#i continue to fill a niche no one wants nor needs

[danidoesathing]

happy birthday to the most guy of all time. heres some shitposts

[leggerefiore]

Hello! I saw the Valentine's Day request post and I was wondering if I could ask for Volo and Hero! Reader spending Valentine's Day together in Hisui. Teaching him about the traditions and meaning of the holiday since I assume it hasn't been created yet. (Could even get paradoxical with Volo and reader now being credited for the spread of Valentine's Day in modern Sinnoh)

I need the fluff of Volo's lover accepting him after everything and what better opportunity than Valentine's Day?

Thanks for reading this, have a good day! :)

sorry its a day late but i was bit tired yesterday but i really couldn't pass this one up

Celebration of Tomorrow

cw: fluff, Volo bring himself, valentine's Day fic

pairing: Volo/Reader

-------

Volo would admit to himself in utmost secrecy that he found the information you provided about the future utterly fascinating. The fact that the hobby Cogita had mocked him for currently would become a genuine occupation in the future left him with a certain level of both frustration and smugness. That was only a portion of what gathered his attention, however. You spoke of many traditions that had changed from how they were celebrated now to new ones brought from regions far away from Hisui. It should not have surprised him, of course. The way you described the future of Hisui, as “Sinnoh,” clearly showed how things were going to change quicker than he could process.

You smiled at him brightly as you approached from the village, careful to make sure there were no eyes on you both. He was still wanted for his crime, after all. Cogita's protection could only go so far. The blond stretched and watched as his Togekiss took off into the air for some time to spread her wings. You sat down beside him in the grass, letting out a shiver at the cold weather that still hung around this early into the year. Leaning your head onto his shoulder, you hummed. “Besides New Years, what holidays do you tend to celebrate?” you asked him curiously.

“… There are very few,” he replied, “That is more common with the Kantonian people, too. The ancient people of Sinnoh do not bother with that.” You gave a light laugh, thinking of images that always go around every year of Cynthia visiting her hometown and being caught in a kimono during the festival there. She was obviously the descendant of him, their features strikingly similar. You blamed her for why you trusted him so easily at first.

“There's a modern holiday around this time,” you began, thinking of the modern delicacies that chocolate had assuredly proven itself. Wagashi was a wonderful confectionery alongside yatsuhashi, but neither compared to the creamy wonder of modern chocolate. They existed to fill different niches. “Women give chocolate to the men they like,” you continued, “Then about a month later, men give chocolate as thanks back to the women they like.” Volo nodded, taking in the information. He did not really care too much, nor was he too sure what chocolate was. It sounded like something Cogita might enjoy. You frowned at him.

“It's a lovers' holiday,” you tell him more. He barely raises a brow. “I got you something for it,” you try again. This time a dark iron eye moves to gaze at you. His behaviour would be more annoying if you had not already grown used to his random need to distance himself. It was just how he acted sporadically. You reached into your bag to pull out the desperate attempt at chocolates. Having cocoa powder imported was an endless pain and required some assistance from poor Professor Laventon after explaining what you needed it for. The Galarian's eyes went wide with surprise that you knew of such recent Galarian adaptions to the holiday, but he would eagerly help you give such a thing to your “beau.” He had even chuckled a bit and offered to teach you to send a message with flowers. That part was turned down.

He took the strange wooden box from your hands and observed it curiously. It was placed into his lap, where he lifted the top from it. Inside laid misshapen hearts and squares of chocolate, prepared in a much ill-equipped scenario. You missed modern stoves (and convenience stores) desperately. He picked one up and gave it a terrifyingly intense expression. It was then popped into his mouth. Volo's facial expression shifted a bunch before settling on a neutral one. You had been sure to taste the batter to make sure you were not going to accidentally poison him with awful chocolate, but you also failed to consider his personal tastes. The blond was not someone you would expect to have a sweet-tooth.

“... It has an odd texture,” he finally spoke, “These are popular in your time?” His interest was properly given at long last. You nodded eagerly.

“Yeah, see, the box is supposed to be a heart,” you told him, “It's like I gave you my heart.” He stared at you with an odd look before trying another chocolate. This time he made fewer expressions and seemed to try to focus on how to describe the flavour.

“Where did this thing even come from?” he asked. You shrugged. Looking into the history of chocolate was not your fascination. Not at all. You just wanted to share the holiday with Volo.

… It felt oddly nice to do something romantic with him. Even if he did not entirely understand it. He closed the lid of the chocolate box and placed it in the grass. You wondered if you should do something else with him. Going on a date with him felt impossible, since there were few places you could go. His Togekiss came back down from the sky to lay down next to you both peacefully. It still astounded you that he had befriended such a pokemon. In fact, you often entertained the idea that he had even hatched her from an egg.

“A month later men return to the chocolate to women they like,” he comments, “What a strange concept. The future sounds like it is too easy with such odd holidays.” You wondered if Volo would blend in nicely with modern life. He likely would hate it. He stood up, calling back Togekiss into her ball. “I'm going to the coastlands,” his eye darted to you, “Care to join me?” You stood up with awestruck eyes. Taking his hand, you walked closely with him.

~

By the time you both reached the beach, the sun had set into the horizon. A dark sky filled with glistening stars hung above you, with the silvery moon eerily lighting up the ominous waters. Volo stood where water lapped against the sandy shore. He looked oddly mysterious. You stepped toward him and joined him. Wrapping your arm around his, you leaned your head against him again. He was a pleasant warmth against the night chill. You could almost lie to yourself that this was a romantic beach date, rather than you stalking off after him as usual.

Volo did what he pleased, it seemed. Even after being covered for by Cogita, she still failed to keep him truly reigned in. The cold water covered your feet as you pondered the horizon. His face appeared calm, but you saw something strange in his eyes. Before you could ask what was wrong, he cupped your face and drew you in for a kiss. His hair tickled your face and the taste of chocolate flooded your senses. You returned the affection eagerly, happy to have him initiate. It felt like the kiss would last forever.

But, he still pulled away from you.

“Thank you,” he unexpectedly said, “... I will never understand you.”

“What's that supposed to mean,” you joked.

“I tried to kill you, yet you follow me around like this,” Volo sighed. You were not certain how to respond to that one, so you just laughed. He did, and you did. The blond had been on your radar since you first saw him. You would argue he was the most beautiful man in Hisui, so there was no one who could blame you for that. “... I enjoyed your odd offering,” he continued, “You should stay with me tonight. A beautiful night should be shared.” You smiled at his words.

“I would love to,” you told him easily.

[andromedasstarship]

are you free tomorrow?

pairing - spencer reid x gn!reader

warnings - nothing! just a sweet & cliche ‘first meeting’ story  :)

summary - midterms are coming up and all the good cafes on campus are filled, maybe the sweet looking curly haired guy in the back will share his table with you?

a/n - for my valentines day oneshot series! 'every table is full, but i really need to study, is there any way we could share?'

-------

Stressed, was a simple way to explain the current state you were in. The semester had snuck up on you, moving faster than you had ever expected. As the fifth week was coming to a close, you were getting dangerously close to the storm of midterms you had waiting for you in the sixth week. And you desperately needed to study. The only thing stopping you- surprisingly not your own procrastination-, was that it seemed as if the rest of campus was also in the same predicament as you. 

This was the third cafe on campus that you had entered that was absolutely filled. 

Your eyes scanned around the room, hoping to catch someone in the middle of packing their things. Nope. You considered circling back through the other two cafes you’d just been in or maybe even just going off campus. Except you couldn’t justify wasting more time by circling the same few cafes over and over, nor could your college student budget justify paying for coffee when you could just use your allotted campus cash. 

Just as you were about to give up and leave- begrudgingly deciding that studying in your room would have to be good enough-, you spotted a man sitting alone towards the back of the cafe. He sat at a large table with plenty of space; even though he had one of the largest stacks of papers you’d ever seen one individual possess. 

You weighed your options, internally debating if it’d be worth potentially hurting your pride by asking him to share the table and getting rejected. Seeing as the other option was definitely hurting your pride by hovering the same cafes like a hungry park bird, you tightened your grip on your tote bag and started walking towards him.  

Whatever he was reading must’ve been exciting, as his focus didn’t stray even for a moment nor did he notice you at all until you were right up against the chair across from him. You awkwardly cleared your throat to catch his attention, giving him a tiny wave when he looked up at you. 

“Hi!” 

“Hello?” 

“I’m really sorry to bother you, just every table is full and I really need to study and I know it’s not the best, but could I share this table with you?” You asked anxiously, holding your breath as you waited for his answer. 

As he opened his mouth to respond, you quickly added. “I swear it’ll be like I’m not even here!”  

He gave you a ‘please calm down’ look and you felt some of the weight dissolve from your shoulders as he nodded his head. “Take a seat, no worry at all.” He told you, adding a kind smile as he looked back down at his stack of papers and pulled them closer; giving you more room at the table. 

You let your bag fall off your shoulder and hit the ground with a thunk, relieved to no longer be carrying the physical weight around. You clasped the top of the chair in front of you, leaning towards him just so. “Thank you,” you said, giving your best gracious smile, “let me get you a coffee or something?” 

He looked almost shocked- or was he flustered? you weren’t sure-, quickly shaking his head in response. “No! You don’t need to do that at all.” He assured you, but you weren’t so quick to back down. 

“It’s the least I can do, please?” You pressed, giving him a very exaggerated pleaaaase look, “with all those papers you must need some serious caffeine.” 

You thought he was going to continue this little back-and-forth with you, but you watched as his body relaxed ever so slightly, signs of what you hoped was him conceding. “Just a black coffee.” 

"Just black?" You countered, raising your eyebrow, leaving it unsaid that he was just choosing the cheapest drink they had.

"Room for cream? I'll fix it up myself." He replied.

----

From the line, you had your first opportunity to really give this guy a look. The papers in front of him had sucked him back in as soon as you stepped away from the table; meaning you weren’t too worried about him catching you in your little…, creeping moment. The student population was large, but it was still small enough that you found yourself repeatedly seeing the same strangers. Yet, you’d never seen this man before. And you were sure you would’ve remembered this man, had you seen him before. What? He was undeniably attractive. There was something about the way his hair just perfectly curled around his face that made you just want to reach out and ruff- that’s weird. Even his little sweater-tie-button up outfit was doing it for you. Maybe today won’t be so bad. 

The line moved quickly and you found yourself carrying the two drinks back over to the table in under five minutes. You set his cup by him, taking care to put it away from the massive stack of papers. You set your cup down next, sliding in the chair diagonal from him. 

“You know,” you started, hefting your bag up into the chair next to you, “I never got your name?”

“Thank you,” he quickly got out, holding up his coffee as he did so. “I’m Spencer, uh…, Spencer Reid.” He told you, a faint red creeping up from under his collar. 

You gave him your name in return, a bit distracted as you pulled more of your things from your bag. From the corner of your eye, you saw him hold his coffee up again, nodding his head towards the cream and sugar station before walking off to fix his drink up properly. 

In his absence, you pulled out the rest of your books, debating which subject you should tackle first. You were glad you were finally towards the end of your college career, meaning the majority of your classes were specific to your interests rather than a four hundred student gen-ed; not that it made you any more excited to study for this exam. 

When Spencer came back he set his coffee down with a slightly shaky hand. “Did you know coffee is actually classified as a fruit?” He asked, as he slid back into his seat against the wall. 

“I didn’t know that.” You replied, shaking your head. 

“The coffee bean itself grows on a bush and they’re actually the pit of a berry, which is what makes them a fruit. They come in two main varieties, green and red.” He rambled, as if reciting from some magic book stored in his brain. As soon as he was done he clamped his mouth shut, remembering how most people reacted to his ramblings. 

You raised an eyebrow at him, but your face didn’t show any signs of annoyance. “Big coffee fan Spencer?” 

“Big fan of facts.” He corrected, giving you a sheepish smile.

“Oh yeah? Well you seem pretty smart then, which class should I study for first?” You asked, holding up two of your textbooks.

He looked at both books curiously, trying to take a guess at what your major might’ve been. He pointed at the one in your left hand. God’s, Monsters and Mortals. 

“Are you an…, English major?” He guessed, wondering if the book was some supplement for a unit on the Iliad. Not to mention the other book you held up was quite literally called ‘Literature Through The Ages’. 

You shook your head, putting the book he chose down on the table while you returned the other one to your bag. “Close! Classics,” you said, giving him a sheepish grin, “I know, it’s a bit niche, kinda ridiculous, but there’s something about how we immortalized memories of ancient times through literature that are just fascinating. There’s something about the lessons of the past that I think a lot of people are ignoring today, ya know?” You replied, quickly closing your mouth before you’d go on some incredibly long tangent about your interests and studies. Didn’t you say it’d be like you weren’t even here?  

“No, no!” He hurriedly said, shaking his head. “Understanding the lessons and patterns of the past and how they’ve morphed humanity today? That’s cool!” He assured you. 

“Well what about you, Spencer Reid? What’s your major, you must have some horrible professors, if that stack of papers is the norm.” You joked, liking the way the corner of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. 

“I’m uh…, a professor here.” He responded, his face cringing ever so slightly as he watched your mouth drop open simultaneously as your eyes nearly fell out of your head. 

“You’re a…, professor?” You repeated, extremely confused as to how someone who looked only a few years older than you was somehow employed to such a degree. 

“Just a visiting one!” He clarified, clearing his throat. “I’m on a sort of, uh, sabbatical from work.” 

“Isn’t a sabbatical when someone gets away from academia?” You countered, smiling to show you meant no actual aggression. 

“Big fan of facts, remember?” He repeated plainly, but you caught the joke in it and you smiled wider at that. 

“No offense Professor, but you look a bit young to ya know, be one.” You said, hoping he’d give his age in response. 

“I’m 29.” Ah, only four years older than you. 

“29 and already a professor at a university like this? What, do you have like 20 Phds. or something?” You asked jokingly, laughing a bit as you said so. 

“Three actually.” He replied, a mix of shyness and pride across his face.

Your mouth dropped back open again, trying to wrap your mind around the man in front of you. “What are you? A genius then?” 

“By some standards, yes.”  

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence after that. Him paying special attention to each paper he graded- you wished all your professors cared about student work the way he seemed to-, while you were busy deciding which parts of the taught units were the most important. 

After what you imagined was nothing short of four hours you felt your head begin to throb and your eyes were starting to go fuzzy. In that time, the two of you had downed at least five coffees each, going back and forth over who paid for them. You had managed to create an individual study guide for nearly all your upcoming exams and a quick glance told you that Spencer still had a few papers left. Unbeknownst to you he could have finished those papers hours ago, even with the in depth comments he entered into the computer for each one; there was just something about you that drew him in.  

He wasn’t sure whether it was the funny unfiltered comments you’d make sporadically while you worked or the way you actually seemed to be interested in every little tangent he had gone on whenever one of his students brought up a particularly good or amusing point in their papers’. His therapist had recently recommended that he engage in conversations with those not already well acquainted with him and it seemed like the world had lined up perfectly to put you in front of him so soon after. 

You loudly slammed your textbook shut with a groan and let your head fall against the table. “Why does academia have to be so boring?” You asked rhetorically, bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Is it some requirement to get published? Your work needs to put college kids to sleep?”  

“The works that you’re reading are quite literally ancient, in their defense. The term ‘academia’ itself comes from the school of thought taught by Plato himself in ancient Athens.” Spencer explained, putting down the paper he had been grading. 

“And now, all these years later I have to suffer because Plato was such a bore.” You sighed dramatically, rolling your eyes. 

“You said you were studying the downfall of Icarus weren’t you?” He asked, once again unbeknownst to you, he remembered everything you had said today. “It’s one of my favorites of ancient Greek mythology. The power of the mind of man, yet how quickly that very power could be taken away if man oversteps. Really makes us wonder if we’ve overstepped as humans yet, if we use Icarus’s fall, quite literally from grace, as a lens for other devastations we’ve seen across history then-” 

“Spencer, are you free tomorrow?” You asked, effectively cutting him off. 

He looked a bit like a fish, the way you had stopped him mid sentence and his mouth hadn’t yet closed. His eyebrows turned up, head tilting with them. “Tomorrow? The 14th?” 

“Yeah, are you free tomorrow?” You repeated, holding back your nerves. 

“Oh.” He said, eyes going wide as you assumed he finally connected the dots, “Oh!” 

You were about to speak again, retract your question completely before he could reject you, suddenly wondering why you decided to go out on whim like that at all. But he beat you to it. 

“Yes, yes I am.” 

------

happy valentines day (almost) i love yall!!

tagging a few people who asked + a few mutuals i think might like this (no pressure!!) - @hqtchner @ssahoodrathotchner @kylorendrip @feverdreamreid @homoose 

permanent taglist - @sunflowersandotherthings

[0zzysaurus]

in relation to the fossil post, im so tired of people thinking Megalodon has ANY possibility of still being alive. It's not. It's extinct. There is no evidence for it's continued existence, and if it WAS still alive, we would have found evidence of it years ago.

To be fair, most of the current misinformation has actually been perpetuated by the likes of Discovery Channel, so I don't blame people believing in the bullshit they stir up about Megalodon. And I really do mean total bullshit.

We would see it constantly due to the shallow, warrm, coastal habitat it preferred. They even had coastal nursing grounds where juveniles would grow. Funnily enough, I wanted to make a joke saying you'd see Megalodon constantly in Florida, but there actually is tons of evidence for a Megalodon nursing ground in East Florida.

Megalodon's would not be able to survive in a trench or in deep sea caves like where coelacanths were discovered. Just because one thought-to-be-extinct animal has been discovered, doesn't mean another completely unrelated animal has the same chances of discovery. They weren't particularly rare or elusive at the time of their existance either, they were pretty common. Plus, we'd have observed attacks and aftermaths many many times by now. They'd be a regular sighting. I know people like to spout that saying that we've only explored 15% of our oceans, but... you guys do know that most of that unexplored water is completely fucking empty, right? It's just the pacific desert. There's NOTHING there. That's why we haven't extended any effort in exploring it. It's fucking dead out there. There's hardly any nutrients for anything to live on, it's barren. A Megalodon could not survive in the pacific desert, nor could most animals - hence why it's completely goddamn empty.

It simply would not have enough to feed on in our modern oceans, as the smaller to medium sized whales it fed on are extinct, and the ones we have today are simply not as neumerous enough to be reliable or sustainable prey.

Megalodon has not shown up in the fossil record for over 3 million years. As with the teeth, we should be finding more recent fossils or remains if this animal was still alive. Some people seem to think Megalodon could have adapted into a deep sea predator, but once again, this just simply isn't the case. The fossil record for the evolution of Megalodon is actually practically complete, and we have a pretty solid evolutionary lineage for this animal dating from the Cretaceous up to the Pliocene. There are no modern, non-fossilized Megalodon teeth washing up on our shores. We would have MANY of these by now if they were being shed by currently living animals, as they would wash up regularly.

During the time Megalodon is thought to have gone extinct, there was a dramatic and intense change in climate. The warm waters Megalodon, it's prey, and the nutrients it's prey fed on thrived in cooled off dramatically, and tropical ocean currents were cut off. Essentially, there was a near total collapse of the marine ecosystem. In fact, this nutrient rich environment never fully recovered even to this day. The environment Megalodon inhabited is gone, and the niche it filled is no longer viable for ANY animal in our waters today.

Megalodon is fuckin' dead, and it's not coming back. I'm so so so bored of people thinking it will. Please just pay attention to the animals we do have like orcas and great whites, animals that actually kind of NEED our attention right now before they die out, too.

[loveamongthesailors]

ok to demonstrate plainly what i mean when i say that being a howl kinnie as anticiv praxis is the living heritage ov russian nihilism, an excerpt from voltairine de clerye's "some nihilists i have met"

"At present, I remember one face only, a wild, burning face, utterly unsubduable, which stands out in never-surrender prominence.

I saw it in an artist's gallery in the West, where this strange personage was posing as a study of a bandit.

Imagine a small, lithe figure, sinuous as a serpent, a pointed face lighted with tremendous lights of fire, and sunset, and running water gleams, in the depths of eyes now somber, now glowing under heavy brows; long, loose-curling hair falling to the shoulders, a picturesque dress of white-embroidered blouse, dark pantaloons and silken sash, and a voice quick and vibrant as the motion of a cobra's tongue.

We entered into a conversation concerning a total vegetarian diet; and, to my astonishment, this singular being declared that for eight years he had eaten nothing but raw food, vegetables, and fruit, and for the last two years fruit alone.

