster withered before Will's eyes, withered and crumbled and fell into a heap of dust. Will blinked rapidly, breathing hard like he was coming out of a seizure as Grey set up, the worst of his wounds mostly healed.

"I need another..." Grey croaked, sounding curiously shamed as he rubbed the massive head of the wolf that licked at his face. "But I'll take it outside."

"Can you?" Jo asked, her taser stored away now which prompted Will to do the same with his gun. "Are you well enough to walk? Was that en-"

"Yeah. Yes," Grey said in the smallest voice, using the big wolf as leverage to climb from the couch. For reasons Will couldn't fully grasp shame rose off the shadow likes waves of heat off sun soaked asphalt. "I'm sorry. I'll get the... mess... when I come back don't... I'm so sorry."

"Forget about it hun," Jo told him already searching for the dustpan and the broom as Will still stood transfixed by his attempt to fill in the jigsaw pieces of what was happening and what he had seen. He thought he had the corners in place but wasn't sure.

"Sorry," Grey said softly again, only looking at the floor as he shuffled past, leaning heavily on the wolf. He was limping and wincing but no longer dying. All the air rushed out of Will's lungs once Grey passed through the doorway and out into the day.

"Hey," Jo said quietly, having swept up the remains of the prey and dumped them already. "Babe are you okay?"

"He was just going to lay there an die," Will growled, grinding the heel of his palm over one temple. "He would rather die than-"

"Than hurt either of us, yeah," Jo smiled sardonically as she came over to brush her fingers through Will's hair. "We can take turns yelling at him but it won't do any good. I used to be able to cow him on it and make him do what was better for him but haven't been able t' do that in a long time."

"I might yell anyway," Will grumbled, leaning into her hand. The washing waves of relief that were pouring from her were the only thing keeping him buoyant and preventing him from sinking down to the deep darkness that flowed through the room currently. "I've never seen him hurt like that before..."

"I have," Jo murmured gently, taking Will into her arms and enveloping him in her energy. "He's been hurt bad like that a few times." Will's mind showed him Grey's scars. The faint ones on his back that almost seemed to be letters of a language he didn't know, the ones that circled his wrists like shackles, the line around his stunning neck. Would this time scar too? It was one thing to trace his fingers over, or his tongue, scars he didn't know the origin of. It would be another in this instance.

"He'll be okay," Jo said as there was a commotion outside that must have been the wolf dragging in the next victim up to repair the damage done to Grey by his hunt. "But babe... don't talk about seeing him eat okay? He's kind of sensitive about it."

Will nodded before burying his head into her shoulder. His eyes found the spot on the floor where the filthy man had been. To the best of his knowledge that was the first time a monster died in his house. He was overjoyed that it had been the right one.

[grind-pantera]

I'm all for subconsciously affectionate Grimmel. Like s/o is helping him with something he he tucks her hair back. We h realizes what he's just done he says it to make sure she doesn't mess up but he also barely looks her way after wards. Or my favorite, caught her when she almost fell/got bumped into, and started at her face and eyes just a breath to long and then lets go like his hands were burnt.

okay hi you’ve inspired me to make some headcanons t h a n k s.

If the two of you are out in the middle of the woods, alone, he’ll show you how to set up simple traps. Grimmel’s reasoning is always ‘To protect yourself’ though deep down, it’s because Grimmel genuinely likes to spend time with you and being close to you and showing you aspects of his hunting world is the perfect way to ‘flirt’, so while you’re trying to tie a certain knot that he showed you before, he’ll reach forward and his fingers will graze along yours as he helps. Your heart skips a beat, Grimmel can sense it in the way that you’re now holding yourself. More aware of how you’re holding yourself, how you’re breathing, how you’re looking at him. He smirks, more to himself and licks his lips. “Just like that, my little one.” Compliments and praise are rare with him and you can’t stop yourself from grinning like a goof. 

That dumb little hood thing he wears? Imagine preening his hair after he’s taken it off. He feigns annoyance as your fingers lightly work on getting his cowlicks to calm down, but Grimmel can’t stop himself from looking at you with adoration swirling in his gaze, even if it’s just for one second. He’s too proud of a man to let you know that you cause him to melt, even just a little. But, the thing is. You absolutely do know and continue to pretend that you don’t for the sake of Grimmel.