He had been living near to Nature indeed; in the summer he slept upon the ground, in the winter, in a blanket on the floor; had done so for seventeen years. On questioning what had led him to so strange a life, he answered, "Because I want to be free. I saw that men were slaves of their own artificial needs, out of which have grown so many oppressive laws, systems of production, and so forth. I did not wish to work for any one else, nor to slave nine or ten hours a day to gratify a need which is only imaginary. The chief causes of this foolish industry are the need for food and clothing. Civilization, so called, seems to have a rage for every possible compound, healthy or unhealthy, beautiful or ugly, so that these increase the necessity for toil. I said to myself, I will learn to live on little, to overcome the need for so many changes of clothing, and I shall be free. I have done so. I can live very comfortably on eight cents a day, and I do not starve on five. Then you see I love what is beautiful. A fruit dinner is beautiful to look at. Mr. C. (the artist) would even like to paint it. But suppose he paints a carnivorous dinner, is there anything about it? No woman need slave over the stove to prepare my meal, and there need be no dishes to wash afterward. Oh, one escapes a great deal of slavery. One's blood is never overheated, nor subject to internal changes; winter and summer I dress the same and am never too hot or too cold. I have my time to see, to study, to think. When I do work it is because I wish.”

“But suppose everyone should do so?” I said at last, “What would life amount to? What would be accomplished?”

He laughed musically, and stepping to the window, pointed to the street below, where the workmen were going home, swinging their empty dinner pails.

“There they are,” he said, “look at them. What are they living for? To build a city. Look at it, look at those bricks, these cobble-stones, those wagons, and the dirt everywhere. Down there it is dark already. Do you see anything beautiful anywhere? What is the use to build such a thing? Better to put a bomb under it all and blow it up.”

“Look at them,” he continued rapidly, “all running, running here and there, and swallowing mouthfuls of filthy air at every breath. That is what they call business --having an aim in life! The animals are wiser.”

“Why do you stay in the city?” I inquired.

“I intend to leave within two weeks,” he answered. “I wish to dispose of my library first. Another of the evils of civilization -books. It is a good chance, though, for anyone who wants them.”

Having something of a relish for book sales, and being, moreover, curious to see what manner of place my new specimen inhabited, I took the opportunity to say I would examine the books.

A short walk, which took away my breath, since I was obliged to trot half the time in order to keep up with the swift glide of my companion, brought us up next door to a police station.

We entered a small, dark room lined with glass jars filled with various liquids arranged on shelves, and, near the floor, little closets with mysterious locks. “My laboratory,” he said with a wave of his hand “--bargained for. The books are upstairs.”

He ushered me into one of the fairest rooms, draped in white; paintings and sculpture adorned the walls and niches; there were a few pieces of elegant furniture, and on one side, some five hundred books in a neat case.

The whole was pervaded with a scent of roses. “How beautiful!” I exclaimed involuntarily.

“Not at all,” he answered. “Only a makeshift. When I get my home in the woods it will be beautiful, but art is not possible in a city.”

“But what good will it do for you to go off alone?” I said; “You certainly have beautiful ideals, but if you isolate yourself, how will it help humanity?”

He snapped his fingers. “Always that,” he answered; “I reform myself; that is the beginning of reform, self. When I have accomplished it perhaps I shall return and teach others.” He glided around the room and added, “Yes, anyway I shall come back some day. The Americans are a lot of cowards, but some day they will talk justice, too. When it begins --perhaps here in New York, in Chicago, or Philadelphia --no matter where, there will be work to do and I shall be there!”

His five white teeth jutted savagely over the lower lip.

“Well, do you wish any of my books?" I had chosen a few, and, finding no further excuse for remaining, reluctantly turned to go. As we were passing through the “laboratory,” my strange acquaintance asked, “Do you want to see water burn?” and taking some metallic substance from a jar he threw it into s small dish of water. A brilliant blaze shot up and burned for several minutes. In its glare the wizard face laughed silently; “See,” he said, “how I could burn the Pacific Ocean.”

“Wouldn't that be a big contract?” I returned.

“There are other things I would prefer to burn. Well, good bye. We shall not meet again.”

And we did not.

Mr. C. afterward told me he had left San Francisco, to no one knew where. He had, however, a different theory to explain his bandit’s misanthropy.

He was in love once, C. explained, and wanted the girl to go and live with him on uncooked food. She declined, and he has foresworn civilization ever since.

“Ah, the usual woman in the case.” And I went away musing on the freaks of passion, my thoughts returning often to the wizard face with its prophetic, silent laugh lit by the burning water."

[littleoddwriter]

buzzfeed unsolved but its zsaszmask

Unsolved | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz | ZsaszMask AU

Fellow wheezers, who happen to ship ZsaszMask, this is for you!

Thanks for the request!!!

Also, in case anyone might be confused, let me explain why I chose their roles the way I did.

So, in m BFU ZsaszMask AU, Roman is Shane (sceptic) and Victor is Ryan (believer). I did that because frankly, Roman has no respect for anything or anyone, especially not dead things, so I feel as though he'd take on more of a sceptical role in terms of paranormal things, whereas Victor would be more inclined to believe in these things, since he's already quite superstitious, etc. So, that was really all the thought behind the roles. Still, Victor doesn't react as heavily as Ryan truly does because that would just be hella out of character, I think.

I hope you enjoy it!

summary; Just a Buzzfeed Unsolved AU of ZsaszMask. It focuses more on the Supernatural Seasons (after establishing it all) because I thought that'd be more interesting.

notes; nothing notable, other than Domestic Fluff and Kisses, I guess.

Despite committing murders on their own, Roman and Victor were quite intrigued by true murder cases, as well; especially those that have never been solved. They fascinated them. Sometimes they drew inspiration from them for their next victims, always open to try out new things, most notably if it was supposed to send a message. Sometimes they’d just make fun of them, though. It was one of their favourite pastimes, really.

Eventually, on his research, Roman stumbled across this whole niche of true crime fanatics. People discussed these things online, either on blogs or even YouTube videos. It got them a hell of a lot of attention – and money, too.

With that in mind, Sionis proposed the idea of opening their own YouTube channel with videos like those he’s seen to Zsasz, who wasn’t exactly enthused, but he didn’t care.

Think about the publicity and the money, Victor, he’d said which made his partner shrug and agree that – sure, if that’s what Roman wanted, he wasn’t the one to deny him.

After a short while of making these unsolved true crime videos, they gained a lot of online popularity. It delighted Roman! Sometimes, he’d even sit down to read the comments, and gave into what caught his attention after reading the same suggestion one too many times.

Apparently, people wanted them to lean more into the supernatural side of things, explore cases that could only be explained by the seemingly unreal and paranormal; ghosts, demons, aliens – that kind of bullshit. Roman didn’t believe in any of this crap, but more publicity meant more money, and that promise made Roman happy enough to subject himself to these things.

Although, he had to admit that Victor’s reaction to it surprised him a little.

“No! We shouldn’t,” shot right out of him the moment Roman had said they’d cover such cases in the very near future.

“Why? Don’t tell me you actually believe this shit.”

“Well- not really, but I also don’t wanna test it,” Victor started stumbling over his own words then to try and come up with a weak excuse.

Huh. Roman had never taken him for someone like that, but he saw it in a positive light, since it only guaranteed to make this whole thing a lot more fun.

Apparently it wasn’t just fun, but those videos gained even more views – quickly. Upon reading the comments, even more people now thought they were a couple (such comments have already started beforehand) – and they were, but the public needn’t find out about that. It’d only put them in danger among their rivals in Gotham’s underbelly, so they didn’t announce anything and have consciously tried to stay as neutral as possible on screen. They had to cut out some kisses they shared here and there in their videos’ post-production, though. Sometimes they just couldn’t help themselves.

Still, the supernatural type of videos seemed to make their chemistry pop, which didn’t necessarily surprise Roman, since they actually travelled to the places they’d talk about and investigate them, hands-on, looking for evidence of paranormal beings and activities. So it was only to be expected that they’d sometimes forget they were being filmed at all and therefore just acted like themselves in these situations.

Roman naturally took on the role of a sceptic, as he didn’t believe in any of it, nor did he have any respect for these supposed ghosts whatsoever. Victor on the other hand – well, he tried to act as though he didn’t truly believe; but once they visited the infamous Sallie House and upon the flash-lights mysteriously having turned on and off on their commands to the alleged demon, Zsasz couldn’t hide his… apprehension, any longer.

It amused Roman greatly as he just laughed at Victor’s reaction, which was subtle enough – he jumped and had wide eyes, but otherwise didn’t react – but to Roman it was as if he had jumped up and shrieked, considering that Zsasz usually didn’t show any fear at all.

People ate that shit up, though. They revelled in either reaction, thinking the contrast was perfect and made watching the video less scary, and far more enjoyable. Roman was loved for his taunting, his blatant disrespect and the way he coaxed Victor into unintentionally communicating with the demon as well. Zsasz was also praised for making others laugh by being rather afraid, despite his tough exterior, and some even sympathised with him.

Additionally – and unfortunately a part they had filmed, but couldn’t leave in the video – Victor had been still a little mad at Roman for daring to talk to the supposed demon and roping him into it, despite having been told not to, when they had been on their way home the next day – after having spent the night at the house.

He was sitting in the car, on the front passenger seat, his arms were crossed and he was pouting. Cute, really. He just adored his little lapdog.

“Aw, baby, don’t pout. Nothing happened, we’re both still alive. That demon was nothing but a fake fuck anyway,” Roman cooed, grinning at Victor from the backseat he sat in.

Zsasz turned his head and glared at him, “Don’t test it. I told you! It’s dangerous. Could’ve killed you for all we know.”

“But it didn’t. Now quit being scared, or whatever. It just stopped being cute.”

Victor rolled his eyes and turned his head back to look out of the window. “I’m only looking out for you,” he had muttered, which Roman only caught when they cut the video.

Upon finding that out, he made it up to his partner with a bird for him to free and a good time in bed afterwards.

After a couple of years of making these videos, they had gained quite the cult following. And despite having only been in for the publicity and money at first, Roman found himself genuinely enjoying making these videos. Victor, too, he knew. Frankly, they both just loved being able to spend time with each other in the way they had before anyway, only to be paid for it as well.

Some of the most amusing things to both of them, though, were all the fan theories and speculations about them that their audience came up with at times.

Supposedly, Roman himself was a demon, which would explain why all his disrespect hasn’t killed him yet (obviously that wasn’t the case, but he revelled in it nonetheless). Others speculated about their relationship, and some even talked about Victor’s scars, wondering where they came from and why there seemed to be more every other video. They never addressed any of these things, of course, only amusing themselves with it during a late night.

One time, they spent the night at an allegedly haunted place again –The Dauphine Orleans Hotel – even sharing a bed this time. Their viewers were sure to latch onto that, Roman smiled to himself. They left the camera on during the night, in case they would catch any ‘evidence’ of paranormal activities, while they slept. Sionis only thought about how much footage they’d have to cut out in the end.

At first, they just lied next to each other, cracking jokes and talking nonsense, until Roman has had enough of that at least.

“Are we doing more of this, or can I use the Jacuzzi hot tub that we’ve been blessed with?”

“Are you serious?” Victor asked, looking at him incredulously.

Roman just looked back at him, “Are we going to spend the night here and not use that?”

For the video’s sake, they put swimming trunks on that they’ve brought with them. They filled the tub with water and sat in it. Roman went to turn on the jets, but had to find that they unfortunately didn’t work.

“The jets don’t work,” Victor explained for the camera, after they had agreed to keep filming it anyway, thinking it might be funny to put it in the video to lighten up the mood some more.

They both laughed, the entire situation was just so ridiculous to them.

“We’re just two guys sitting in a tub,” Zsasz continued, chuckling, while Roman just kept laughing.

Later, they were lying in the bed; Roman had his arms around Victor, wanting to sleep. His partner seemed calm to the camera – even though they’d have to cut this out anyway – and anyone’s naked eye, but fuck, he could feel Zsasz’s rapid heartbeat.

“Calm down, baby. Nothing’s going to happen, I promise,” Roman murmured against Victor’s shoulder, pecking it.

“I don’t know, boss. I just feel like something’s off.”

“That’s only because you actually believe in this crap and think every noise is a ghost, or demon, or fuck knows what else. I can assure you, though. The only real threat is I if you don’t calm down and go the fuck to sleep soon. ‘Kay?”

“Yeah, alright.”

“Good boy,” Roman cooed and nudged Victor to turn around in his arms, so he could capture his lips in a gentle, yet searing kiss.

“Still,” Sionis then said, curiosity having finally killed the cat after all these years, “You’re usually not… like that. Are you just acting it up for the camera, or? Because you really don’t need to. I had thought you weren’t afraid of anything, no matter what.”

“Just of losing you,” Victor mumbled, barely audible at all, but with how quiet the room’s been Roman caught it anyway.

“Is that all of it has been about?”

“I guess, I don’t know. I just know that the way you keep daring these creatures makes me fucking paranoid that something’s gonna come after you and kill you and I wouldn’t be able to protect you.”

Roman clicked his tongue and cooed, “Aw, Victor. Fuck, I didn’t know you could be so sentimental! Disgusting.” He grinned. “I’m not going anywhere any time soon, ‘kay? Who else is going to be King of Gotham in a few years then?”

Stroking his fingers over Roman’s cheek, Victor chuckled, “Yeah, okay. You’re right. I guess it all just kinda crossed my wires or some shit.”

They kissed again, lazy, tired and gentle. It was so intimate that for a moment, both of them forgot everything around them, forgot why and where they had been in that moment, since none of it mattered.

Looking back on that footage, they were forced to cut it all out, but they kept it safe, never wanting to forget about it entirely. It may have been one of their most genuine and intimate moments of their shared lives that hadn’t involved a dead body and Roman loved it.

[mercurial-muses]

Meeting of the Minds

Valdyss has nearly completed her first phase of research into ley lines and places of magical power in Drustvar. I realized last night that, since a lot of that has been happening in one-on-one RP or 'off screen' completely, there's no way my Autumnhearth guildies and those who RP with us would know that. I'm posting this scene with my writing partner's permission to catch everyone up a little. As a bonus, y'all get to meet Faye's younger sister, Asta.

- - - - -

Valdyss may have met one of the Ladies of Frostfall, but the second remained apparently rather elusive.

Where Faye spent a good deal of time in her workshop, Asta was across the hall in the keep’s study. The other Lady Callahan slowly opened the door and took a step outside. Not out of caution, but because she was distracted. Another book sat open in her hand as she gradually walked out from the study. ‘Rumination on the Elements and Nature,’ read the title. Yet another way to feed her curiosity about the ways of nature based magic.

Asta frowned slightly as she went over one particular passage, moving down the hall with the sort of practiced, subconscious ease one might expect from a regular resident. She was headed towards the kitchen apparently, with the unconscious desire for food.

At least she was going to try and eat unlike someone else in the keep.

The portal behind Valdyss blinked from existence with a quiet whoosh, plunging the spacious guest room into darkness. A snap of the mage’s fingers conjured a tiny flame that hovered between them for a few seconds before it grew into a fiery ball the size of a marble and moved to levitate over her palm. The illumination it provided did little more than push back the shadows immediately in front of her, but it was enough light to allow her to get to the door without taking a header over anything that might be in her path.

Val opened the door with her free hand and, standing in a rectangle of light cast into the room from the hallway, she shook her other hand to extinguish the fire it held. She waved away a wisp of smoke as she stepped into the hallway… and very nearly right into a woman passing by the room. “Oh!” she yelped, unconsciously bringing a hand up to cover her galloping heart. “Light, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you coming.”

Asta subconsciously moved away from the sudden figure, but the yelp drew her eyes away from her text towards the mage. They were a much darker blue than Faye’s and currently filled with both alarm and confusion.

She shut the book in her hand sharply, giving Valdyss a once over. “That’s…fine. Who are you?” With the small number of servants they had, it wasn’t hard to recognize this was not one of their friends. And she couldn’t recognize her from the village either.

Nerd that she was, Val’s attention was almost immediately drawn to the book in the woman’s hand. That, combined with a beauty that was so familiar by now, made all the pieces click. “Asta?” she said, brow raised.

“Valdyss Duskbane, but Val’s fine.” The mage made a critical study of the other woman and, noting the alarm in her eyes, remained alert for sudden movements or any other signs of a fight. “I come in peace, I swear just don’t…” The fingers of her left hand wiggled in the general direction of the floor as she held her right one out in a defensive position. “Don’t root me, or whatever.”

Valdyss would have to look up to meet the woman's gaze, as Asta stood easily over 6' tall. The recognition was confusing up until Val introduced herself.

The alarm dropped from faintly familiar features. Asta's entire posture relaxed with a small huff. "You're Valdyss?" The younger Callahan asked, looking the mage over in a new light. She pursed her lips for a moment before humming with a shrug. "Mmm, I think I get it."

Nonetheless she offered a hand out towards Val. "I am Asta, yes. My apologies for the suspicion. I didn't recognize you, nor did I know you'd be visiting us today. Usually Faye warns me so I don't barge in and make a fool of her. Well, more than she already is anyhow."

Val grinned up at Asta as she took the younger Callahan’s hand in a firm grip. “I am indeed Valdyss.” She withdrew her hand and instead gripped the strap of her pack and pulled it a little higher on her shoulder. “And I am also at fault for you not being warned of my arrival. Faye’s not expecting me yet.”

A faint blush began to rise in the mage’s cheeks as she continued on. “I finished up earlier than expected in Dalaran and, um...” She paused, cleared her throat.

“Well, I was wandering around to kill time and came across a vendor selling a spiced liquor that I thought would add a nice kick to the Crackle n’ Apple.” Val’s hands moved as she spoke and her expression grew animated in her explanation. “And then I found this roasted pork tenderloin and thought that along with some brie would pair really well with the apple and-” Her words tapered off into a chuckle. Val shrugged. “And I didn’t want to wait any longer to see her, okay?”

An amused expression very similar to the one her sister often got grew across Asta's face. She just waved the fluster off with an easy gesture before turning.

"Then by all means: I was headed towards the kitchen anyways. I can help you make the drink and you'll get to kick in Faye's workshop door to make her eat this time. Stag knows you'll probably be a lot more appealing than me getting to lecture her again." Asta snorts, starting to walk off.

"Do you honestly think Faye takes issue with you interrupting her?" Val called to Asta's back as sped to catch up to the retreating woman. She fell into pace at her side and looked up at her. "Asta, your sister adores you."

Asta lets out a soft scoff. "Oh no, I don't really. Well. Most of the time." She corrects with a pause. "The one time she spilled Shroom Bloom on herself was a... very interesting incident." Despite that, there's a hint of fiendish delight that crosses Asta's expressions for a moment. But then it's gone, and she's looking to Valdyss.

"But I adore my sister as well. And if you do too, you'll know I essentially have to intrude or she'd be in there for hours without a drop of water."

“I do,” Val replied without missing a beat. She hefted the pack hanging off her shoulders to emphasize her point. “It’s exactly why I ran around half of Dalaran putting together a meal before finally caving to my haste to get here. "Brought plenty for three, by the way,” she added with a smile.

Asta shot Valdyss a look when that little addition was made. “Trying to curry favor with food?” she quipped with a faint smirk. “My my, you may be as smart as Faye claims.”

“Not looking to curry favor as much as to take advantage of an opportunity to get to know you better.” Val had to jog for a few steps to catch up to Asta’s side again. These tall Callahan women and their long strides. “If it isn’t already, I believe it will become important to your sister that we meet and spend some time together. Light, at least I hope my read on things is correct in that regard.”

Asta finally made it to the kitchen with Val: a large space with a stone oven, some door inlaid with runes, a healthy fireplace, and many more stonework "appliances." Magic hung thick in the room as Asta went to open another door and begin pulling out what must have been supplies to make the Crack N' Apple.

"If she's as fond of you as I suspect, and this continues as it does, I suspect the same." Asta commented. "But that extends both ways, you know. I'd like to understand just who my sister is seeing."

Blue eyes shifted aside to look at Valdyss pointedly, framed by the shorter blonde hair on her head. There was no maliciousness to the statement: no threat. But she was observing the woman.

Valdyss had no control over the grin that transformed her previously tense features, and wouldn’t have tried to compose herself even if it was possible. Of all the emotions she could wear outwardly like a badge of honor, those she felt growing for Faye were among the most important.

“Well, to use a cliche I suspect you’ll appreciate, I am an open book.” As she spoke, Val unpacked the food and then bustled around the kitchen, gathering what she’d need to warm the tenderloin and then plate it up along with the cheese. "I don’t have a thing to hide, so ask away.”

"Well first- Oh here." Asta moved aside and got a large metal pan. She walked over to the fireplace and slid the pan into a niche made partway up the stony alcove. Reaching below, with a murmur, Asta ignited the rune carved there and a hearty fire sprung to life.

"There you are: and the plates are right over there." Asta pointed to a cabinet in question before returning to making her drink. "First: why were you in Dalaran? I was told you are doing some studies there? Something about ley lines I believe."

Valdyss muttered a quiet thanks as she crossed to the cabinet Asta had gestured to. She grabbed three plates and brought them back to the counter closest to where Asta was working. “I’ve been trying to locate areas of concentrated arcane energy here in Drustvar. My hope is to use those as pinpoints that can then be connected together to accurately map the network of main ley lines in this region.”

The mage peeked into the stone recess to check on the roast, smiling as she inhaled the pleasant scent of rosemary. “This trip wasn’t to research as much as it was to log my findings so far.” She shook her head. “The Kirin Tor doesn’t have nearly as much data about Drustvar as I imagined they would, and I intend to remedy that.” Val sighed. “The dark history of your homeland and the potential for that history to repeat itself is just too important to go unnoted.”

Asta, meanwhile, was busying herself with mixing their drinks. She was listening of course, judging from the eventual hum that left her as Valdyss finished speaking.

"Interesting. And what have you found so far? I have a sneaking suspicion a lot of the arcane points of power would likely also be tied towards important places for natural magic."

Val nodded. “What I'm seeing here in Drustvar is consistent with the relationship between ley lines and places of power all over the world. Sites that hold a concentration of arcane magic are either over a main ley line- a trunk, if you will -or where two or more smaller branches intersect.” Talking with her hands as always, the mage crossed her index fingers to illustrate that last point.

“As for natural energy being tied to sites of power in the same way arcane is, that makes complete sense to me.” She leaned one hip against the counter and watched Asta work for a moment before adding, “I can give you copies of the final map and my findings once I have it all pulled together, if you’d like.”

Asta glanced over to the mage as she spoke, and there was clear interest in her expression. Even more so when the offer of a map came into the picture.

"I would absolutely love a copy, if that were possible." She agreed, putting the whipped creme into each of the three glasses. "My knowledge of ley lines is not quite as advanced, but they are rather intriguing. It feels as though the notion of arcane magic isn't quite as talked about around here, despite the Lord Admiral's daughter being a particularly potent mage herself. Or perhaps even more so because of that, actually."

“Ah. We mainlanders with our strange Light and magic, eh?” Val replied, adding a wink for Asta.

The mage looked in on the roast again and, seeing it would likely be perfectly browned in a few minutes, she turned to the counter and unwrapped the round of brie she'd brought. “I’d be interested in visiting a few of the mapped sites with you.” Val centered the cheese on a plate and held her open hand a couple of inches over it, palm down.

“My theory is that you may feel a stronger pull of nature magic there, just as I will with the arcane.” As she spoke, a flickering red glow illuminated the space between her palm and the plate. The brie began to bubble and melt.

“Not to say they’re the same magic. I mean, they’re channeled in different ways, as far as I know,” Val continued. “But I believe that- in the most elemental sense -nature and arcane magic come from the same energy, so I think we’d prove that there are more similarities in the way that our people actually conjure and wield magic than there are differences.”

Asta was in the middle of sprinkling the cinnamon across the drinks when Val made her second offer.

Her hands paused in their work, hovering there for a moment in thought. She continued shortly after, but seemed ever so slightly distracted. It might be subtle enough for Valdyss to miss initially.

"It would be something, certainly, depending on the days you'd choose. I have not gotten the chance to read much into the interplay between the Arcane and Natural magics: most of mine have to do with the latter. Aren't you the Steward of Autumnhearth as well, yes?"

Val nodded. “I am...well, I will be.” She lifted her hand away from the now perfectly gooey round of brie. “I'm currently the Court Secretary and, as honored as I am to have the role, I’m not sure I would have accepted it if I had the impression that all of my time would have to be dedicated to that alone.”

As she spoke, the mage moved to the oven to remove the tenderloin. Once she’d set that down to cool, Valdyss swiped a hand across the rune carved low on the fireplace, cutting off the flame. “As it is, I’ll have the flexibility to choose days that are convenient for you.” She leveled a gaze at Asta, softened by a warm and genuine smile. “We both know your sister won’t need any convincing to cut you loose from here for a little while.”

And here, Asta stopped. She stared down at the three prepared drinks with an intensity they didn't deserve. It was a few seconds before she turned her attention towards Valdyss and smiled politely.

"Well," She finally said, picking up the drinks, "I suppose I'll just have to speak with her on the matter." And that was that. "Now, what can you tell me about your work in Autumnhearth? It seems to be quite the up and coming barony in Drustvar, which is good given everything that's happened."

Valdyss was tempted to push because she knew how much Faye adored Asta and desired more for her and- unexpectedly -because she already liked the younger Callahan enough herself to want to help. It wasn’t the mage’s place though, and Asta’s curt response and quick change of subject only drove that fact further home. ‘What do you know about family matters anyway?’ the mage silently mused to herself.

Taking the hint, Val found a cutting board and set to work slicing the meat as she spoke. “It’s my duty to represent and speak for Autumnhearth, in person or by correspondence, when the Hallewells aren’t available or have had to recuse themselves.” She shrugged. “I haven’t had to do much of anything yet, but I’m ready and honored to… and a bit nervous to, if I’m being honest.”

Valdyss grew quiet then, clearly lost in her own thoughts. The silence between her and Asta didn’t feel uncomfortable, not to her anyway, and she briefly wondered if it was the same for the other woman. She slid the precisely sliced tenderloin onto a plate and tilted it so there was a little space between each slice, allowing one to see beyond the golden seared surface to the pale meat in the center. Grabbing up the pan, she poured the juices- dotted with rosemary, pepper, and garlic -over the roast.

“Promise I’ll help clean up later,” Val said, eyes on the plates of meat and cheese as she picked them up. “But, for now, I think we’re ready to eat.”

tagging @merelliahallewell and @alexandriawilliams for brief mention of the Hallewells

[skateboardtotheheart]

Sticky Note Love

The long-awaited PART THREE of my Nick/Pretty Lacrosse Boy(aka Tyler Doyle) fics! You can read parts one and two HERE on AO3, or search “Slow On The Uptake” and “Varsity Letter Jackets” on my blog!

Thank you so much to everyone who has been enjoying my silly little extremely niche ship of Nick and some random, pretty extra on the show. These two bring me an insane amount of joy and I’m so happy you guys are feeling it too. For some bonus content, check out @zendrella and my Twitter AU, where Tyler and Nick are included!! This fic is being crossposted to AO3, just like the others, so you can read it there if you’d like- click here!

SUMMARY: Nick and Tyler and officially dating, and both of them are convinced they’ve never been happier. Over the first month of their relationship, Nick keeps finding lime green sticky notes- on and in his locker, in his textbooks, even in his house. Each one is signed by his boyfriend, and Nick isn’t sure he’s ever going to stop smiling.

----------

Neither Nick nor Tyler were sure their first date could have gone any worse.

Tyler had texted Nick about five minutes before he was supposed to pick him up that he'd be late; one of his dogs had puked all over the shoes Tyler had been wearing, so he'd had to clean that up, clean the mess that hadn't made it on his shoes, and then Tyler spent about five minutes rummaging through the closet or a different pair of shoes until he just gave up and took a pair that belonged to Dylan. When he'd finally made it to the Danforth-Evans residence, Nick had come out of the house sparkling. Literally. Arabella had decided to throw an impromptu princess party, it seemed, and had thrown some glitter over Nick as "good luck"- Tyler didn't have as many complaints as Nick over that, though; he looked really pretty. Then there was the poor waitress with a full tray who had gotten tripped by a toddler running away from their parents and had spilled almost half of the tray right onto Nick. Nick, in his surprise at the sudden lap full of salad and cool drink running down his shirt, had bumped the table hard enough to topple some of their food off of it and onto Tyler instead. The entire evening seemed to be one mishap after another. Low gas in Tyler's car, a wrong turn in Hollywood that got them stuck in traffic, Nick having a moment of panic as he realized he'd completely forgotten an important homework assignment due the next day. By all accounts, it was an awful first date. 

But the entire time, they never ran out of things to talk about, kept trading shy but happy smiles, and gently held hands as they waited for traffic to finally move. The night had ended with Tyler walking Nick to his front door, both of them laughing at everything that had gone wrong. It ended with a hug neither of them wanted to let go of because the other was warm, and smelled nice, and holding them comfortably, and it just felt right. It ended with Tyler whispering good night in Nick's ear before pulling away from the hug and pressing a light kiss to Nick's cheek, face tomato red as he promised to text Nick later. It ended with Nick being too impatient for Tyler to text him that as soon as he was up in his room, he was shooting off a good night text to thank Tyler for a nice- albeit disastrous- evening. It ended with a promise that this wasn't the only date for them.

It only took one more date before Tyler kissed his lips instead, leaving both of them a giggling mess as hands rested on cheeks and ran through hair. It took three dates total before Nick called Tyler his boyfriend for the first time. Nick didn't think he'd ever see Tyler smile wider than when he'd heard the word come from Nick's mouth, and the rest of his sentence got derailed as Tyler kissed him instead. The kiss had been more smiles than anything, but it had both their stomachs doing flips and their hearts fluttering heavily but happily. 

It was the day after that the notes started. Nick hadn’t been expecting it, and he’d blushed so hard that first time he was sure that his entire body temperature must have risen. It was the morning after Nick had called Tyler his boyfriend, that they’d made the relationship official, and Nick found the first note stuck to the metal door of his locker. It was a lime green sticky note, the shade Nick knew his boyfriend’s favorite color to be. It stood out against the blue of his locker, and it was bright enough that Nick had been able to spot it from the other end of the hallway. He approached his locker with confusion at the bright green, glancing around to see if anyone else's locker had also been branded with some type of note. When it became evident that it was just his own, Nick frowned a little, finally reaching his locker. His backpack hung off his arm as he reached out, pulling off the folded in half note stuck to the metal. Nick unfolded the little piece of paper, finding himself smiling almost immediately at the black pen scrawled across the lime green. 

I can’t believe I get to call you my boyfriend. I don’t think I’m gonna stop smiling all day. See you at lunch, handsome ♡  -T 

Nick could feel the heat under his skin rising up his neck and onto his cheeks, and he smiled goofily down at the piece of paper in his hand. It made his cheeks hurt, eyes squinted so that it was almost difficult to see. He’d been floating on cloud nine since last night, his steps feeling lighter and a hum following him around the house this morning that had his fathers watching him with raised eyebrows and small, knowing grins. Tyler made Nick’s heart skip beats and his stomach flutter and his head spin. He could honestly say he’d never felt like this before- not when he was dating Carrie, not during that brief stint when he’d had a crush on Julie, never. Tyler was just. . . special. 

Amazing. 

And he was Nick’s boyfriend.

He knew Tyler was just as excited as himself that their relationship was official now, but being able to see it written out in this little note, seeing a little drawn heart and Tyler calling him handsome, was something so comforting and happiness inducing. Nick wasn’t sure how long he stood at his own locker, just reading over the note again and again, but was shocked out of his reverie by the warning bell alarming overhead, letting students know classes started in three minutes. Nick was quick to tuck the note into his pocket, sorting through what he needed and depositing the rest in his locker. He had four classes before lunch, and Nick was sure he’d spent more time staring at the note from Tyler than he did paying any attention to his teachers. 

During their shared music class, Carrie had nudged him, a question in her eyes. Nick had just smiled and shrugged, not quite willing to tell her about the note, but Carrie had glanced down at the paper then taken one look at the lovestruck smile on his face before rolling her eyes fondly. When Nick finally did reach lunch, the only time during school that he and Tyler really saw each other, he found that he’d beaten his boyfriend there. At their usual table were a few others from the lacrosse team, but the seat in which Tyler usually sat was still vacant. Nick, only slightly disappointed by the lack of his boyfriend in the lunchroom, sat down at the empty seat next to Tyler’s, greeting their teammates Cameron, Jack, and Adam as he did so. Just as Nick was pulling out his phone, to check if Tyler had texted him, he felt arms wrap around his shoulders and a chin rest on top of his head. Nick smiled at the feeling, grasping Tyler’s hands in his own and looking up at the awkward angle to meet his boyfriend’s eyes. 

Tyler smiled down at him, looking blushy and almost nervous. Removing his arms from around Nick, Tyler sat on the lunch table bench. Tyler leaned into Nick’s space once more, pressing a feather light kiss to his cheek and whispering, just loud enough for the two of them to hear, “Hey, handsome.”

Nick blushed at the clear reference to the note Tyler had left him this morning, and at the clear display of affection. They hadn’t quite figured out their comfortability with PDA yet, only venturing into holding hands so far, but Nick was filled with warmth at the action, leaning over to bump Tyler’s shoulder with his own. 

“Thanks for the note,” Nick responded as a greeting, to which Tyler ducked his head down and smiled. 

“So you liked it?”

“He’s been staring at it all day,” Jack sold him out with a snort. Nick spun his head around to glare at his teammate, mouthing “traitor” at him. Jack was in three of the classes Nick had gone to this morning, and much like Carrie, had tried to ask what had him so distracted. All the lacrosse boys that they ate lunch with knew the two of them had been going out on dates so when Jack had seen Nick enraptured with a little sticky note, had jokingly asked if he’d received a love letter from Tyler. Apparently Nick’s blush had been enough of an answer because Jack had let out a surprised laugh at his correct guess, then turned back to his work. Tyler, however, looked pleased at Jack’s words, flashing a smile of thanks to their teammate before looking back to Nick. 

“Good to know,” he said softly, bumping Nick’s knee under the table. 

---------

The notes stuck both to and slipped inside his locker continued. Nick found them in the morning before classes, during the day, and after school before lacrosse practice. They weren’t there every day, but over the past three weeks, Nick had amassed a pretty good collection of lime green sticky notes, black ink across them. Some were sappy and cute, like that first one had been.

I “borrowed” Dylan’s year pass to the mini golf place. You, me, a few windmills- what do you say?? I’ll pick you up at 6 ♡  -T

My mom asked “how’s your boyfriend doing” last night and holy crap I love hearing that word  -T

I can’t believe I let you wear my letter jacket today YOU LOOK SO CUTE AND IT’S HARD TO FOCUS  -T

Some were more simple, just little messages that Tyler thought would make Nick smile when he saw them.

Good luck on your test today!!  -T

Say hi to Arabella for me when you get home :)  -T

Just so you know- I parked in the east lot today instead of the west. See you after school!  -T

Each one had Nick feeling on top of the word, smiling at them and then carefully placing them in a folder to take home with him later. At lunch or after school, Nick would plant a kiss on Tyler’s cheek in silent thanks for the notes. 

Today Nick and Tyler were at the Danforth-Evans house after school, hanging out to study, maybe watch a movie. They’d awkwardly passed by Nick’s parents lounging on the couch together, Nick practically dying in embarrassment as his father had called after them that the bedroom door had to stay open. Tyler had the nerve to laugh at his boyfriend’s flushed cheeks and groan of annoyance, earning him a light slap against the arm as they made their way to Nick’s bedroom.

Tyler had never been in here before, and a smile graced his features as he stepped inside. Nick gave him silent permission to wander around the room, looking at whatever he wanted, while Nick moved to sit on the pale green comforter of his bed. He watched as Tyler admired the three guitars sitting in the corner of his room- the bubblegum pink electric sitting proudly in the front- and smiled at the lacrosse stick pinned above the closet door. 

"Are these. . ." Tyler began asking, fascinated by something on Nick's dresser. "Are these my sunglasses?"

At the finished question, Nick felt heat rise up his neck. Tyler turned around to face him, holding up a pair of blue glasses with black tinted lenses. It was the pair Tyler had loaned him after Nick had gotten a concussion and the sunlight was too bright for his headache. Tyler must have taken Nick's silence as answer enough, because he let out a laugh as he looked down to the sunglasses in his hand. 

"I didn't even realize you'd kept them," Tyler's voice was quiet, pitched slightly higher. Nick thought he could see a smile on his boyfriend's lips. 

"Y-yeah, well, they, um. They reminded me of you, so, yeah," Nick rambled out, not quite looking at Tyler. Tyler looked up at him, an almost glassy look in his eyes. 

"Sorry, is that- is that weird to tell you?" Nick asked, cringing a little as Tyler turned around to set the sunglasses back in their place on his dresser. He heard Tyler laugh quietly as he turned back around, taking the few steps over to the bed to stand in front of where Nick stood. 

"No, it's not weird," Tyler picked up one of Nick's hands, twining their fingers together. Nick gave a small tug, signalling Tyler to sit down next to him. "I think it's kinda cute. I mean, you really kept them because it made you think of me?"

Tyler was blushing too now, a layer of awe in his voice like he couldn't believe anyone would ever do something like that. It made Nick think that maybe Tyler had no idea he’d been keeping those lime green slips of paper, either. Nick squeezed Tyler's hand, bumping their shoulders together. 

"Well, it's not everyday the cutest guy you've ever seen drives you to urgent care. Gotta remember the occasion somehow," Nick's voice had teasing laced through it, but he knew the sincerity shown through by the way Tyler smiled brightly down at their joint hands. 

"Plus," Nick continued, "don't know if you heard, but even before you were my boyfriend- I was kind of embarrassingly into you." 

Nick wasn't sure Tyler ever looked prettier than when he was smiling, shades of pink on his cheeks. Nick could write a set of notes as big as the ones he’d received from Tyler dedicated solely to how pretty his boyfriend was. 

"Don't tell your boyfriend I told you this," Tyler started, "but he'd been trying to get the courage to ask you out for a year before you beat him to it." 

Tyler sounded shy and quiet, keeping his eyes trained on their joint hands. Nick stared at him with surprise, his mouth opened slightly. 

"You never told me that."

 A year? Tyler had liked him for a year before they started dating? It filled Nick with warmth along with the surprise. 

"Just want you to know that being embarrassingly into each other goes both ways."

When Tyler finally looked at him, with the blush still on his cheeks and a shy look in his eyes, Nick couldn't stop himself from leaning forward to kiss him. He kept it short, aware of the wide open door, but didn't resist when Tyler put a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him back for another, slightly longer kiss. When they pulled back, smiling to each other, Nick scooted closer to Tyler on the bed, resting his head on his boyfriend's shoulder. 

"Since I guess we're doing romantic confessions today. . ." Nick started, making Tyler laugh, "I don't think I'm ever gonna get tired of kissing you."

Tyler let out a high pitched whine, almost like a squeak, tensing as he covered his face with his free hand. 

"Damn it, Nick, you can't just say stuff like that!"

Nick picked his head off Tyler's shoulder, laughing at his blushing boyfriend's expense. 

"I thought I'd stop constantly blushing around you now that we're dating, but it's your goal to prove me wrong, isn't it?"

"T, all you need to do is look at me to make me blush. Pretty sure we're on even playing ground."

He could see Tyler smiling from below the hand still covering his face. Nick peeled the hand away, holding that one in his own as well. He retook his position with his head on his boyfriend's shoulder, smiling as he felt Tyler press a kiss into his hair. They didn’t end up getting much studying done or a movie watched in the end. They were mindful of the open door, though, so they fell back onto the bed, laying next to each other and talking, laughing, trading soft kisses back and forth. At one point, Nick got up to use the bathroom, and he came back to Tyler now on the floor, Arabella in his lap with her sparkly purple tutu splayed over his thighs. Tyler had his arms around her middle, speaking lowly to her, giggles filling the room as she nodded along with whatever Nick’s boyfriend had told his little sister. The two of them together was an unfairly adorable sight, Nick decided, and his heart skipped a beat when they both spotted him, matching grins blinding him. 

Arabella stayed with them the rest of the time Tyler was over, running between her own room and Nick’s to introduce Tyler to all her favorite toys and bestow her favorite princess crown on Nick’s head. It wasn’t until after Tyler left that evening, having gone home for a family dinner, that Nick found the first note that wasn’t left in his locker. He was grabbing a pair of shorts from his dresser when a familiar lime green caught his eye, stuck to the sunglasses.  

I’m never gonna get sick of kissing you either See you in the morning, dork :P  -T

PS- tell Ari she’s my fav Danforth-Evans 

Nick let out a laugh at the post-script, shaking his head fondly as he moved to grab the old shoebox from under his bed, placing the paper gently in the box along with the rest of the notes. He tucked it closed once more, putting it back in position and heading downstairs to his family. 

----------

As it turned out, the note in his bedroom wasn’t a one time occurrence. When Nick had woken up in the morning, the mirror on the inner door of his closet read out to him: 

HOT DAMN- looking good, Danforth-Evans  -T

It made Nick laugh to see it, knowing Tyler must have placed it there when Nick had excused himself from the room to use the bathroom last night. The notes he found in other various places around the house for the next few days, however, were a little more confusing. 