Imagine helping him readjust the strap that holds his crossbow. Grimmel himself doesn’t care if it’s crooked, but, if you’re walking behind him ( which, most of the time, you are, but still, close enough that he could defend you if needed) it does bother you if it’s not straight. He just rolls his eyes and lets you do it, letting himself relax for the split second as he feels your hands on his shoulder, fixing the item carefully. Your hand will linger on his shoulder and he’ll allow it for a moment before sluggishly sliding out of your grip and continuing forward. Nothing to be said, no thank you, no appreciation but you’d gotten used to it. He’d show appreciation in private when you got back to camp/home/the ship. Preferably with a kiss, if you’re lucky. 

In instances when he does take you on a hunt with him, you do like to stick fairly close to him for the sake of not getting lost in the woods. Grimmel moves naturally fast, that’s what makes him a good predator as he relies much more on brains than brawn, so being two or three steps ahead was how he functioned. He will move fast enough that you do get stuck ( climbing over a log that he easily mounted and hopped over ) or you get caught on a bush and end up falling face first into his back, your hands reaching out and grasping his biceps to keep yourself from falling completely onto the ground. Grimmel stops--- you hear him sigh in slight anger and annoyance as he turns his head to look back down at you. “What are you doing?”“I tripped, I couldn’t---” He turns quickly, so fast in fact that you’re unsure of how he did it so fluidly. Grimmel had his hands on your upper arms, holding you in place and assuring that you weren’t going to take another unexpected tumble. That, or he was holding you to assess if there was any damage done to you, which there wasn’t but he let his touch linger upon you for longer than needed. “Maybe you need a lesson on how to walk, little one. I thought you knew better than to---”“You walk so fast, it’s hard to keep up!” You were fast to defend yourself, quickly regretting your decision as he peered down at you through unamused, ice blue eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ll--- I’ll try to keep up.”Grimmel sees the regret on your face as you disliked being scolded by him, especially for such small things such as falling or tripping. He sighs, rubbing your arms to calm you down a bit before pulling away in a rush of cold air. He compromised. “I’ll slow down a bit for you, but not much. We’ve got to make camp before the sun sets and we’re only half way to where we need to be.”

[starcaller-lunarsong]

"The time for mercy is over."

I finally finished this precious, angry druid! I love Luna so, so much, and I'm really proud of the digital painting of her I did. I didn't keep track of how long it took, but definitely took a few weeks on and off for sure! I also wrote a small story to go along with her transformation into a Night Warrior. Hope you enjoy!

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Sounds of fighting filled the midnight air, Lunarsong panting heavily as she slashed her way through yet another orc. For every one she killed, two more seemed to take their place. The tide of the Horde was endless in her homeland, and the thought filled her with murderous anger. The hand of a dying orc reached up, grasping her long, silver cloak, and ripped it off the druid. She looked down at him with cold amber eyes, feeling pleasure well up inside her at the terror in his own. The Horde thought her dead after the War of Thorns, her body rotting in the depths of the Veiled Sea.

Oh how terribly wrong they were… She allowed them to think she was dead, and any who discovered her identity never lived to tell their superiors. Her scythe blade dove down to his throat, hot blood splattering her cloak before she put it on once again. She didn’t bother to pull up her hood. None of the Horde soldiers here would live to see another sunrise, anyway.

She had seen what had become of Darkshore. The goblins were cutting the land dry and didn’t even bother collecting the wood they had made, leaving it to rot away. Such waste made her sick, and she wanted nothing more than to bury her scythe in the skulls of those despicable goblins. Especially their oh-so ‘beloved’ Trade Prince. But she supposed these orcs and trolls and forsaken would have to do. For now...

“By Elune, they’re everywhere!” Maiev’s voice brought her out of her bloodlust-induced haze, licking her lips to taste the crimson life fluids of her enemies that splattered her so thoroughly. She let herself get carried away yet again. Golden eyes flickered around the battlefield, and she could see that slowly, ever so slowly, her people were losing ground.

She looked back toward her High Priestess. Tyrande’s eyes were sealed shut as she levitated in the air, cool and soothing moonlight illuminating her in the form of a beam. She was more like a beacon, almost inviting any stray arrow to strike her. Never, Lunarsong snarled silently. She will not fall. She will become the Night Warrior. She has to…

She needed more time. The ritual wasn’t complete yet, and she needed more time. Arcane magic crackled fiercely around the druid, her eyes taking on a violet sheen. She was done hiding who she was. She was Lunarsong Fel’lendar, former heir of the House of Stelleris, a former member of the Highborne. She was the Starcaller. She would make damn sure the Horde remembered her name - and feared it.

Moonfire flared down to those who dared approach her, and roots grabbed those who survived. Slowly, she closed her open palms into fists, each small movement sending the unfortunate soldiers deeper and deeper into the earth’s cold embrace. Their screams were muffled as the roots continued to grow, covering their mouths. No one would remember them. No one would grieve for them, least of all her.