There were a few more in his room- on his guitar, taped to his headboard, one stuck to his window claiming “no view is better than you xoxo”, and other places he should have noticed them way earlier- one stuck to the coffee pot the next morning claiming that Tyler would be waiting at the school with a latte from that coffee shop Nick loved, one next to his toothbrush in the bathroom. Nick didn’t say anything about the notes magically appearing in his house, but three days in, he rolled his eyes fondly at the lime green paper stuck on the inside of his favorite book, and texted his boyfriend. 

Okay I’ll bite

Which one of my family did you bribe to help you with this

i’m sorry i have no idea what you’re talking about

i absolutely did not collude with your sister about leaving you notes and you should be ashamed for even accusing me of that 

Nick couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him at his boyfriend’s text, a warmth filling his chest at the idea of Tyler and Arabella interacting. He remembered the conspiratorial smirks on his boyfriend and sister’s faces when he’d come back from the bathroom the other day.

So if I go talk to Ari right now she’ll have no clue what I’m talking about? 

bold of you to assume she would ever give me up nick danforth-evans i’m totally her favorite now

Carrie is and always will be her favorite but I’m loving the enthusiasm

Sure enough, though, when Nick knocked on his little sister’s door- interrupting a tea party with her stuffed animals and a number of Nick’s old Hot Wheels toys- asking her about the appearance of the lime green notes, she just burst into giggles. Not an actual word to say that it was Tyler, just gave him a cheeky smile and told him to close his eyes. Nick rolled his eyes, but agreed, and opened them again when he felt an adhesive on his forehead and the tickling of paper on his nose. He stuck his tongue out at Arabella for sticking the note on his forehead, which set her off giggling once again, and pulled it off. 

Told Ari to give you this one when you inevitably figure it out. She’s surprisingly sneaky for a 7yo. Give her a hug for me as thanks for helping?? Hope you enjoyed our little conspiracy ♡  -T 

Nick hugged Arabella tightly, placing the note gently in his pocket until he could put it with the rest. He joined his sister in her tea party, a wide smile on his face he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get rid of if he tried. It was such a silly, little thing for Tyler to be doing over the past month, but Nick loved it. He loved the smile it brought to his own face, and the thoughtfulness from Tyler, and the extra layer of joy surrounding their relationship through the notes. Overtime, the notes never really stopped. They lessened- only to be saved for special occasions or a day when Tyler was feeling particularly sappy- but as always, each one brought a smile to Nick’s face and found a home in his neatly kept shoebox under the bed. They were something to pull out and reread when Nick was having a bad day, when he was feeling sentimental, or for that time Tyler was bed-ridden with the flu for a week and damn, Nick really missed him. And if shortly after they started dating, Nick found that his own favorite color was also becoming lime green, that was no one’s business but his own.  

----------

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you all enjoyed this, and that it rotted your teeth like it did mine. I have the tag list below but let me know if you’d like to be added!

tag list: @zendrella @blackholeunderyourbed @sunsetcurve123 @williexmercer @idontknowimbadatthis 

[tbr-agency]

i’ll be back.

“You might not want to pull that trigger, Eunhee-ah.”

summary ⟶ Due to busy schedules for both individual, Eunhee came by to say goodbye since he will be enlisting the next month but it seems Junho has more to say to her.

timeline ⟶ April 2019

characters : Ahn Eunhee, Lee Junho (2PM), Nichkhun (2PM)

a/n ⟶ slight angst but a fluff ending, unrequited love but there’s a hope (?), mention of Got7 Jinyoung, slightly a long post

“Are you sure you want to do this, Eunhee-ah?” Nichkhun commented as he parked the car in front of where the girl had told him her next destination, eyeing onto a group of camera crew.

She followed his gaze as she finally saw whom the camera crew were shooting, to see Junho sitting on a bench with a cake and a plush toy. 

“Yeah, I just want to bid my farewells to him.” Eunhee muttered, turning towards Nichkhun as the older man could only nod. 

Nichkhun wanted to say more but he figured out Junho had to man up and say his own words to the bodyguard-investigator. 

He wanted to indicate towards Eunhee that Junho had some sort of feelings towards her a few months back but after seeing how she interacted with a member of Got7, Nichkhun held back his words.

The older men quickly told Junho about it and it seems Junho was truly heartbroken which is normal for every unrequited love, hence Junho started to avoid Eunhee.

“You know Junho—

“Likes me? Yeah, I realized that,” Eunhee cuts Nichkhun’s word, turning towards the older one as his face went frozen. He didn’t expect her to say that at all. Nichkhun tried to mouth out words but it turned out that he couldn’t say anything.

He was too shocked to hear how her words came out - she sounded confident. Nichkhun thinks he couldn’t cover it up because she isn’t wrong.

Eunhee knows that he was avoiding her - it was so obvious that Eunhee just accepted it and she somehow got to know that Junho had developed feelings for her after analyzing how Junho interacted with her all this while.

Eunhee was too blind and distracted with work to realize this, but the real question is, does Eunhee develop feelings for Junho too? 

The answer is obviously a yes. It was impossible not to have feelings for Lee Junho. The way he portrays himself makes Eunhee attracted to him. 

The day where she accompanied Junho home after attending the wrap-up party for ‘Just Between Lovers’ and till then, Eunhee was always there for him in unexpected timings and Junho somehow called this fate, bumping into each other for more than 3 times in the company building.

Eunhee learned that Junho was rather shy back then. She noticed the way he would always initiate to greet her with a shy smile while trying her very best to make eye contact with her. 

Until one day Junho mustered up his courage to have small talks with Eunhee as it turned into more.

One fine day Eunhee received a text from unknown number - which Eunhee asked a lot taken aback questions incase the unknown number was a sasaeng or someone that is a threat then to be revealed it was Junho himself who get her number form his manager, asking her out for lunch or a cup of coffee, it somehow turned into a regular routine.

Both getting to know more in depth about each other and Junho finding out Eunhee is Got7’s bodyguard.

“You might not want to pull that trigger, Eunhee-ah.” Nichkhun warned her, his face somehow turned seriously which he showed rarely - he only showed his serious expression when in meeting with the executives ever since 2PM are appointed as the directors of JYPE.

“He knows that Jinyoung somehow too had feelings for you. We all know, some of us saw how the Got7 boys looks at the 7 of you,” Nichkhun’s continued as his words came out soft yet firm as he sees Eunhee’s eyes went downcast, leaning back against the passenger seat as she was having her own thoughts.

Nichkhun knows how she feels. It’s strange that he would gain friendship with someone who isn’t from the entertainment industry. In fact he was happy when he made friends with The Bloody Roses’ girls. 

It all started with just one schedule that Eunhee had to accompany Nichkhun till now as friends who accompany each other to other member’s schedules or places one needs to go. 

Eunhee was torn apart from Junho and Jinyoung. 

“If things went bad for me and Junho, would you still be my friend?” Eunhee questioned towards Nichkhun as he chuckled softly, shaking his head. His hands went towards her hair, ruffling it slightly.

“Eunhee, we’re not kids. We’re adults! And of course we would still be friends - and I know Junho really well. He wouldn’t unfriend you just because you are going to reject him,” Nichkhun replied honestly with a weird look - hearing how weird Eunhee sounds with her statement.

Eunhee’s eyes slowly widened, hearing his words.

“How did you…” Eunhee trailed off, seeing Nichkhun smiling a little.

“I know you somehow had feelings for Junho but I guess you spent more time with Jinyoungie - Got7’s Jinyoungie, not our JYP-pdnim—

“Nich, that’s.. I don’t even want to think about it. That’s gross..” Eunhee made a disgusted look causing Nichkhun to gasp slightly while hitting Eunhee’s arm jokingly.

“He’s our boss!”

“Not anymore, he’s not exactly boss-boss, you get what I mean— okay, alright! I think they are wrapping up! Thank you for accompanying me Nichkhun, pee chai,” Eunee bowed to him slightly, earning a chuckle from him as it was a cue for her to get out of his car.

“Update me after seeing him! If I didn’t reply, I might be in Thailand custom’s,” Nichkhun informed her, seeing her looking at her phone - analyzing the timing since she was aware of Nichkhun’s schedules that day and the day where she would be fetching him when he returns back.

“Yes, you will be in Thailand custom’s. Drive safely,” Eunhee greeted him off as he could only waved towards her - driving him as Eunhee looked towards his car slowly disappearing from sight.

From far, she could already see Junho sitting on the bench alone while he was checking on his phone. Eunhee waved towards the camera crew people as they acknowledged her presence - and that’s when Junho looked up from his phone to see some of the crew waving towards a certain direction, also indicating her to have small talks.

Junho turned towards where they were waving at, to see the girl that had been on his mind since the day he had met her for the first time. 

His legs quickly jolted up, slightly running towards her with a smile that he was trying to hide.

“Eunhee! What are you doing here!?” Junho exclaimed slightly as Eunhee gulped slightly, her eyes glancing towards the crew that was eyeing to both of them with cheeky smiles.

“Urm.. can I talk to you, privately?” Eunhee’s voice came out softer than she expected, earning a reaction from Junho as he was examining her expression. He slightly glanced towards the staff crew, before turning towards Eunhee.

“Alright then, follow me,” Junho instructed as he told his manager that he would be in his own car with Eunhee to have a private moment. Junho wordlessly led Eunhee to his own car with Eunhee sitting on the passenger seat while Junho sat in the driver’s seat.

“Isn’t this… too private?” Eunhee commented, seeing Junho turning his body towards Eunhee with a raised brow.

“Well, this is the safest place since we are facing the walls unless you want to go public—

“No! Of course, not! Do you want to get unnecessary rumors and scandals!?” Eunhee exclaimed, causing Junho to chuckle - his eye smile showing.

“I don’t mind,”  

“Junho.” Eunhee dead-panned, seeing Junho leaning against the seat as he turned towards her with a playful shrug - with a smile unknowingly formed on his lips.

He was obviously lost in her features.

That’s how bad Junho fell for her.

“There’s a reason why I came here,” Eunhee decided to bring the original topic to why she is there that causes Junho to sit up, his eyes still making eye contact with her.

Junho’s face fell as he gazed into her expression, Junho is great at reading other people’s expressions - he was starting to doubt himself. He regretted not telling her the truth and he knew he was too late. 

“You’re in a relationship with Jinyoungie?” Junho whispered and Eunhee’s eyes slowly widened. She could only look at him in disbelief while trying to say out words but instead, silence filled the car.

“Junho—

“I knew it, actually. I guess I was the slow one. I should have made the first move.” Junho confessed with a sad smile that made Eunhee’s heart torn into pieces.

“It’s understandable actually. I mean, I see it too. The way you looked at him and the way he looked at you - although the two of you weren’t that touchy in public, which I am thankful for.” added Junho with a slight chuckle, his eyes never breaking eye contact with Eunhee who was being silent.

“I didn’t blame him, nor did I blame you. It’s just childish, isn’t it? That’s what Nichkhun hyung and Taecyeon hyung said. We promise not to stir any unnecessary drama or hatred towards each other in our own company. We are a family, they say,” Junho continued, his eyes finally turned away with a small sigh.

“I treat Jinyoung like my younger brother so… God, wait. I’m sorry, it’s not that you are unnecessary.. I mean—

“Junho! I.... I’m not in a relationship with Jinyoung!” Eunhee finally cuts his words - causing Junho to snap towards her with widened eyes.

“Not now,” Eunhee muttered slightly, earning a small, sad smile from Junho. He knew what she meant - Junho knew she was interested in Jinyoung but he guessed Eunhee hadn't made a thought of being together with his junior. 

Junho then realized what he had said.

“I guess you have finally known my true feelings then,” Junho confessed and Eunhee smiled towards him, but soon it faded.

“We.. we’re still friends right? I don’t want our friend—

“Eunhee, you should know that I’m not young. You know very well that all 2PM members are falling into the less than 40s category. We are old and mature,” Junho informed her as Eunhee rolled her eyes slightly, while tilting her head.

“40s or less than that aren’t considered old. 90 years-old is old,” Eunhee dead-panned as she folded her arms, earning a chuckle from Junho - he knew he can’t be all sad when it comes to her, Eunhee has ways to make him laugh in every situation.

As Eunhee was about to say more, a knock was heard on the window to see Junho’s manager - indicating to him that he has to get ready to leave for another schedule. 

“Urgh.. I really want to say and talk with you more,” Junho muttered and Eunhee finally let out a smile - gesturing to him to come out of the car then followed by herself.

Junho proceeded to ask her more about Eunhee’s schedules in the near future, realizing she was getting really busy till the day he enlisted.

“You know I came here to wish you goodluck for your enlistment but you cut me off with you giving me a confession,” mentioned Eunhee as she stood in front of Junho in an area where people couldn’t see them yet they were near the staff crew.

“I know. Thank you for coming all the way here although you didn’t need to,” 

“You know I have to. You mean a lot to me as a close friend,” Eunhee smiled softly as she was met by Junho gripping onto his heart while making a hissed jokingly.

“Ouch! I’m close-friend zoned!” Junho playfully whines, causing Eunhee to chuckle while hitting his arm. The two proceeded to laugh and giggle due to hearing each other’s laughters.

Eunhee’s laugh drifted off as she turned her gaze towards his eyes, as she decided to make a first move by engulfing him into a side hug.

“I’ll see you when you return back,” said Eunhee softly, waiting for Junho’s response as she was instead met by Junho engulfing her with a tight hug - causing her legs to stumble backwards but due to Junho’s strong arms, he managed to make the both of them stood still.

Eunhee could hear a sigh at the back and when she could feel Junho pulling away from her, instead Junho stopped inches away from Eunhee’s face, gazing at her eyes - before giving a soft kiss on her cheek.

“Do I still have a chance?” Junho whispered and Eunhee’s eyes fell towards his lips then towards his eyes.

“If you are willing to wait for me,” Eunhee answered softly - she didn’t elaborate more but if Junho was clever enough and if he was into literature, he would know what she meant.

Junho finally let out a sincere smile, after seeing one from Eunhee as she nods before walking away. 

“Eunhee-ah!” 

Eunhee stops at her tracks, before turning towards him. 

“Good luck on your future endeavours! I’ll be back,” Junho slightly yelled since they were a little far from each other. Eunhee frowns slightly, letting out an amused chuckle.

“Just like your song- 2PM’s song ‘I’ll be back’?” Eunhee tilted her head, her smile automatically shown.

“Yes! I’ll be back!” Junho exclaimed jokingly with him posing, the way he sings his lines in the song.

Eunhee chuckles before waving towards him, as she took a few steps backwards before finally turning her back towards him with a smile on her face as she walked off.

masterlist : Got7 Bodyguard Au

[reiven2017]

Monopoly with me.

Chapter 4.

When she regained consciousness, her head ached unbearably and whined, and her body refused to obey. The pictures before my eyes were blurry and indistinct, and every minute they were extinguished in the darkness. Her body ached unbearably, it seemed as heavy and exhausted as never before, and burning lumps of poison gathered under her skin in places where there were bleeding bruises and bruises. She couldn't move her head, she couldn't even open her eyes, she couldn't do anything. Absolutely nothing. Her unhealthy consciousness threw her up and threw her into some kind of terrifying darkness where sounds came only in distant parts, and colors drowned in darkness. While conscious, when she was thrown out of this state for a split second, she felt a flash of pain and distant voices. These voices were clearly not kind and did not try to help her, on the contrary, the cold completely washed over her entire body and fettered fear. Finally, she woke up from delirium. Her head didn't hurt so much that it was already good , although she felt her body like a corpse. A soft, painful moan escaped Raven's lips, so quiet she wasn't sure if she had made it up. The girl did not know how much time had passed. She closed her eyes tightly, her body still not fully owned by her when, after several attempts, she was finally able to open her eyes. A faint, barely perceptible light fell from a single torch on the wall. He then extinguished, then caught fire again, and his flame was fighting the draft. Raven was lying on the cold floor in the very corner of the small room. On all sides it was surrounded by stone walls, only in front there was a thick black lattice. It was definitely an unfamiliar place for her. And Raven didn't really want to meet him. Panic quickly shocked her veins. The girl tried to move and roll over onto her back. The raven put her hands out in front, slowly and uncertainly leaning on them when she felt the palms of flames douche and the skin burned. She fell heavily and the room was filled with the sounds of her plaintive anguish and quiet sobs. Raven stared at her palms in amazement and felt her hands shake and her eyes filled with tears of despair as she saw her right palm cross a huge bleeding cut. She tried to touch the cut, hoping it would rob her of the creepy mind or the remnants of delirium. But her hopes were not justified, and as soon as her finger touched her palm, she felt something sticky and vile on them, and then the skin, cut and terrifying. Raven jerked her hand back as if scalded by boiling water, and her eyes filled with unshed tears of pain. The cramps and burning from the cut were unbearable. The crow barely sat down, hitting its back hard against the masonry, moaning painfully. Blood gushed from the wound, and before Raven could pour it all over the floor, the girl unwound an old rag over her shoulder and bandaged the wound. When she was sure that this was all she could do, Raven tried to examine. She didn't remember anything. Not how she got here, nor anyone who threw her here. She was clearly sure that the bars were locked and she was being held hostage here. And certainly no one will give it a key so easily. Rachel tried to remember how she got here. The confusion in her head mingled with a slowly approaching panic as tiny snippets of memories began rushing into her mind. She remembered how Zahir was shouting something, and then a huge detachment of guards appeared, someone swung at her, Zahir hit him, throwing a knife into her hand and commanding something, and then, then everything was as if in a fog ... Raven grimaced, her head ached again, not being very happy with so much information. She looked around again, trying to find something. But her gaze only bumped into cold stone walls and a lone torch. It was bad. It was all very bad.

***

Damian's blade cut the air at the head of his sparing tailor with lightning speed, and he heard him growl pitifully, rebounding, gasping for breath. This would be the third person in the last hour who was unlucky enough to stand up against Demian in a duel and after a minute he was moaning in pain and his training clothes were cut to shreds. Damian, with a light movement, put the blade to the man's throat, ready for the next step and his icy eyes looked lazily at the loser.

- My Lord. - the clash of the sword on the armor of Cairo cut the numb silence in the hall as he stood on the threshold of the room with two guards on both sides and bowed respectfully. Damian grunted in annoyance, half-removing the blade from the poor fellow's throat and threw a piercing glance at Cairo.

- I hope, Cairo, it's worth it that I interrupted the training. - Demian said coldly, finally putting his sword aside and to him in silence, as if on command three girls ran up. Two threw an emerald robe over his shoulders, while the other served him a glass of wine. Zakir straightened up and approached the master. His voice sounded dry and cold as he spoke in monotone.

“My Lord, I beg your pardon, but this matter requires your attention. - when the Lord silently nodded to him, Cairo continued. “Last night there was a complete robbery of the House of Advisor Badid and one of the members of this group was caught.

- I think you yourself know very well what to do. I see no reason for my attention to this. - Damian's voice boomed harshly, and people next to him involuntarily shivered. But Cairo insisted on its own.

“I assure you, my Lord, it is worth your attention. - Cairo said conspiratorially, and his eyes seemed to sparkle distantly.

***

Raven absentmindedly awoke from a nap when the clang of metal was heard somewhere from the side and heavy footsteps quickly approached her. She frowned, gray fearful shadows fell on her face and panic ran through her body in a torn layer. Something was happening and this sixth sense of hers told her that it was clearly related to her. She convulsively tried to get up, moaning in pain and leaning against the wall and pressing her sore hand to her chest, and in the other tightly clutching a piece of cobblestone and hiding it behind her back. The crow, under the influence of fear and panic, gripped the stone with such force that its uneven edges dug into the skin. It was the only thing that somehow betrayed her confidence. She shivered and was filled with panic at the thought of what these people could do to her when she was so scared and vulnerable. The blood dried on her body was a kind of warning sign of danger for the girl, but whoever these people were, Raven was not going to surrender without a fight. She stumbled back, straightening, determined to act and clutching the stone in her hands as two heavy shadows appeared in front of the cell's bars and Raven swallowed convulsively.

***

The raven hit hard, unable to keep herself on her feet, and fell to her knees when she was roughly pushed in the back. It still hurt under the ribs, there was something incomprehensible in her stomach and it seemed to be on the verge. Shine. There was still not enough to vomit. Raven threw a menacing look at the guards, mentally cursing each of them before her eyes stumbled upon the mark on their uniforms that everyone dreaded and her eyes widened with horror of realization. The girl abruptly got up and looked around nervously, examining the room where she was, silently pleading with God that her guesses would not come true. It was a huge, spacious marble hall, the size of any other in her life. Everywhere it was surrounded by columns of black marble, and between them there were stained glass windows. Emerald curtains hung from the ceiling, embroidered with gold thread. In front of her, at the end of the room, on a hill, stood a throne, all in gold, with artfully sculpted details and velvet-emerald trim. Behind the throne were huge windows, from the canvas to the floor and the whole room, in various niches and places there were strange plants of extraordinary beauty. The hall literally breathed high cost and wealth and shouted to everyone in the face about his royal title. Fucking shit. The pieces of the puzzle slowly but surely formed in her head and the whole gravity of the situation fell on her with a strong blow. The palace of Lord al-Ghul. And a few minutes ago, she was in the fucking dungeon of the palace of Lord al-Ghul, from where, according to the stories of the old people, no one has ever returned alive. And Raven wasn't sure she wouldn't be one of those poor fellows. Anxiety, mixed with fear, hammered in my chest, and all the insides seemed to be twisted into a wound inside, expecting an inevitable fate. A minute passed, two, ten, and she was surrounded by the same silence and the languishing tension pressed on her, the thoughts in her head nervously screamed at each other, interrupting her common sense and depriving her of all meaning. Her breathing quickened, and her muscles cramped from more and more incoming waves of fear and panic. She needed to calm down and Raven understood that very well. She was left alone and no one except herself would help the girl, and panic and fear for her would not pave her way to freedom, so the Raven exhaled heavily and mentally urged herself to calm down. She was alone and she knew how to be alone. She always saved herself and here and now this should be no exception. She will be sentenced to death. She was caught red-handed at the crime scene and she could not escape punishment, Raven mentally winced and tried to drive this thought away from herself as far as possible. No, she will be alive and well. She'll figure out how to get out of here. She always did that. The main thing is not to show fear or these yard dogs will devour her with giblets and not choke.

The raven mentally tensed, her lips compressed into a thin strip as the guards, as if on command, all straightened and bowed their heads respectfully. The approaching footsteps of several people echoed in the hall. She fleetingly caught snippets of their conversation, when all voices and sounds as if by unvoiced order died down and Raven felt a burning gaze on the back of her head that seemed to burn every part of her body. There was something wrong ... or rather, something was wrong. She felt nothing but this look. Her lungs were chained by fire, and her heart froze in place, as if it would obey orders. The world would have faded at one moment and mixed into a monochromatic mess, sounds, voices of people left, only this strange feeling of warmth remained. But then she was thrown out of this trance and Raven regained consciousness, breathing heavily and trying to restore blurred vision. Footsteps near her intensified, echoing in the head with drumbeats, but she did not pay attention to this, too confused by this flash. Someone stepped forward and stood directly opposite her. Raven lowered her head to the floor, habitually hiding her face in shadow. The man threw a gaze at her, mixed with something strange, deep inside and his tightly compressed lips did not bode well, but he still remained silent.

“This is her, my Lord. One of those thieves. " - for a moment Rachel's eyes widened, and her heart stopped when she heard the word "Lord" as if the first. Lord al - Ghul stood opposite her, carefully examining and only the playing veins on his icy face expressed emotions. The girl felt a strange thrill in the very center of her chest. His icy gaze slid over her, but for Raven he was not so cold, she felt more than felt something tender in it, enveloping and soothing, but immediately, embarrassed by herself, stopped. She should feel fear, panic, and at least in extreme cases aggression, but not as warmth and calmness emanating from his stoic figure of the Lord, recognized as a tough tyrants and dictator.

You haven't even seen his face, Raven! Wake up, you're half way to your grave, you idiot.

- "What's your name?" - unexpectedly for all those present, asked the Lord and his suppressive tone cut off all questions. After a pause, thinking tensely to say her real name or nickname, Raven answered dryly, praying that her voice would not falter. No, her real name has always been something sacred to her, which gave her a certain self-confidence, knowing that it would not be pronounced by anyone except a person close to her.

- "Raven." The lord frowned.

- "I asked about your real names, not about the name of the yard." - the man's eyes flashed warningly in her direction and although Raven did not see it, she felt a dumb threat hanging between them in the air, as a warning sign in case of her disobedience. In a place of fear, she experienced irritation, a strange feeling mixed with a share of protest, against his decree. Yes, she wanted to spit on the fact that he was a fucking Lord and the fact that her fate is now in his hands and depends on her unquestioning obedience, she will not tell him a damn thing.

- "Then, you will have to confine yourself to the "courtyard nickname", Your Majesty." - threw Raven, proud of herself and not regretting a single spoken word. A short, almost imperceptible wave of whispers passed through the hall, and Raven caught the movement somewhere behind her. Fast, firm steps were rapidly approaching her and did not bode well for the girl, and she shrank, ready to strike in retaliation for her insolence.

“Don't you dare, Cairo." - blow, which did not follow. The man froze literally a step away from her, nailed to the spot by the Lord's short command. Raven blinked in bewilderment, too stunned by these words to avoid being hit. Confusion filled her and she was grateful that her lowered face was not possible to see. But then, like a bolt from the blue, another command of the Lord sounded, now addressed to her.

"Show me you face." - Raven immediately reacted to this, demonstratively pulling her naked and the man, whom she understood to be called Cairo, again wanted to teach her a lesson in politeness, but the Lord's hand blocked his way. The man bent over a little, grabbed her chin sharply, seemingly being in a kind of impatience and pulled her upward, opening a view of the girl's face and freezing, but his stupor did not last long, the Lord seemed to be preparing himself for a long time for something remote and understandable only him. His bewilderment, growing brightly on his face, faded as quickly as it appeared. The lord, slowly, as if regaining control and forcing himself, removed his hand, with a short gesture weightlessly passed the back of his hand along the line of her chin, as he immediately fell into place, his icy, soul-chilling gaze returned to its place and he straightened up, his posture again became straight and royal and proud, and the Lord, turning on his heels, without turning around and without throwing a glance, went to the exit. All that he said before he disappeared behind the massive doors was one pitiful proposal:

"Her custody."

[celestial-archer]

A Lady’s Tail Chapter 1

First part of the adventures of my oc, Kelpie!

Zoba is from the wonderful @reallifeonthetheseventhfloor (a 10/10 person), check out her writing if you haven’t. Its really good!

AO3

           _________________________________________

The rustling glide of scales on smooth stone echoed through a long cavern. There were several small indents along the wall, leading to adjacent rooms. They were near impossible to find, unless someone knew what to look for. There were trap rooms randomly spread throughout the hall. The remaining rooms each had a different specific purpose, such as being a lab, bedroom, smithery, mine, etc. At the entrance of every room had a hidden alarm system made of a crystal that activated an alarm spell when an unknown entity walked through. 

The rustling stopped as a naga stopped moving and caressed a hand down the nearest wall. Her name was Kelpie. She had short pixie cut black hair, purple eyes with square glasses, and sharp venomous fangs. Her black tail was incredibly long with splatters of purple all over. She wore a  dark grey pinstripe corset. 

This was her base. It wasn’t as grandiose as some she had seen, such as The Great Tomb of Nazarick. Her friend Zoba was in the guild and had shown her around it one day. It was basically a masterpiece that anyone would be in awe of. Hers...was not. It wasn’t flashy nor extravagant, but it was useful. She was incredibly proud of it.

She had first discovered it when she was exploring a small mountainous area of the map. Not many people came there because it was rumored to be barren. Her objective was to see if the rumors had actually been true, afterall, Yggdrasil had so many niche secrets that something appearing to be empty could be a possible treasure trove. She roamed around for several hours that day, not finding anything until she stumbled onto the cave. It was a tiny, barely noticeable cave that couldn’t even fit her tail inside. The possibility of it being a secret entrance to a hidden dungeon was 90% in her head, but 0% in actuality. Her first thought was to just cut her loses and leave to find a real dungeon, but something made her stay. Even now she couldn’t say what it was that made her spend weeks carving out the beginning of the cave. It just felt right.

She never really stopped carving it out either. Every time she logged in and had available time, she would spend 30 minutes to an hour expanding it. As of now it spanned throughout the entire mountain area. She first began expanding it because she had wanted extra space, but continued it due to the mountain range being rich with precious stones and metals. Expanding it every day would give her a profit of over 100 metals or gems. 

She sighed deeply and turned to look at her NPC, Goren. He was near identical to an Archangel of Flame, except for some key differences. Being at level 80, he had way more power than them.  His halo was a swirling mass of molten gems. A good amount of her gems went into decorating him. His angelic metal body was almost completely covered with gems and stones of different composition and color. Technically he wasn’t supposed to exist since she was only a solo player, but through the use of a world item she had stumbled upon he was able to come into existence. While not necessarily a handsome NPC, he was very pretty to look at with the rainbow of colors on his body. 

Flicking her hand in the air, the screen of the menu popped up. The clock counting down the seconds mocked her. In less than 3 minutes Yggdrasil and everything from it would be gone forever. Her avatar, NPC, and base, gone like a piece of paper going up in flames. Pulling up her friends list, the green font of two players rested at the top, Momonga and Zoba. Seems they were online too. She quirked a smile, happy that she wasn’t the only one seeing Yggdrasil off.  She was, at most, a step above acquaintances with Momonga, but he was a fun guy that cared deeply about the game. She couldn’t imagine him not being here for the shutdown. 

Zoba was one of her one of her closest friends in the game. They had first met while they both were dungeon crawling and ended up partying together to beat the final boss. Even though she was not an official member of the Ainz Ooal Gown guild, Zoba would still go farming and dungeon crawling with her. 

Kelpie hovered her hand over the message option, but let it drop down. She wanted to talk one last time, but didn’t want to interrupt anything either of them were wrapping up. These last moments felt too sacred to do so. There was a tension in the air that said she needed to be alone in these final moments.

Less than two minutes remaining now. She felt the seconds ticking by like an execution and in a way, it was. She slid her hand into one of the indents in the wall and a section of the wall scraped silently across the floor. Slithering through, she glanced around the room. Shelves filled with items ranging from magic books to limited time drops lined three of the walls. The fourth had a drawered desk with a simple wooden chair in front against it and an anvil to the left. The center had a huge bundle of furs from several different high leveled beasts. This was her bedroom in all its glory. 

One minute remaining. There was nothing she could do to stop the horrible march of time, but wait for the inevitable. Wiggling her tail under the top layer of fur, she settled down on the top of her coiled tail. She imagined the softness of the fur and the warmth that radiated from it. Her eyes drifted shut and she counted down.

5

4

3

2

1

0....

The forced consciousness of her IRL body never came. She peeked an eye open, expecting to see the white ceiling of her dorm bedroom, but instead, her vision was filled with the dark grey of stone. 

What...was going on? She pushed her hand down to get up, but paused.

A plush warmth pushed against her hand. Almost the same feeling she had imagined a few seconds earlier. Her eyes drifted down and confirmed, yes that was indeed her fur bed. 

Huh, different possibilities popped inside her head. Am I hallucinating? Am I in a coma? Am I dead? Am I trapped in the game? She lazily flicked her hand up and-

Nothing appeared.

“The fuck?”

She flicked her hand again and again, but still nothing appeared.

“Ok, the menu doesn’t seem to work. Great.” 

Kelpie ran her hand through her hair and propped herself up. Immediately, she fell forward and slammed her face against the floor. Her tail stayed passively coiled on the bed. Shit, she had forgotten about that. Note to herself, trying to move her feet would not move her tail. 

Putting a hand on her chin, she stared at it. 

The color was even more vibrant now than it was before. The black was so sheek while the purple glowed brilliantly. With a light hand, she tentatively touched them and shivered. That was a new experience. Her hand felt the cool, smooth texture of the scales, while her tail felt a muted pressure against it. Almost like a cloth between her hand and tail. It wasn’t unpleasant, just unfamiliar.  

She shifted her hand and lifted the middle section of her tail. It wasn’t as heavy as it looked. She didn’t think her tail should be this easy to lift. 

Was it possible that she became stronger? She gave it a second of thought, but she shook her head to dispel the thoughts, no time to think about that right now. 

She placed her other hand on the opposite side of her tail and shook it back and forth to imitate the side to side movement of snakes. The feeling certainly was different from legs. Her tail had a lot more flexibility and there wasn’t the feeling that it should be one certain way. With legs, it's not possible to bend it in any way other than forward, unless the bone was broken. She could move and twist her tail in almost any direction. It was kind of freeing to not have any movement restrictions.

Committing the sensation of her tail moving to memory, she took a deep breath and tried to stand up. Well stand up as much as one could with a tail. It was a different balance than she was used to, more unstable. She no longer had two rigid foundations, but one long fluid foundation. She wobbled unsteadily side to side and immediately face planted.

Again.

Ok.

One more time. She could do this! 

She pushed herself back up, rubbing her face lightly with one hand. She wobbled horribly, but, by extending her arms to the side, didn’t fall over right away.

Progress!

She inhaled and tried to stabilize her center of mass. She shook slightly, but had enough balance to try moving forward. She visualized the image of a snake moving. Its entire body would swerve left and right, so maybe she should try that. It didn’t seem right for her to move all of her upper body though. That would disrupt her delicate balance.

She lightly swung her hips back and forth. It felt absolutely ridiculous, but she couldn’t deny it gave her results. She successfully slithered out from the fur pile. 

With the basics down, she spent the next ten minutes practicing how to move. She fell a lot the first half but was able to gradually work up from a slow crawl to a fast slither. The longer she practiced, the more her tail felt right. Like this was the way she was supposed to exist.

Well, one thing done. Now to figure out what was going on here. First step, exit her bedroom. She slipped her hand back into the indent and the door slid open. A warm and pleasant breeze brushed against her, causing her arms to erupt in goosebumps. It felt like she was outside in the middle of winter and the breeze was the little bit of sun shining down. Why was it so cold? 

Pulling a small fur from her bed and wrapping it around her shoulders, she slithered out of the room.

The wind blew from the direction of the entrance, so she decided to head that way. The walls passing by her were enchanting. She had never paid much attention to them before, being just a simple background to her, but now she wondered if she just never looked hard enough. The walls shimmered with rainbow particles in a nice contrast with the dark grey of the stone. She lightly brushed her hand down it. The texture was very smooth like a polished stone and warm to the touch. 

Why was everything so much more vivid? What was the cause behind it? The scientific part of her was desperate for the answer. 

She absently ran her finger tips along the wall. The smooth surface paired with the warmth was a calming tactile stimulation. Texture was a coping technique that worked decently well for her. 

Breath in and out, in and out, in and out. 

So much happening in so little time was overwhelming. 

Deep breath in and out, in and out, in and out.

She dropped her shoulders, releasing the tension in them. 

Ok, she was ok. She could get through this.

She wrapped the fur tighter around herself and continued onward, still dragging her hand across the wall. The cave got brighter and brighter until the light shining from the outside was visible. She could see the… greenery… of the outside?

She rushed forward, the fur slipping off her shoulders and onto the floor, forgotten. The sun beat down on her still body. She glanced around, twisting around to take in all of her surroundings. 

A forest.

She was in a fucking forest! 

Trees so densely packed together that she couldn’t even see past them. Shrubbery with berries and thorns at the bases. She was supposed to be in the mountains!

What the fuck! Whatthefuck! Whatthefuck!

Her heart pounded in her chest and her breath quickened into hyperventilation. 

Fuck! Fuck!

She clutched her head tightly as her vision swirled. She tried to force air into her lungs, but it wasn’t working. Her body swayed haphazardly and she collapsed against the bark of one of the trees. 

Oh god, she couldn’t breathe!

Calm down, calm down, calm down. 

She put two fingers against the pulse point on her neck and took deep breaths. One, two, three, she counted up to ten and started over, letting her heart rate settle. 

She inhaled, held it for a few seconds, then exhaled, repeating it until her heartbeat and breathing returned to normal. 

Ok, good. She was calmer. 

She pushed her weak arms against the tree and righted herself. Hopefully her nausea would subside in a few minutes. 

Shutting her eyes and tilting her head back, she took in the sounds of the world around her. It was strangely quiet, not a single bird chirping or any rustling of small animals scavenging for food. It should have sent warning bells through her mind, but the silence was too nice for her high nerves. 

Seriously, what was going on? She knew her dreams weren’t this vivid, so she couldn’t be sleeping. The coma theory was still a possibility but very low. 

Maybe this actually was her new reality somehow, but it just didn’t make any sense! It had to be an error of some kind in the game. 

A breeze blew through her and she shivered again. Scouring the ground around her revealed that nothing was there. Shit, where was her fur? Did she drop it in her panic?

Her teeth clattered and she wrapped her arms around herself. She made a plan in her head to find a permanent solution for the cold to replace the fur. She turned around and glided towards the cave. 

Snap

A branch behind her broke in half. Shit, it really had been too quiet. Of course something had been wrong!

Instinct took a hold of her. She spun around and hissed, the sound echoing through the forest. Her fangs elongated and venom pooled at the tips. Distortion took over her voice, slurring the S as she shouted.

“Who are you?! Ssshow yourself now!”

The green brush parted and out stepped a shiny silver angel with multi-colored stones all over his body. His arms were raised as he spoke carefully, his voice a quiet baritone.

“My lady, it's just me. I apologize for leaving your side. I should have asked permission to do so.  I will take any punishment you wish to impose.”

He kneeled in front of her, waiting patiently and radiating shame. Her body slouched back, resting against her coiled tail. She relaxed her face, allowing her fangs to shrink back to their normal size, no longer producing venom.

Holy shit.

“Goren, is that you?”

“I assure you, my lady, I am no mimic. If needed, I can show proof of my identity”

He remained completely motionless, his head bowed in submission. It was so surreal that she doubted that he was actually there. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. The panic was bubbling back up into her chest, but she took deep breaths to stave it off.

“My lady, are you ok?! Give me the order and I'll do whatever it takes to aid you!” 

She opened her eyes and peered at him. Yep, he was still there, but now his head was raised, staring at her. There was no change in his facial expression, but from the heavy concern lacing his voice, she knew he was deeply worried about her.  

“Ah, yeah. I’m uh… I’m ok, just give me a second to contemplate.”

“Understood.”

He continued staring at her and it felt like he was staring into her soul. 

“Actually, would you go retrieve my fur? I dropped it somewhere inside.”

“Of course! It would be an honor!” He exclaimed, his voice full of happiness.

Swiftly standing up, he gave Kelpie a deep bow and rushed into the cave. 

With a heavy sigh, she rolled her shoulders and rubbed the back of her neck with one hand. It was nice to not have the heavy weight of his stare on her, but she was a little sad at the absence of his company. His eagerness to help was really cute, like an excited puppy. It lifted her spirits and reminded her of how she interacted with her own friends, extremely loyal and excited just to be with them. Some of her IRL friends would even call her a golden retriever with how excitable she was. 

It was possible that it would come back to bite her, but she decided to trust him completely. He seemed too earnest to betray her. Plus trusting him would save her more hardship for the meantime.

His hurried footsteps clanked from behind her. She turned to him and gave a small smile. The fur was clutched in his arms as if it was a sacred object. It was impossible for his facial expressions to change, but he still managed to radiate happiness as he reverently held the fur out to her.

“Here is your fur, my lady! Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Thank you Goren. I’ll let you know in a moment.” 

She grabbed the fur and gently wrapped it around herself. That was so much nicer. The cocoon of warmth banished the cold. No longer feeling trapped in the middle of a blizzard, she could think more clearly. The cold and large amount of new information had given her sensory overload. 

She observed Goren. He was intensely watching her again, probably waiting for her response. He had been acting very interestingly. He was so subservient and worshipful, like she was some kind of goddess. Was this part of a scenario the developers had set up? If so, she wished she had been given some kind of warning. She clicked her tongue and addressed Goren.

“So I assume you went exploring. Did you discover anything?”

“Yes! It seems that we are between a mountain range and a forest. I found no signs of the mountain we were in previously. There appears to be a city and small village in the distance. The village is closer than the city. If you wish, I can lead you there.”

She tilted her head and hummed.

“Yes, that would be good. Thank you.”

Visiting the village would be very advantageous. It was likely where she could get more information about this new scenario and how to complete it. She didn’t really need Goren to lead her to it. With her ranger skills, she could easily find it herself, but having Goren with her would be comforting.

“Understood, please follow me, My Lady.” 

Goren turned and led her through the forest. Trees passed by quickly and she easily maneuvered over the roots and uneven ground. It was a normal forest except for the missing ambience of life. She slithered her way up to Goren, matching his walking pace.

“Goren, do you know why there are no animals around?”

Goren tilted his head to look at her.

“Of course. While you were resting, I took the opportunity to establish our territory. There were many species that had territory near the cave, so I defeated all of them. The other animals are likely avoiding us out of fear. Any who dare to challenge you will be struck down.”

His voice dripped with malice as he spoke the last sentence. Anyone with a sane mind would be filled with unease from hearing the deadly tone, but it just filled her heart with happiness, causing her tail to slap the ground repeatedly. 

“Good job! That will save us so much trouble! If we don’t need to worry about animals tripping them, we could install several traps and extend the alarm system outside the cave. Possibly even making dummy caves.” 