The old her would’ve been appalled at the methods she used. At her using the same arcane magic she swore to never use, as a rejection of her family’s legacy. But she died the day Teldrassil burned. The day that orcish scum ran her through with a blade from the back - a cowardly blow. The day he ripped off her moonstone pendant, the only gift from her mother she still cherished, clean off of her throat, and threw her into the Veiled Sea. The day she was left for dead, just barely clinging to life because of the intervention of her father. The day her entire world turned to ash…

Mother, father, Elyssa… To think that they could actually follow Sylvanas and her twisted Horde, after all the atrocities she has committed. How could they be so blind? Cold anger filled her as she continued to fight, the power of her spells fueled by her emotions and pain. Fueled by the need for justice for her butchered people, for the families and lives erased in mere moments, all for what?

We were just an example for Sylvanas to use. To show what happens to those who defy that evil, slimy and treacherous banshee!

Elunara Voidcaller fought at her side, her tabard of the 7th Legion covered so thoroughly in orcish, troll and forsaken blood that you could barely see the lion of the Alliance poking through the crimson fluids. Her blue and gold armor was covered similarly. Void energies swirled around the mage, Elunara’s blue eyes alight with a vengeful fury that paled only in comparison to Lunarsong’s own. She sent those who advanced too close tumbling and screaming into the endless void, turning others into sheep, and many more dead to the ground, arcane magic lacing through their bodies brutally.

There was Lindrith Icebloom, screaming the names of the dead night elves in Teldrassil, and the countless innocents butchered in the War of Thorns, of the fallen Alliance soldiers at Lordaeron, over the clamor of the battle. The death knight was a flurry of blades, striking out at any Horde member with brutal mercilessness, but their lives didn’t end there. She raised the dead as skeletons, sending them upon the other soldiers without care. Thaldryn fought beside her, his frost spells freezing anyone foolish enough to attack his mate. They were like a well-oiled machine, freezing and shattering the Kaldorei’s enemies with brutal efficiency.

And then there was Lunarsong’s own mate and daughter. Tehlmar and Lilyura had taken the form of their demons, great wings of shadow sweeping orcs and trolls and forsaken off their feet before their warglaives beheaded them easily and cleanly. Lilyura’s demonic form melted away to reveal the night elf once again as she vaulted over another orc, landing on his shoulders before twisting, slamming him into the ground. There she dispatched him with brutal efficiency, her revealing armor and blindfold already splattered with blood. Tehlmar turned toward Lunarsong’s direction, noticing her staring. He grinned at her before winking, charging once again into the fray.

She grinned back, continuing to fight before the hand of her general, Shandris Feathermoon, gripped her shoulder tightly as she turned the druid around. “The ritual is nearing completion! Lunarsong, release the Eye of Elune!” The druid nodded silently before putting away her weapon. She swiftly embraced her husband and child once she ran to them, each sticky with the same crimson fluid that was on her.

"I swear to Elune, if you two die on me, I'm going to kill you..." Tehlmar chuckled softly at that, kissing her lips gently.

"Bold of you to assume they'd even be able to land a hit on me, Luna." He kissed her one last time before breaking away to rejoin the fray as Luna ran to the Eye of Elune - and to her High Priestess.

Her hands glowed with starlight as she began the process of releasing the eye, calmness washing over her as she communed with her goddess. She had never felt so at peace, despite the raging battle behind her. Tyrande lowered to the ground, opening her eyes at last.

The moonwell surged with power from the ritual, Lunarsong’s breath catching in her throat as her High Priestess finally spoke. Rage was evident in her voice, transforming the once beautiful, melodious sound into something akin to a war chant. “With ancient words, I invoke your most ruthless phase.” As the water in the moonwell turned dark, she took a severed orc head from her side, tossing it into the center of the well. It sank into it, stars glittering on the surface of the darkened water, shadow and moonlight crawling up the sides of the ancient, pristine stone.

“With this offering, I demand to wear your darkest face.” As she continued on, she walked into the well slowly. She lifted up her face to the night sky, the crescent moon high above. A beam of moonlight flared down to her, Tyrande opening her arms wide to embrace it as if it were a lover. “Elune, make me the instrument of your vengeance!" She raised her hands that were now glowing with starlight, releasing the power that was welling up within her.