She paced back and forth muttering to herself about what traps would be good to put down, but  was interrupted by Goren gurgling and dropping down to one knee.

“My Lady! I am undeserving of your praise! It is my duty to fulfill your wishes and protect you. Everything I am belongs to you and if you commanded it, I would happily die for you!”

Her mouth fell open and she stared at him. She was just giving him a compliment, how had the conversation turned so serious?? She rushed forward and pulled his arm up. He gave no resistance and rose to his feet.

“No, no, no, there is no need to die! I gave you a compliment because you deserved it! It would make me very happy if you were to accept.”

“I...Yes, of course. I humbly accept your words.”

He tried to kneel again, but Kelpie held his arm tighter and gave him a stern look.

“Enough kneeling. You were showing me to the village, right? Let’s continue with that.”

He gave a simple nod and turned to continue through the forest. Kelpie sighed in relief and followed after him. His personality was different from what she expected. She hadn’t given him the worshipping trait, so where had it come from? She would ask him why he was so reverent but she was worried that he’d do something extreme again. 

She shrugged her shoulders back and focused her attention to the forest. They were getting closer to the edge of the forest. The trees were thinning out and she could start to make out the image of a village. The first thing she should do upon arrival would be to gather information. Knowing where they were currently was priority number one, but it would also be good to discover the main quest. Finishing it was probably the key to getting her menu and ability to log out back. 

Now that she thought about it, the immersion was incredible. The devs must have worked really hard on this, especially the npcs. She always imagined the personal npcs having a monotone voice, but Goren’s was incredibly expressive. She was interested to see more of his personality as well. She had originally programmed him to be shy and blunt.The blunt trait was intact, but the shyness was nowhere to be seen. In the future, would she see it through his interactions with other people, maybe even other players? 

There had to be more players spawned into random locations like her. It couldn’t be just her, right? Yeah, it couldn’t be just her. Meeting another in the village would make her day. They could share information and figure everything out faster. 

“My Lady, we’ve arrived.”

Goren’s quiet voice cut through her thoughts.

The village was just beyond the edge of the forest where they stood. There were several stone houses surrounding a wooden watchtower. Several villagers were wandering around doing menial chores, such as wood chopping and tending the fields. Kelpie scanned the area, searching for anyone that looked important. They would be the one most likely to be the quest giver.

“I don’t see the chief, what about you?”

“I apologize, My Lady, but I am also unable to.”

She clicked her tongue in annoyance. She would just have to go searching for them then. Hopefully they’d be outside, she didn’t really want to search through all of the houses for them.

“Goren, use your skill “Hide Shadow”. We don’t know if the village is safe or not. They look harmless, but you can never be too careful. Stay in my shadow until danger appears or I give the order, understood?”

“Of course!”

He crossed his arm over his chest with a bow and melted into darkness that tunneled down into her shadow. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Ok, time for answers. She set her shoulders and crept towards the village.

The field workers in front of her were hard at work, weeding and harvesting the wheat. They remained oblivious to her existence until she started crossing across the field, trying to avoid crushing any crops. The first to see her was a young male villager around the age of 18. His scythe slashed through the wheat stalk and he pulled the bundle away cleanly. He was laying the bundle into his basket when his eyes met with Kelpie’s. For a moment, nothing happened. They stared at each other, neither making a single movement. She lifted her hand to wave and all hell broke out.

The villager opened his mouth and let out the loudest scream she had ever heard. He turned tail and sprinted towards the houses. The others lifted their own heads to investigate and gave their own screams of terror. They retreated the same way as the young man, shoving and trampling the ones in their way. One was unfortunate enough to trip. He fell pathetically to the ground and whimpered in pain as he was slowly trampled to death. His lifeless body laid there, blood pouring out from under it.

The screams flowed through the air like an orchestra symphony and euphoria welled up in her chest. 

This was exciting! 

A breeze blew across the field and carried the metallic scent to her. She slowly inhaled then exhaled, enjoying the scent. It was enticing, like the smell of thanksgiving dinner on an empty stomach. 

Her pupils dilated into slits as saliva pooled in her mouth. Her fangs elongated, venom dripping down them. The sounds and smell were amazing and she wanted, no, needed more! A long hiss reverberated from deep in her chest. The sound traveled through the village and wails erupted from just beyond the houses.

Yessss, she liked that! More, more!

She flew across the field and entered the village. A mob of villagers were waiting for her with torches and pitchforks in hand. They shook where they stood and she could hear the loud pounding of their hearts. The fear was thick enough that she could smell it and it was as delicious as the bloody scent. 

Good, they should fear her! A forked tongue flicked out as she licked her lips. She could practically taste their flesh already. A hunting horn boomed out and like a flash, the mob charged her. 

Foolish~

The world slowed down to a crawl as adrenaline shot through her body. She could clearly see the terror on the front line’s faces. They knew their chances of survival was low, but they still had the smallest amount of hope inside of themselves. She would enjoy crushing that~

She crouched her body down and shot forward with explosive force. Slashing her hand in an arc, the heads of all the frontliners flew from their shoulders. Blood erupted out like a volcano and the bodies collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. It happened in an instant, leaving no time to react before they were dead. The mob collectively shuddered in fear. Many of the back liners dropped their weapons and ran for their lives, crying pitifully and letting prayers fall from their lips. She gave them a glance but didn’t chase after them. She had enough of a feast before her to ignore the stragglers. Kelpie brought the back of her blood covered hand to her mouth and dragged her tongue across it. The blood was sweet like a piece of candy. 

Tasty! Tasty! Tasty!

A feral grin overtook her face and drool dripped out the corner of her mouth. How nice would it taste right from the source? 

A muscular elder stepped forward with an axe, staring defiantly. Yes, he would do nicely as an example. Let them see what happens to those who defy her! He rushed forward and swung the axe at her head. 

Slow! Slow! Slow!

She thrust her arm at his neck, her fingers wrapped tightly around his neck and she lifted him off the ground. The axe clattered to the ground.

“Let thisss be a warning to you all. Those who defy me, die painfully.”

She unhinged her jaw and bit down on his shoulder. His agonized scream intensified as she pumped venom into his bloodstream. Releasing her hand, he slammed into the ground and convulsed wildly. He would die slowly and painfully. She brushed her thumb across the corner of her mouth. 

Laughing maniacally, she asked,

“Who'sss next?”

_________

She woke up from her trance several hours later, the taste of blood thick on her tongue and piles of bodies surrounding her. Her fur was drenched enough that there was no sign of its original color. In just one day, she had completely obliterated a village. 

The slickness of the blood covering her cooled her body uncomfortably. Yet, it still wasn’t a horrible feeling. 

Oh god, what had happened? Memories overwhelmed her mind with perfect clarity. The revulsion she should have felt was completely missing. In fact, just thinking about it was enough to make her happy. She touched her hands to her face and felt the smile she had.

She dry heaved. Why wasn’t she horrified by her actions?? What had happened to her?? 

Oh god, this couldn’t be the game! It couldn’t be! The game couldn’t affect her thinking and feelings!

Hyperventilation took her over and she clawed at the invisible pressure squeezing her neck. 

This was real! She had just murdered whole families and enjoyed it! Worse was that she wanted to do it again!

Her vision became hazy and black spots appeared all over. She fell forward, the sensation muted to the point of nonexistence. She dug her fingers into the ground and tried to drag her body away from the glassy eyed bodies. She raspily called out in desperation.

“G...Goren...Help…”

The sight of Goren rematerializing and reaching for her was the last thing she saw before everything went black.

[justgeorgeharrisonfic]

ALL THOSE YEARS AGO

ALL THOSE YEARS AGO.

 Henley on Thames, 10th December 1980 (1)

The fire was dying down now, but it was still good to watch the red/gold glow of the small branches and embers in the depth of the wide grate. George Harrison was sitting on the sofa facing the fire, one leg curled underneath him and the other with the knee raised up so that his chin could rest comfortably on it. He was nursing a half full glass of red wine, and his wife thought that he had forgotten it and was even thinking of crossing the room and moving it from between his fingers and setting it down on the table next to him, but then he took another sip. So Olivia continued to hover. She heard from the hall behind her that the last of their guests had finished packing his things and was ready to leave, so she quietly left the room and joined him in the hall. “Thanks… for…” but their friend, Ray Cooper, waved her words aside.

“Will he be ok?” On the face of it a ridiculous thing to ask. For one thing, how could she or anyone know? For another, no, of course he wouldn’t. Who would be? Yet, in fact;

Olivia nodded. “He will be. In a while.” She gave Ray a small tight smile, and he reached out towards her with his free hand and drew her to himself for a quick embrace.

“Look after him.”

“Of course I will.” She opened the massive front door and Ray slipped outside into the December night. “I’ll see you to your car.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Stay with him.” And he disappeared into the dark, leaving Olivia to move back into the hall, close the door and lock it firmly behind her. To her surprise and annoyance, she felt the prickling of tears behind her eyes but she suppressed them firmly as she made her way back to the sitting room. Stupid. She hadn’t even known him. But then, neither had the thousands of grief stricken people gathered outside the Dakota during the day and they were crying. It wouldn’t help George if she descended into that sort of sentimentality. She took a deep breath, and then stepped back into the sitting room.

George hadn’t moved. The fire had got lower still. She crossed the room and sat next to him on the sofa. “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

George looked at her, and shook his head. “I’m ok.” Another improbable statement, but she let it go. “What’s the time?”

Olivia twisted round so that she could see the large ornamental clock on a sideboard across the room. “3.15.” He nodded, but made no attempt to move from his niche on the sofa. “George, I think I’m going to bed. But…”

“I’m fine. You go.” He looked into her eyes, and she studied his expression. He was tired – not surprising, it was nearly twenty four hours since they’d had the news – but calm. Perhaps a little deadened. Sad. But, as he’d said, ok. “I’ll just sit, for a while.”

She nodded, and leaned over and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “I’ll check on Dhani. I’ll see you.” A squeeze of his shoulder, and she left the room again.

It was quiet. The fire was crackling slightly if you concentrated on it. There had been people there all day, playing music, working out tracks for his album, peering at him surreptitiously when they thought he wasn’t looking, eating, drinking, but for the first time since he’d got out of bed there was silence. George stared into the fire. He was trying to work out how he felt but he couldn’t. It was strange. When he looked inside his mind, all he could see was grey fog, nothingness. Maybe it was shock. Shocked and stunned. He thought that actually might have been what he’d said, when they’d demanded a statement from him earlier that day. Well, the day before of course, it was tomorrow now. His mind was going round and round. Would he really have taken the piss like that? Well maybe. Why not. It was all daft, wasn’t it.

He took another sip of his wine and looked at the diminishing fire. All those years, gone in one crazy moment.

All those years.

He couldn’t stop the memories. Corny, that. But they came…

 After the dentist. Esher, Spring 1965

George was sitting on the diving board when John came out to join him. He sat down on the grass, and then shuffled closer to where George was sitting staring at the water. He looked carefully at his friend’s face. George’s eyes were open, still, staring, staring. He didn’t move or acknowledge John’s arrival at all; John didn’t really know what to do. So he sat and looked at George, and then at the pool. The surface of the water was still. It was half past four in the morning and the birds were waking up. John listened to them and wondered what they were saying to him.

He had to know. “George. What are the birds saying?”

George blinked slowly, and the long eyelashes stroked his cheek. He turned to look at his friend, and a smile began to light his features. He paused a while, as though to consider his answer, and then looked up at the sky. He was looking for the birds. He didn’t see any. He looked back at John. His smile grew wider, his teeth white in the dawn light. “They’re saying they love you.” His smile rested on John’s face. Even in the height, or depth, of his LSD excursion he could reflect that John looked a complete mess; unshaven, his smart clothes from last night’s dinner party at the dentist’s town house crumpled shambolically, and his face drawn with as yet unrecognised exhaustion. George wondered if he looked as bad. Probably. Fucking dentist. Dosing their coffee; but…

But…

A whole new heaven, all around him.

The two young men sat together in the growing light and looked at each other. George looked at John; the abrasive, defensive leader of the gang was no longer there. And John looked at George, and the immature sulky guitar fanatic had likewise gone. In the places of those two real and unreal personas were instead two old and dear friends who were now joined together by a golden thread of new understanding, and deepest love.

They saw no need to speak or move, and just sat by George’s swimming pool in his Esher garden, each relishing their new existences. The moment extended for untold time – until a quiet meow behind them brought them out of their new world and back into the old one. George turned around and saw his Siamese cat sitting neatly on the grass, regarding him sardonically with blue slanting eyes. John turned to look in the direction of George’s gaze.

“What does it want?” he asked

“Breakfast.”

“Is it breakfast time?”

George looked up. The sun, he saw, was high in the sky. He wondered how long they’d been sitting there. “It might be,” he said.

John thought about this, and reached a conclusion. “I could do with something.”

George nodded. “Okay. We’ll go in.” He pushed himself up, but only got as far as kneeling up before turning to John again. “None of it’s the same any more.”

John looked at him again and paused a while to think. As he took in what George had said, he found himself filled with a feeling of complete joy. He smiled, he grinned, he shook his head. “It isn’t,” he proclaimed. “It fucking isn’t.” He clambered to his feet and looked up at the sky, he arms opening wide as though to encompass the whole different world he’d just glimpsed. “It’s all different! We’re all different!” Another pause, and then the greatest thought of all. “We’re not just Beatles now!!”

George too clambered to his feet and he too beamed broadly at this most astonishing concept. He laughed out loud in sheer joy, and the two turned and set off, in step, towards the long brightly painted house. “Hey!” he exclaimed. “They’ll be thinking this! They’ll be feeling this!”

“Who?”

George laughed again. “Pattie! And Cyn.” He grabbed John’s arm and quickened his pace. “C’mon! We’ll find them. It’s morning! It’s a new day!”

The two new soulmates pushed open the back door and stepped inside, to explore their new life – and feed the cat.

  It didn’t start that way. There was no love at the start. It was hard to know if John had any love in him, at the start.

 Kids. Sometime in 1958

 Paul didn’t pause in his tinkering on his guitar when he heard the back door slam open, nor when John Lennon strode into the sitting room. “Okay?” said Paul, without looking up from his fretboard.

John strode over to the armchair in the corner and plonked himself down. He fixed Paul’s friend with a steady and challenging stare. The friend ignored both him and the stare, and continued to pick out the chords that he and Paul had been working on. John waited a while, and when no reaction came he spoke up. “Didn’t know this was a baby sitting service.”

Paul looked across at him, the frown of concentration still on his face. “Eh?”

John nodded his head in the direction of George. “What’s he doing here?”

Paul shook his head. “We said. You said. He’s in. You remember.” Paul smiled at him; John responded with a scowl.

“Not really.”

“Yeah, you did.” Paul extended his smile to George, who was still picking at the guitar strings. “Plays better than you, any road.”

At this point, George looked up from the strings across at John. “Alright?” he said, with a curiously lopsided smile. John glared.

“What the fuck.” No answer seemed to be required to this so none was attempted. George went back to his careful fingering of the chords so, leaving his tormenting for the time being, John lifted his own guitar into his lap and he too began to strum the strings. Paul and George looked over at him and, to the surprise of both John and Paul, George started to laugh. “Wassup with you?” John demanded.

George continued to chuckle.

“He’s remembering one of his Noddy and Big Ears stories, that’ll be it,” John said harshly.

“You can look at your own Noddy books,” George suggested confidently, “while I string your guitar properly. What d’ya think you’re doing?”

“Eh?” John peered down at the strings of his guitar, while Paul paused in his own strumming and looked on in interest.

“You’re only got four strings!”

“Yeah, well…” John’s belligerence increased in measure with his discomfort.

“It should be six.” “George shook his head. “You did know that, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course…” Aggressive confidence.

“Paul, you got any more strings?”

“Ah… I might. Hang on. Mike’s got a guitar…” Paul put his own guitar down next to his chair and jumped to his feet and trotted out of the sitting room. He left behind him a silence laden with antagonism, a silence only broken when he returned with his younger brother’s guitar, filched from their shared bedroom. “Here y’are.” He held up the guitar, but wasn’t at all sure who to give it to; lamely he passed it to John.

“Give us it here,” said George, and then, to John’s astonishment, he pushed himself out of his armchair and crossed the room to where John sat, uncomfortably aware that he was in danger of being made a fool of. George held out his hand. When John made no move, George reached towards the guitar, which John found he was clutching tightly. “It’ll only take a minute.”

John handed his guitar over, dumbly. George took it and returned to his chair. Quickly divesting Mike’s guitar of two perfectly good strings, he laid John’s instrument over his lap and began to restring it. He ignored John completely.

Paul filled in the otherwise uneasy silence by strumming and singing along. “What’s ‘at?” asked John, sharply.

“Thought of it this morning. Me and George were working on it before you came.”

Paul had probably not intended to irritate John even further with this remark, but nevertheless that was what happened. “Funny – it didn’t sound like a nursery rhyme.” Paul offered a dutiful grunt of amusement. George continued to ignore John as he worked on the guitar, finishing the stringing and starting to twang the new strings into tune.

“Paul, give us an E.” Paul played his E string and George tightened the new string. “Again.” George was satisfied with the first one and went on to the next, again using Paul as a tuning fork, and then crossed the room and handed the guitar back to John, who grasped it expressionlessly. “You’ll need to check the tuning when you get ‘ome,” he said sunnily, as though the expression on John’s face didn’t suggest that he was breathing sulphur. “It was…”

“Yeah, ok,” John snapped as he laid the guitar on his lap and began to strum. Again, George ignored the black atmosphere as though unaware of it, and returned to his seat across the room; but he was back on his feet moments later when the sitting room door opened and Paul’s father stepped inside.

“Hello lads,” he greeted them. “Alright?”

“Hello Uncle Jim,” beamed George, and Jim McCartney smiled warmly at him.

John wasn’t going to let this go. “”Hello Uncle Jim,” he lisped in a high falsetto in an inaccurate but deliberate imitation of George. “Ith it teatime, Uncle Jim?”

“I’ve got some of yesterday’s shepherds pie left over if you’re hungry. Mine won’t touch it the day after – I don’t want it wasted.”

There followed a fierce struggle within the Lennon heart. He had never been offered leftovers at Paul’s, though it was clear that George was accustomed to this service. He had only made the silly remark about teatime because he’d wanted to make George sound childish. The temptation of a helping of homecooked shepherds pie now battled with his perceived need to maintain his aloof disdain, particularly after his ill-judged scorn at George’s greeting and its complete failure to humiliate the younger boy. His expression went blank as he grappled with the conundrum.

George was watching from across the room. His eyes were cool and appraising. Jim waited for a reply, completely unaware of the drama being enacted in his small and now crowded sitting room.

John reached a decision. “Yeah,” he mumbled, gracelessly. “Thanks.”

“Fab, thanks!” said George enthusiastically, and started to follow Jim out of the room. He and John reached the door at the same time. George paused, and met John’s gaze head on. He nodded at the door, as if to say, “After you,” and John, aware, on a level he wasn’t prepared to examine too closely, that he had been truly bested, slouched through towards the kitchen.

The memory had not faded by the time the three friends were due to meet up again to practise, but it felt even more irritating to John when Paul announced at the last minute as John arrived at his door that they couldn’t stay at his house. “Me dad’s got me auntie round.” It was therefore a glowering and resentful Lennon who stood behind Paul as the latter knocked sharply on the door of 25 Upton Green.

“Fuck’s sake,” John was heard to mutter.

”Get over it,” Paul was heard to retort with a grin.

The door was opened immediately by a smiling, blond, plump, beaming lady who held out her arms towards Paul and drew him in for a hug. “Paul love,” she said. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Louise,” answered Paul and started to move through the door. He turned around and gestured with his head towards his companion. “This is John.”

Louise Harrison’s broad and welcoming smile encompassed the newcomer. “Hello John. Come in!” and she moved aside. John confidently stepped forward to enter, but his grand entrance was spoiled when he managed to catch his foot on the threshold. He lurched forward and bounced into his hostess, his weight pushing her back against the wall of their hall. His guitar clanged, he said “Ooof”, and she shrieked with laughter. “Eh, watch it! We’ve only just met you know!”

“I’m sorry…” John began, but she waved his words aside, still laughing so much she had to wipe a tear from her eye. She flapped a hand in the direction of a door opening off the hall.

“In you go,” she said, as the door opened and George appeared.

“You met me mum then,” he said to John with an amused grin and then turned and went back into the sitting room. The others followed.

“Very much so,” John managed, as Paul too gave a peel of laughter and settled himself on the sofa. George took the seat nearby and the two settled into an easy familiarity. John chose a chair nearby and he too sat. He looked up as Louise poked her head through the door.

“Would you like a beer?” she asked the assembled company. Paul looked up at her with a smile.

“Ooh yeah, please,” he said, before returning his attention to his guitar. It was clear to John from Paul’s casual response that it had not been an unusual offer. He also realised that his mouth was hanging open. Involuntarily, he glanced over at George.

Was that a smirk on the thin face?

The next second, George’s expression was as guileless as before as he said, “Thanks mum.” He looked over at John and smiled at him. “And one for John, yeah?”

John met his gaze. “Yeah,” he said to the waiting Louise, who disappeared to get the drinks. John broke the gaze and focussed down on his guitar.

Game and set to George… for now.

   Henley on Thames, 10th December  1980 (2)

The fire crackled and a log fell into the embers. The sound brought George back to the present; the early morning hours of a bleak December day and a nearly empty wine glass in his hand. He looked blankly at the glass for a moment and, after a pause and an apparent decision, he reached over to the low table in front of him, picked up the bottle and emptied it into his glass. He left the bottle on the carpet by his feet and leaned back with the glass and took a sip. A tiny smile tugged the corner of his mouth as he recalled all the teenage power struggles and tussles and squaring up which had punctuated those early days; they’d been so all engrossing and important then, but had soon passed. In a way. He wasn’t in fact sure whether John ever had stopped posturing and locking horns - with the others, with himself, with anyone who may have threatened to see past his guard. Which was actually everyone. But the strutting and bullying when he’d first got to know George had dwindled and more or less stopped once they’d served their purpose – John had to be the leader, and for years George was happy to let him be there.  Not for nothing had George grown up as the youngest in a big lively family, and he had learned from the earliest age that if you didn’t mark out your territory and stand your ground you lost. It was just the way it was. John pushed, George pushed back, and in the end John sort of gave up. By the time they got as far as Hamburg, George had grown up sufficiently to be able to hold his own and it meant he had passed John’s test. He was worthy.

It also meant he was trusted. And that was all important.

 Adelaide, 12th June 1964

George opened his door and looked back at the blonde who was pulling her dress down over her head. She was, George reflected, taking too long to get dressed. They often did that. It was sometimes annoying. Right now he felt relaxed and uninclined to be annoyed, but that might not last too long. “Alright luv?” he said, by way of a suggestion that, for her, the evening was over. “Yer ready?”

She obviously wasn’t ready, as her tight dress was only halfway down her curvaceous hips, but there was no harm in hurrying it along a bit. She looked across at him, and gave a little wriggle which may have been meant to be appealing, or may have been her way of saying that the dress was hard to get back on, but whatever it was George was having none of it. He stood, his hand on the handle of the open door, and his dark eyes fixed on her. “Okay then?” he said, implacably.

The nameless blonde finally took the hint. She yanked the dress down, looked for, found and slipped her feet into her shoes and grabbed her bag. She gazed at him, eyes limpid.

In answer, George opened the door a little wider and put his head on one side.

She gave a small sigh, and walked towards him and he stepped aside to allow her to move past him, the movement emphasising that she should do just that, and that this was definitely goodbye. “Thanks luv,” he said cheerily and then, looking over her shoulder, “Mal!”

Mal Evans appeared from the hall at the other side of the large main room of the suite, and beckoned her to come with him. She crossed the large room, looking back at George before she left but George wasn’t even looking in her direction any more. He was heading toward the drinks table, where he poured a large rum and coke and took it to one of the large arm chairs and plonked himself down opposite John Lennon, who was slumped in the chair opposite, his legs dangling over the arm of the chair. “Could have got me one,” said John.

“You should’ve asked.” George took a slug of his drink and settled back comfortably into the cushions.

“Hmmmf,” John grunted, but it was only the effort of getting out of the chair. He sloshed a random amount of rum into his own glass in a manner which suggested that he had had several of them already, added a cursory splash of coke and made his unsteady way back to the chair. “How was she then?” he asked once he’d landed back into the seat.

George raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. Then he moved his head to back and forth in the signal that meant something like ‘nothing special’. “Ok.” He paused for a moment and thought. “Interesting,” he added.

John perked up. “Was it?”

“Sort of.” George smiled. “She had some interesting ideas.”

“Oh well.” John relaxed back into his chair again. “’Interesting’. Not too ‘interesting’, I hope.”

“Whatcha mean?”

“She didn’t chew your cock off or anything.”

“Not that I noticed.”

“S’alright then.”

The two lapsed into a comfortable silence; comfortable with each other, that is. Yet they had been together for around four years, closer together than most spouses, and their impenetrable shared guard against intrusions and invasions from outside their inner sanctum had rendered them all highly tuned in to the others’ feelings and moods. So that now, in the quiet after the frenetic scramble to the Hall, the insane hysteria of the show, the virtual debauchery of the party back at the hotel, and the physical release offered by whichever girl was first in the queue, each of the young men sitting slumped in their hotel suite was aware on some level or another that all was not well with the other.

George fetched another drink.

John broke the silence first. “Wassup?” he said. George looked up from his drink to see that John’s eyes were trained on him. He met his gaze, and gave one of his slight, crooked smiles. He shrugged.

“It’s too far.”

“Yer what?”

“Too far from home.” He paused to take a sip of his rum. “It’s the other side of the fucking world, for fuck’s sake.”

“Not for the Australians. It’s the right side for them.”

George chuckled. “True.” He smiled again. “Weirdos. Shows how much they know.”

“It must be all those boomerangs”, John commented.

“And digeridoos.”

“And wallabies.”

“And cricketers.” John burst out laughing at that last one, and George smiled comfortably at him. “Yeah,” he said, for no reason in particular.

John waved his glass at him to emphasise the fact that he was speaking. “Pattie?” he asked.

George looked at him, and smiled ruefully and nodded. “Yeah, he said again, very softly.

“It’s shit,” said John. It was a succinct summary of the situation and George appreciated its brevity and accuracy. He nodded. “D’ya trust her?”

George looked up sharply. He knew there was no mischief intended in the question; it was simply a straightforward enquiry, and he needed only a second or two to reflect on it and then to answer. “Yeah,” he said. “Oh yeah. I do.”

“Why?”

George smiled again. “I know her.”

“Already?”

George nodded again.

John finished his drink and lurched across the room for another. George laughed. “How many have you had?”

“Fuck knows.” John sat down heavily again and made himself comfortable. Each was very aware that the other showed no signs of wanting to break up the evening and clear off to bed. John wrapped his legs over the arm of the chair again. George stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. Silence fell once more.

“Where are the others?”

John shook his head. “Dunno.” He gestured with his head towards the other bedroom doors. “In there somewhere. In it for the duration I guess.”

George nodded, and watched his drink as he sloshed it gently to and fro. Then he looked up again. “And what about you?”

“What d’ya mean?”

George stared at him. “Wassup?” he asked, deliberated echoing John’s previous question to him.

John stared at him. He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. George waited for him. He knew this John. He’d seen him many times before. He’d seen him standing, bereft, in Stuart’s studio in Hamburg, he’d seen him staring at a blank wall and swallowing with nerves before their first recording session for Love Me do, he’d seen him waiting to say the first line of their first film, swallowing compulsively again. George knew this John. There was a chance he’d just get the usual throwaway witticism, the casual insult; but George didn’t think so. He waited him out. He finished his drink.

“I’m lost,” said John Lennon.

George shifted to one side in his chair and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He withdrew one, held it up and then tossed it across the small but important space between the two chairs. John caught it, picked up a lighter from the table next to him and lit the cigarette, held up the lighter and threw it over to his friend. George lit his own cigarette, took a long drag, and then stared.

“I am,” said John. Was he waiting for a denial? He didn’t get one. George got up and crossed the room to refill his glass and this time he brought one back for John. John looked thoughtfully at the glass for a moment, and then back up at George, who was settling down opposite again. “George,” he said. “When did you grow up?”

George gave a small smile, one corner of his mouth quirking up. “About ten years ago,” he retorted. “You were too up yourself to notice.”

John found the grace to laugh briefly. The two young men sat, smoked, drank, rested. A brief high pitched squeal sounded from one of the bedrooms, soon cut off, and both John and George laughed. They didn’t know who was with the excitable female, didn’t care either. “I envy you,” John declared.

George frowned. “Why?”

“What you’ve got.”

“Whatcha mean?”

“I saw you on that boat in Tahiti.”

George raised his eyebrows. “Pervert,” he commented mildly.

“You saw me too.”

“Couldn’t really miss you, could I.” He took a pull at his cigarette. “That was a good holiday.”

“Yeah.” John sounded mournful. George sighed very softly, because he knew John very well and he could see where this was going.

“You and Cyn were good,” he offered.

“Yeah.” John took another slug of rum. George waited him out. “On holiday. We can’t be on a paradise holiday all the time.”

“No. Most people aren’t.”

John glared. “You know what I mean,” and for the first time in the conversation his voice began to turn harsh. “Shit George. I don’t know what any of it’s about. Marriage. The Beatles. Any of it.”

George’s left ankle was propped on his right knee, his elbow on the arm of the chair and with the hand that wasn’t holding the cigarette he was running the edge of his forefinger to and fro across this lips. He looked across at John, silently. John glared back; and then broke into a chuckle. “You look like a fucking interviewer!”

George smiled, warmth in his dark eyes.

“Am I being stupid, Geo?”

George nodded, still smiling with his eyes.

“Well? I’m allowed to be, aren’t I!”

“Definitely,” agreed his baby friend whom John had just noticed had grown up.

One of the bedroom doors burst open. Mal must have been waiting, as he materialised as if on cue and guided the latest lady to the door. Paul wandered over towards his two Beatle buddies. “What’s happening? Anything to eat?”

George waved an arm in the direction of the table on the other side of the room. “Might be something left there.” He shifted position again, curled both legs under him, and looked across at John, his head slightly on one side. John looked back; he gave the briefest of nods.

It was all the acknowledgement George would have expected.

 And then, it all went wrong, and the tears started.

 EMI Studios, October 1968

George placed his guitar carefully in its case. He wanted to slam it in, like he wanted to slam everything and everything around him, but he couldn’t harm his guitar, however lousy he felt at that moment. But, once the instrument was safely ensconced in its velvet casing, he knew without further reflection that it was safe to slam down the lid and snap the clasps shut viciously and everyone looked round.

“George?” Paul McCartney was turned towards him, puppy-dog eyes wide. “George, listen…”

George didn’t bother to look up, which was reasonable as Paul didn’t continue so George wouldn’t have known what he was supposed to listen to.

“Ooo, wassup den?” John’s voice cut across the studio.

George straightened, and turned to look at John and John’s face clearly reflected every drop of the scorn and derision in the voice. His grin held no humour, it was a leer, tight-lipped, eyes closed to slits. George stood and faced him.

It was a John he had seen many times in the past. He’d seen it in the Liverpool Art College when George had followed his good mate Paul in to play rock; John was surrounded by his arty acolytes and he was playing the game to the hilt. He’d seen it in their earlier music practises, before John had forgotten to sneer. He’d seen that look in Hamburg when John was too far gone on prellies and drink to even know who he was looking at. And he’d seen it many times directed at others, those unfortunate hangers-on who forgot their place when in the presence of a Beatle and stepped that bit too close. But, George had not seen it directed at himself for a long time. And here it was now. George straightened unconsciously, and faced his old friend.

The sneer broadened. “Wassup?” said John again. “Oh I know! Georgie wants his little song on the album but, oh dear, there just isn’t room.” John took a drag of his cigarette. “Maybe next time, eh?”

“George!” There had been two voices chorusing his name. Paul, and Ringo, and Ringo was stepping towards him from behind his drum screen, hand outstretched. Paul’s eyes were no longer puppy-dog. And George realised that he himself had halved the distance between himself and John and he realised that his fists were clenched.

“My little song?” His voice was a hiss.

John laughed.

“George!” Just Paul that time. He too was reaching out. George Martin had appeared from his control hidey-hole; George could see him out of the corner of his eye.

“Isn’t it a pity it’s bollocks,” said John. ”Good name for it really.” And the next minute John Lennon was flat on his back on the floor next to the piano. The sneer had gone, replaced by a look of sheer surprise. The woman next to him leapt to her feet; John waved her back with one hand. Ringo stood in front of George, trying to form a barrier between the two men, and grasped George’s arms.

“Geo! Come on!! George!”

George tried to focus on Ringo’s face, tried to breathe. He’d have moved forward, he’d have finished the job but Ringo was there and that reminded him that he shouldn’t do that. He felt an arm around his shoulders, and his head turned and looked at Paul. “Geo! Hey. No!”

The words were meaningless but it didn’t matter. George knew what they were saying. Fair enough. You shouldn’t beat up your bandmates. But…

He took a deep breath trying to free his voice to speak. Another deep breath.

“You bastard,” he said through uncomfortably gritted teeth. “You fucking bastard. That song is good. You fucking know it’s good.”

John was sitting up now but was still on the floor. Having to look up at his adversary lost him quite a bit of advantage. He opened his mouth to speak. “It’s…”

“It’s a good tune and you know it. You don’t want my stuff on there, you don’t want…” George took another deep breath and almost reeled from the onslaught of his own thoughts. “You don’t care about this any more, you don’t care about anything any more except her, and that shit gear you take. You know this song is better than your stuff right now, you can’t even…”

“Better than mine?” John’ interjection was almost a howl. “You have to be fucking kidding! You! You…”

“Yeah, me. And you’re so wrapped up in your own shit you wouldn’t even recognise a good song any more if it came and smashed you in the face.”

John clambered to his feet. He too turned to face his old friend. “Like you just did,” he said, quietly.

George licked his lips, mouth so dry he could barely speak or swallow. There was too much, too much he wanted to say, too much grief and fury and frustration to even start to express it. He could only shake his head. He closed his eyes briefly, and then turned away and stalked back to his guitar. He grasped the handle of the case, and then turned, half facing John, half facing away. “Fuck you, Lennon.” It was all he could manage.

He spun away and marched out of the studio away from the Beatles.

 Henley on Thames, 10th December 1980 (3)

George brushed tears away with the heel of his hand. Stupid fucking git Lennon, why did he act like that when he wasn’t like that.

Except that he was like that. But he wasn’t. But he was, all of it, all at the same time.

George looked up at the high ceiling of his grand room, tears drying on his face. His right hand groped on the sofa next to him and found the packet of cigarettes. He drew one out, found the lighter, lit the cigarette, breathed smoke in and continued to stare at his ceiling. Stupid, he declared in his mind. Stupid, to cry. The old bastard’s only in the next room, he knew that. It was just the shock. And the fucking stupid way he went. Of all the things…

Tears pricked at his eyes. Again. Stupid. It was just late. Too much wine. Some mad shit just took his friend away…

Fuck’s sake. Why cry at a memory of when he was a bastard. Why not cry at the good times. There were tons of them. He didn’t want to sit and wallow in them. That’s not what this was about, that’s not what he’s about, he knows John hasn’t gone anywhere. And even if he had, it was years since he’d been a real part of his life so what’s the difference.

George took another drag of his cigarette. It was like watching pictures in his mind, no order, and each picture carrying the essence and image of the man. There were huge loud noisy times, there were the small quiet private times, there were the angry and frustrated times. There was John’s face, on stage at Carnegie Hall, it was an experience none of them could ever have imagined happening to anyone, and it was happening to them. The centre of that huge arena and fans all around them and such energy that was like the old days in Hamburg and Liverpool. And George looked over at John, and John at that moment was looking back across the stage at him, and George saw the triumph and the joy in his face – we’ve done it, we’ve done it. The toppermost of the poppermost. And the joy sang between them.

Even bigger than Carnegie Hall; could they have ever thought there could be anything bigger but there was Shea Stadium and John lost it, completely lost it while Paul let rip on I’m Down. The whole thing was so crazy, George could see that John simply leapt into the chance to be just as crazy himself, and George joined him in the spirit of that moment and laughed so much he couldn’t even sing. And then Paul saw what was happening from the other side of the stage and he too spun around laughing at the madness and in the madness.

Paul didn’t like it when John went into his cripple act on stage, but there was nothing you could do about it, he was going to do it. Paul had talked to him about it once but never bothered to try again. And Brian tried once too but he didn’t get even a sentence out, and instead withered in the face of John’s derision. John could be the very spirit of cruelty.

And another scene imposed itself into the kaleidoscope, on a coach, on a tour, in England, and lots of other acts in the coach travelling with them because The Beatles were right down low on the bill and Helen Shapiro was right at the top. But Helen had just read an article in a music paper that said she was finished, washed up, her day was gone and the Beatles were heading the new wave. And she was crying. And John had his arm around her and John was telling her not to pay any attention to the crap they printed in papers, that she was the business and she had nothing to worry about. Her tears stopped and she ended up laughing along with John; kind and caring John.

Hamburg John, crazy John, Prellies and booze John, John who was far from home and free to finally let loose and he did. And there were a hundred scenes on stage and around the streets of madness and daring and near-atrocities – but there were also the times when they sat around the bar tables in the small hours of the mornings, drinking and talking and laughing together as a unit –

George took a deep breath, and another sip of wine. He was thinking about that unit, that impenetrable and near psychic unity which existed between the four of them and which was so palpable that outsiders could see it, like a force field around them that no-one could get through and that was the way they wanted it and needed it. Not even Neil and Mal, not even the wives and girlfriends, no-one. It had eroded, in time, it couldn’t last, but while it was there it was a gift from God and it had without any doubt saved them from insanity. The four who were one. Within the force field yes, they were four people with four separate spirits and they sometimes clashed but they still blended. The cruel and harsh and frightened and loving John was a part of the unit and helped make it what it was.

George drained his wine and as he put the glass back on the table another memory sneaked in and wrapped tightly around his heart. A postcard arriving on his doormat with just one line: “Sorry about your ma.” From the other side of the world and the other side of all the viciousness and despair, John had reached out to him to sympathise with something he understood only too well, the death of a much loved mother.

George took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He swallowed. He closed his eyes, and for a moment he spoke to his old friend. Then he got to his feet, checked that the fire was low enough to be safe, and he slowly and tiredly made his way to the door, and up the stairs, to bed, to bring an end to that endless and terrible day.

[kurtty-drabbles]

Postwoman au

N/A: Here we go. I´m tempted in making this a continuation of my Krampus au or my drabble, yet, I want to do something new here. Also, Santa here is professional but a freak in the sheet (THERE´S A NICHE WHERE SANTA FUCKS) also, would be racist if Santa attends to all holidays?

@dannybagpipesarecalling @djinmer4 @bamfoftheundead @muninandhugin

There´s an old saying, perhaps not as old as people made out to be, where it goes more or less like this- interpretations may vary and change a word or two- "love conquers all" and is the pure expression of the truth ever since Jean Grey and Scott Summers´s marriage change the course of history forever. Mutants are no longer seen as a threat and there´s no more social prejudice against mutants.

Is this heaven? Far from it. Mutants and Humans are the same sides of the coin- there´re mutants cable of doing more damage than a human can dream and of course, there´re humans that can respond to such violence with the same requiem - and Kitty Pryde is the one living this new reality among all the mutants of the second generation.

I saw the worse.

I saw the good.

And now I´m drifting meaninglessly.

Her body sludge down on the chair. Letting her foot touch the downy floor while the clock ticks and tack a loud sound- her eyes travel towards all the points in the waiting room. From the receptionist doing her work to the big closed door- and Kitty Pryde can see her reflection on the only mirror present. She was never one to put fashion above all, not even in such a situation. Wearing just a white shirt, short jeans and a yellow jacket wide open.

Then her land on the few magazines on display. Different magazines. Same story. Jean and Scott´s wedding was a fantastic story, but, sadly it has one unhappy ending. A man bursting into the church to confess his love for Jean Grey- Jubilee and Kitty was sure Logan would be the one to cause such scene- it was Prof X declaring his undying love for Jean Grey. It is still a nice gossip.

“When a father lusts over his son´s girlfriend” Kitty reads one of the main topics of the magazine. Repugnance is clear in her face and body language.

Another magazine has images of Prof X after his confession and even promised an exclusive interview with the man to explain himself. Kitty rolls her eyes at that- she reminisces when Bobby asks her to come to the wedding as his plus one. His boyfriend and he break up before the big day and Bobby didn´t want to go alone. And they only talk about Prof X and his revelation. The man was in love with a woman he raises since she was a kid- her cellphone rings softly. And has a message from her friends.

Good luck with your interview.

The receptionist has red hair. Too similar to her ex- Kitty meets Rachel Grey by accident. She was from a group called Excalibur. The relationship lasts a few months until Rachel and her group leave. Looking back. it was for the best-She recalls vividly an alternative version of herself who was looking at the relationship with confusion. And looking back again, Kitty can see why- and the woman is now looking at her. Was she always a red hair or is her succubus power kicking in? "Santa called...you can enter now, Miss Pryde" and the sultry smile is a tad similar to her ex. A tad bit only.