Lunarsong could barely make a sound before she doubled over, gasping out in agony. She could feel it. Elune’s rage, her wrath, pure and overwhelming, and yet she welcomed it with open arms. She welcomed the agony, the rage, the power and glory of her goddess. She wanted this power more than anything. Wanted the chance to claim vengeance more than anything. Her fingers curled upwards, her nails digging into the palm of her hand before she collapsed on her hands and knees.

Time felt as if it slowed down to her. Her golden eyes turned the colors of the night, the irises of her eyes taking on the form of eclipsed moons as stars once again twinkled to life within. She felt...whole, and strangely calm.

The silver leaf armbands on each arm turned as dark as the night, the metal gleaming in the moonlight, and the rest of her armor changed similarly. Her silver robes turned a dark blue, stars twinkling on the fabric, and the gems a gradient of black and blue. Elune listened to her heart during the moment of judgment, and found her worthy. Her heart, once crying out for everlasting peace, now screamed for vengeance and retribution. She wouldn’t declare her hunt over until Sylvanas was rotting on her throne of bone and hides, until those who allied with the banshee willingly and forsake all sense of honor paid for the blood they had spilled.

Her crescent moon just inches from her face began to crack, the lines racing across the glowing metal before it completely shattered. The shards sliced across her face, her arms, and before she even realized what was happening, her voice was raw and scratchy from her scream of terror, agony, and rage. A dark blue moonfire poured from her fingertips, swirling around her before condensing before her very eyes. It took the shape of her former headpiece, the raging flames just barely contained, waiting to consume everything in their path. All the while memories flashed through her head. Elyssa telling her why the Nightborne constructed the shield around Suramar City, the sickening sense of betrayal eating away at her. The invasion of her home, and her endless grief when she came across the massacred civilians in Astranaar. Her piercing scream of horror and rage when she beheld the burning husk of her beloved home - her beloved Teldrassil. Every memory, every emotion, burned white-hot in her mind. They all led her to this very moment, led her to seek out vengeance for the slain.

She felt as if her new moon was a reflection of her pain, her rage. It reflected her burning desire for vengeance and retribution - and she gladly welcomed the pain that accompanied it.

The time for mercy is over.

She looked up at Tyrande, the High Priestess appearing as a beautiful, yet terrifying warrior maiden. The silver armor gleamed in the moonlight, her dark eyes glowing with unbound rage. She made a gesture with her hands, starlight crashing down upon the remaining Horde soldiers, wiping them out in one fell swoop. “Now we shall have vengeance. The night warrior lives...within me.”

Lunarsong stood up with difficulty, her braid falling over her face, hiding her features before she raised her head. All the other night elves and worgen could see the changes in the Starcaller, but none look horrified. They all wanted what she did. They wanted Sylvanas to pay.

Her lips curved into a dark smile.

Her people would reclaim their lands and drive the Horde before them. Nothing would stop them now, not with the Night Warrior on their side. Not when her people were the children of Elune, and now the vessels of her wrath. She, and they, would stop at nothing until Sylvanas’ Horde was in ruin, and the Kaldorei’s ancient lands were reclaimed.

She now understood her husband and daughter’s hunger for vengeance, for their willingness to sacrifice anything and everything to achieve it. She once chided them for turning into the very things they swore to destroy, turning into demons. Now, she felt the same, and they stood by her side. She felt Tehlmar’s arm wrap around her waist, pulling her close to him as he kissed her cheek. “We will have our vengeance, my Lunar Light…” She stared at him for a long moment, smiling widely at him, but it wasn’t cruel. It was full of love and warmth. For him, for their daughter, and for their infant son.

She laid her head down on his shoulder, closing her eyes and allowing herself a much-needed sigh of relief. The battle was over, for now, but the war would keep raging on until a winner emerged. She prayed to her goddess that for Azeroth’s sake, the Alliance would be victorious. If not, she trembled at the possibility for what could become of her beloved home, her beloved Azeroth. In her mind, Sylvanas was no different from Arthas now. The banshee would stop at nothing until Azeroth was hers and both the Alliance and Horde were her mindless servants. Instead of dying as a hero, freeing her Forsaken from the Lich King’s legacy, she pushed them deeper into his shadow.

Tehlmar’s fingers ran through her hair as he planted a kiss on her again. “You don’t need to worry, we’ll win. The Horde will know ruin, and Sylvanas will pay dearly for her crimes…” She smiled again at that.

“With Elune as our witness, they will know ruin,” she breathed, echoing his words. She opened her eyes to stare at him. They agreed silently. They were on the same path now, and they would be each other’s anchors.

The time of reckoning was at hand.

We are coming, Sylvanas...