"Thanks" Kitty shurgs off and goes without looking back. If the succubus receptionist looks at Kitty going or not is her problem now.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Kitty is Jewish. She has fond memories of her Hannukahs - uncle Tim bring a new dog he rescued from families who think dogs are toys or aunt Moira and her many good whiskeys- and yet, in all her past Hannukahs there was never a period where her family thought about Santa. Not for a single second. So, of course, Kitty is looking at the real Santa right now.

The popular version of Santa is a fat man with red clothes and a big beard- Yana jokes how Santa could be communist too-and yet, the reality is far from different. Tumblr has a word for this type of Santa, but, Kitty refuses to use it. So, Kitty can summarize by saying: yep, he´s handsome.

"Ah, you must be Miss Pryde, da" his accent is a mixture of Russian and English. Somewhat similar to Yana´s accent. Kitty nods. "Excellent, I´m sorry for the waiting. We´re dealing with a problem...all taken care" and gesture to Kitty sit as the other one will be here to interview her in a minute. "Galaticus usually don´t indicate anyone to this job"

"But he puts adds on the newspaper asking for Heralds" Kitty counters back and Santa didn´t deny that.

"He does that. He even accepts Deadpool as his Herald...don´t ask me why." he shakes his head at this information. "now, tell me about you, Miss Pryde...Galaticus only told us you´re good fitting for the job"

"A job as vague as possible" she arches an eyebrow. "And I´m unemployed at the moment." she pauses and adds. "I´m Jewish"

"If you think this will be a problem or that we only work with Christians families. You´re wrong. I work on any holiday that celebrates the family and love. Any family can receive me if they so wish, I have visited some Hannukahs in my past, I was denied in some Christian families and so and on. Krampus, my friend, is not a racist or believes in ''the old ways'' in fact, he hates the old ways more than you think" Santa states calmly and speaks something in a new language to something or someone way behind Kitty.

"There´s the devil!" Satan states all joyful causing Kitty to turn her head and see the so-called Krampus. A handsome indigo man. Golden eyes. and a tail throwing a winning smile at her. "Krampus, this is Kitty. Kitty this is Krampus. You´ll be his secretary...if he agrees" and the man kissed her hand-a bit old fashioned. Kitty didn´t hide her confusion- and both are now alone to conduct the interview.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

"Galaticus indicate you" his tone is joyful. Does he want Kitty to forget this is an interview? "Do you know what a Krampus is?" and Kitty closes her eyes hard and starts to mull the word for a moment.

I know I heard this name somewhere.

"Ok, I got it. You have no idea what am I" hos tone is amused and Kitty opens her eyes to see Kurt smiling like a cat. "Do you know what this job is?" and now she´s losing her patience.

"No, of course not, Galaticus comes into my room and says" Kitty pauses to mimic his voice. "Go to Santa. They have a job for you. And then he vanished. I had no idea what this job is about and no one is telling me anything. I don´t even celebrate Christmas" Kitty finishes her rants. Krampus is still too amused.

"My bad then, for starts, I deal with naughty mortals, so to speak" Kitty is listening. "Your job, if you accept, is to help me organize things. I´m terrible with names and numbers. And Santa´s elves can help me so far...of course, you´ll be compensated by your work. Here the initial idea for your salary" and Kitty is more than surprised. Is not a big number nor a smaller. It is acceptable for now. "and we´ll offer you some magic compensations to do some of the jobs. I mean, I´ll need someone to deliver messages to others deities and I know you don´t have teleportation" Krampus conclude waiting for her reply.

Kitty mulls over for 2 minutes. "Will I have to work all day and night?"

"Of course not. We all have lives. And the weekends are yours to do what you want!"

"If I give you my name..." and now Krampus chuckles.

"I´m not a regular fae. I can give you my name if it makes you feel at peace" and Kitty is surprised by this revelation. "my name is Kurt Wagner"

"I´m not sure if I´ll want to do this for a long period" Kitty begins and Kurt states that she needs to fill 6 months of work after that she´s free. "So, I´m willing to give a chance"

And with a snap of his fingers a pink fae- she calls herself pixie- shows up having in hands a contract in her hands ready for Kitty and Kurt to sign. Kitty read the contract - some laws are protecting her. As well as a law of discretion. Kitty can´t tell anyone what happens in Krampus´s working hour-and Kitty signal the contract.

"Welcome aboard, Katzchen. Hope you can survive the experience"

"Wait, what?"

[momtaku]

Hello! I wanted to begin by saying that reading your posts has been a delight. That being said, it seems like your niche is the veteran cast, so I wanted to ask for your evaluation of Hanji Zoe. Contrary to popular consensus, I am quite fond of Hanji's "downfall" arc in the final arc as it parallels her with impactful but lesser known characters like Djel Sannes and Keith Shadis. How would you evaluate her recent character arc, and what do you think that her conclusion will be?

Thank you for the kind words. It’s nice to hear someone enjoys my posts. And yes, I do love talking about the vets~

My answer to your question is that I don’t think Hange is having a “downfall” arc at all. They are experiencing a crisis of confidence similar to what we saw with Shadis in chapter 1, but Hange hasn’t given up. They are still very much in a forward moving trajectory. That gives me confidence in them.

Unlike many, I don’t blame Hange for the situation on Paradis. They are a commander, but they are not the sole authority on the island. Erwin’s death left a huge vacuum in terms of political strategy and leadership that neither Hange nor Armin could step in to fill. Pixis, Zackley and Nile were far more experienced on the political stage but they too were ineffective.

It seems that rather than politics, Hange’s primary focus during the last four years was on building the infrastructure needed to modernize Paradis for it’s long term survival. The port, the new weapons, and the railway are all evidence of that success. Hange’s strength has always been about embracing change and looking for effective uses of technology. That made them a perfect person for the needs of Paradis during this critical time. 

The flip side of that is their enthusiasm for new things may have blinded them to danger. The wine plot happened because Paradis as a whole was naive. Additionally, the freedom they allowed their prisoners helped lead to the rise of the Jaegerists. 

The one area where Hange completely failed was in dealing with Eren. Since he’s a member of the SC, his rebellion falls squarely on Hange’s shoulders. Hange couldn’t get through to Eren. Neither could his closest friends. Eren in his own head, doing his own thing, and by his own admission, unstoppable. While I see this as a failing for Hange, I’m not sure there was ever a chance for success. 

… I guess what I’m saying is there is plenty of blame to go around.

Bottom line is I don’t see Hange as a failure and my confidence in them is still strong. I’m counting on Hange to continue to push forward and make what’s happening somehow less horrible. Maybe a master strategist like Erwin could’ve avoided this situation, but an innovative and creative thinker like Hange can help find the way out. 

As for the long term conclusion for Hange, they are also a character without a plot-necessary dream to achieve or vendetta to fulfill. Characters like Hange don’t usually have a target on their back since their death isn’t necessary to move the plot forward. I see Hange being a part of whatever world stands when this story is over. That’s my hope anyway :)

Thanks for the ask! 

[loveamongthesailors]

losing it over voltairine writing about nihilists,

"At present, I remember one face only, a wild, burning face, utterly unsubduable, which stands out in never-surrender prominence.

I saw it in an artist's gallery in the West, where this strange personage was posing as a study of a bandit.

Imagine a small, lithe figure, sinuous as a serpent, a pointed face lighted with tremendous lights of fire, and sunset, and running water gleams, in the depths of eyes now somber, now glowing under heavy brows; long, loose-curling hair falling to the shoulders, a picturesque dress of white-embroidered blouse, dark pantaloons and silken sash, and a voice quick and vibrant as the motion of a cobra's tongue.

We entered into a conversation concerning a total vegetarian diet; and, to my astonishment, this singular being declared that for eight years he had eaten nothing but raw food, vegetables, and fruit, and for the last two years fruit alone.

He had been living near to Nature indeed; in the summer he slept upon the ground, in the winter, in a blanket on the floor; had done so for seventeen years. On questioning what had led him to so strange a life, he answered, "Because I want to be free. I saw that men were slaves of their own artificial needs, out of which have grown so many oppressive laws, systems of production, and so forth. I did not wish to work for any one else, nor to slave nine or ten hours a day to gratify a need which is only imaginary. The chief causes of this foolish industry are the need for food and clothing. Civilization, so called, seems to have a rage for every possible compound, healthy or unhealthy, beautiful or ugly, so that these increase the necessity for toil. I said to myself, I will learn to live on little, to overcome the need for so many changes of clothing, and I shall be free. I have done so. I can live very comfortably on eight cents a day, and I do not starve on five. Then you see I love what is beautiful. A fruit dinner is beautiful to look at. Mr. C. (the artist) would even like to paint it. But suppose he paints a carnivorous dinner, is there anything about it? No woman need slave over the stove to prepare my meal, and there need be no dishes to wash afterward. Oh, one escapes a great deal of slavery. One's blood is never overheated, nor subject to internal changes; winter and summer I dress the same and am never too hot or too cold. I have my time to see, to study, to think. When I do work it is because I wish.”

“But suppose everyone should do so?” I said at last, “What would life amount to? What would be accomplished?”

He laughed musically, and stepping to the window, pointed to the street below, where the workmen were going home, swinging their empty dinner pails.

“There they are,” he said, “look at them. What are they living for? To build a city. Look at it, look at those bricks, these cobble-stones, those wagons, and the dirt everywhere. Down there it is dark already. Do you see anything beautiful anywhere? What is the use to build such a thing? Better to put a bomb under it all and blow it up.”

“Look at them,” he continued rapidly, “all running, running here and there, and swallowing mouthfuls of filthy air at every breath. That is what they call business --having an aim in life! The animals are wiser.”

“Why do you stay in the city?” I inquired.

“I intend to leave within two weeks,” he answered. “I wish to dispose of my library first. Another of the evils of civilization -books. It is a good chance, though, for anyone who wants them.”

Having something of a relish for book sales, and being, moreover, curious to see what manner of place my new specimen inhabited, I took the opportunity to say I would examine the books.

A short walk, which took away my breath, since I was obliged to trot half the time in order to keep up with the swift glide of my companion, brought us up next door to a police station.

We entered a small, dark room lined with glass jars filled with various liquids arranged on shelves, and, near the floor, little closets with mysterious locks. “My laboratory,” he said with a wave of his hand “--bargained for. The books are upstairs.”

He ushered me into one of the fairest rooms, draped in white; paintings and sculpture adorned the walls and niches; there were a few pieces of elegant furniture, and on one side, some five hundred books in a neat case.

The whole was pervaded with a scent of roses. “How beautiful!” I exclaimed involuntarily.

“Not at all,” he answered. “Only a makeshift. When I get my home in the woods it will be beautiful, but art is not possible in a city.”

“But what good will it do for you to go off alone?” I said; “You certainly have beautiful ideals, but if you isolate yourself, how will it help humanity?”

He snapped his fingers. “Always that,” he answered; “I reform myself; that is the beginning of reform, self. When I have accomplished it perhaps I shall return and teach others.” He glided around the room and added, “Yes, anyway I shall come back some day. The Americans are a lot of cowards, but some day they will talk justice, too. When it begins --perhaps here in New York, in Chicago, or Philadelphia --no matter where, there will be work to do and I shall be there!”

His five white teeth jutted savagely over the lower lip.

“Well, do you wish any of my books?" I had chosen a few, and, finding no further excuse for remaining, reluctantly turned to go. As we were passing through the “laboratory,” my strange acquaintance asked, “Do you want to see water burn?” and taking some metallic substance from a jar he threw it into s small dish of water. A brilliant blaze shot up and burned for several minutes. In its glare the wizard face laughed silently; “See,” he said, “how I could burn the Pacific Ocean.”

“Wouldn't that be a big contract?” I returned.

“There are other things I would prefer to burn. Well, good bye. We shall not meet again.”

And we did not.

Mr. C. afterward told me he had left San Francisco, to no one knew where. He had, however, a different theory to explain his bandit’s misanthropy.

He was in love once, C. explained, and wanted the girl to go and live with him on uncooked food. She declined, and he has foresworn civilization ever since.

“Ah, the usual woman in the case.” And I went away musing on the freaks of passion, my thoughts returning often to the wizard face with its prophetic, silent laugh lit by the burning water."

[404fmdminjung]

lyrical and composition verification for holo

summary: she plays the dusty keyboard for the first time in years, and comes out of a song that becomes a pseudo-‘fuck you’ to gold star. yet, it’s still something she can’t sing to herself as she doesn’t fully believe the words herself. but she has someone in mind, specifically — @fmdjiah​ warnings: alcohol tw, and i don’t even know if this is too ‘technical’ to be a composition but w/e going with it wc: 1710

summer in seoul — she can look out the windows, see how the sun kisses the silhouette of buildings that kiss the fronts in muted pinks. somewhere around the world, it’s midnight where the moon shines and invites another drink into warming her body. minjung takes herself to that place, indulgence in drinks that leave her head bobbing through the air — because it’s midnight somewhere. 

tonight, she feels a little out of place — the grip of the paintbrush doesn’t feel like home, not inviting as it once was a month ago. she could pin point mistakes to a schedule ablaze with musical promotions that have too many cameras and little cheer. a career that seems to plummet itself to the grave she’s dug. or just maybe, it’s the effect of coaxed beliefs that she swallows — the idea that being alone is something that feels like home. but she knows in reality, home isn’t alone, nor is the idea of solitude where the grapevines of bordeaux the solution to anything other than blurred mistakes and burning lines of regret.

she thinks it’s hapless — lost in the monotony of self-destruction. but she doesn’t bother to trigger a change in one way or another. instead, comes a wave of burgundy stained lips, legs crossed with a blank stare to the buildings that now melt to the baby blue wash of the arising moon. she blinks, displaced thoughts — a tilt in her head, and now the view of a lonely keyboard in a corner sits. and for the first time, the glass slips out of her fragile palms as her feet glide over towards the lonelier looking set of keys. 

there’s a notebook on the side, a 500 won pen she’s picked up from the corner bookstore. a memory that precedes the first time she’s ever written for herself — a thought that pulls the edges of her lips into a smirk, or maybe it’s just the effect of the alcohol. but she picks up the pen, spreading open the canvas of blank paper to write down something filter-free, the first pick into her mind.

‘is it really that hard to be alone to be completely still?  with people, or by myself i think i’m always lonely.’

it’s funny to think that the words of honesty come to reveal themselves earlier on — the feeling of loneliness masking her, covering her whole. she asks herself this question at three points in the day. the morning when she wakes up in a lonely bed, filled with the slivers of sunlight that peek through her curtain. in the middle, when she’s surrounded by a bustling staff and giddy members — drowning in the chatter that mangles itself into white noise. and the end of the day — when the end ends with the clinks of a bottle against a sole wine glass in the middle of her apartment.

and she believes the only words anyone wants to hear at that point — one day it will stop.

the words press themselves hard against the paper, or perhaps it’s her own will to believe the words now physically represented by the force of the pen on paper. she could tell herself a million and one things, never once to believe or swallow the truth of the statements. an age half of fifty, yet will all the time passed — she can’t necessarily bring herself to face the reflection of the words. so, she continues on with the theme that circles around her mind.

‘isn’t everything supposed to be as easy as you think and say? even sitting in the sun and breathing doesn’t seem to help.’

it strikes an uncanny belief in her head — the ideation that taking in the simple pleasures day to day comes as an easy feat. in theory, the great minds and her heart could tell her, lecture her into believing each day will become easier. yet, nothing ever comes as easy as the simple calculations that words simplify actions to. and she thinks to herself again, that believing the words ‘one day it will stop.’ 

it’s not love that makes her feel like this, no. it’s not the cracks of past lovers digging their claws deep in unpolished wounds exacerbating every clean cut image. it’s the idea of comparisons, the unnerved inability to satiate the money hungry woes of chart toppers and idealized ‘popularity’ that ranks high in the charts. 

it’s the flood of netizens that use their words like weapons, piercing deep into the tracks that engulfed her heart and soul. ‘a flop’ ‘a shit lead vocal.’ — she nods, laughs. howls underneath the images of how many people love to pick and piece apart her name inside the industry.

‘and i’m gonna stop crying, stop feeling, stop thinking about you. i’m gonna stop crying, and start putting myself first.’

she’s never given a second thought of keeping herself first — always on the verge of terror staged destruction wrecking havoc on those around her, leaving her trapped inside the devastation. it’s the need to rub salt on open wounds, make it hurt where it already aches. make it stand on the edge of a walking time bomb. and maybe, it’s the reason why gold star sees her as the standard doormat of a failed science experiment. a toy they hold high over her heads, the rationale for every step they push her towards.

‘her vs. me, me vs. her — what’s important to see who’s better? after i suffered a lot, i’m starting to get it. but i’m too important to myself to sit still and worry. take a look inside without a cover, you’re fine the way you are.’

it sounds cliche to write the words — she doesn’t believe it, no. but she wishes she could. because deep down seo minjung knows who the soul residing in her body is — a fragmented girl, afraid of the world. masking away anyone that approaches in fear that they’ll flee first. comparisons, one after another — one that pinpoints her to nothing. it doesn’t matter to her — it’s shit. the comparisons are shit. there’s nothing that aches more than suffering with the constant bereavement of being a second-hand choice or a second-staged puppet for someone else. 

—

it’s a funny image to see herself next to a muted keyboard — a makeshift desk for her words. but as on cue, the striking mirror image of herself juxtaposed into the ink pressed hard against the paper goes too much, and her body flees. retreats to the keys — button pressed on and the low start of the keyboard. 

she’s six when she’s introduced to the ivory whites and blacks, centered in the steinway and sons grand piano in her house — the second house in boston. the theory of progression of chords — three in a row, not at the same time. back straight, both feet pressed to the bottom. tiny fingers barely stretched across a sixth, and now she’s twenty five, surpassing an octave and barely reaching a tenth across the keys.

but despite the memories that flood of youthful hourly lessons four times a week, comes the ringing idea of the words that blare from the notepad in the corner of her eyes. if words had melodies, these words might have been a steady legato on the second octave. a chord progression, strictly arpeggio — her old piano teacher would’ve proud that she’d held onto these facts as a keepsake.

she doesn’t want to keep it major because she’s learned that the happiest of classical songs present in major keys — the somber melodies of majority of beethoven and liszt contain themselves in minor. a first few seconds, and the emotional bang hits front and center into the ears.

she hums to herself the first few words of being alone — a longing pull, a drag. a simple chord, not spanning an octave. her favorite chord, an f minor and a progression into d. it sounds lonely, it sounds sad. it sounds like her — she keeps it mezzo-piano, jots that down before the thought slips past. her voice sings the words, a few octaves too low for her range. yet, she forces it through with the gentle lilt of the chord, and then back down to the switch to d minor

it continues, and she drawls the keys to the words that read themselves out from the corner of her eyes. years of an untouched piano, and muscle memory comes back to haunt her — in a good way, this time. automated movements, a pendulum movement of something slow-paced and soft.

but she thinks that the dreary pace of slow stretches of chords become boring for a song about enlightenment, and seo minjung is no little bitch to stay still and complacent. no. she wants the words to hit in the middle just as the realizations barged through her the second they scrawled themselves on paper. the crescendo comes, and she wants it to go full force, loud — ff, she makes note of that. arpeggio no longer cuts it, and her fingers press against the keys — three notes, one time. a solid chord, staccatos released. 

she wants to shift it to major, an ode to her ‘fuck you’ song. but the stark contrast from major to minor is an artwork that she leaves to the masterminds of the past. 

she keeps it in the minor, two octaves higher — sounds have a tendency to have a ‘coming of age’ thought when it becomes brighter and clearer. but comes the thought to switch from a harmonic interval to a chord, a back-and-forth wobble of uncertainty posing across the keys. 

in her mind, she’s mozart inside the familial archways of classical musicians. except, she’s playing a reemergence in an a song she can’t pigeon hole into any niche. it’s not an experimental sound, nor is it anything that she sings herself outside of the privacy of her walls — it’s something still -ing in the process. 

—

it’s not a song she wants to wallow in silence or submerge inside the privacy of her notebook. it’s a song she wants sung, blared — even if it doesn’t stem from her feeble voice. she imagines the voice to stem from a gritty voice that can bleed emotion. someone who doesn’t crumble with the words said because she knows if she’d ever sing it, she’d fall to the ground and grace the world with pictures of tear stained eyes and a breach into the facade she’s created. 

and she’s aware — she’s a coward. hiding behind someone else’s voice for words she can’t face head-on.

so, the last thing she scribbles down is the one voice that comes to her mind — ‘jiah from bee’. hopes and wishes for the sole voice to be the only voice to sing the song written and crafted from her heart.